14.
Merle is afraid of what he will find when he makes it to the catacombs.
Perhaps the Governor has done his worst. Beaten and broken her. Left her to suffer.
It's his worst nightmare. The one he's been having since he left. The one where his leaving caused her unspeakable pain. Where she pays for his defection.
He can only hope that it hasn't come to that. The Governor has had other things on his mind, after all. Revenge, chief amongst them. For what Michonne did to him. For the attack on Woodbury. For the prison group having the audacity to think they ever stood a chance against him.
Another possibility is that Milton was able to protect her. Merle hopes that he did, but who knows what atmosphere prevailed after the attack? It pushed their unstable leader sheer over the edge, Milton was no doubt terrified of getting on the wrong side of him and ending up as one of his 'exhibits'. Merle cannot blame him if he decided to err on the side of caution.
These thoughts make him increasingly nervous the closer he gets to his destination, with one in particular becoming an ever more painful ache – the fear of how she will react to seeing him again. It's an ache that causes particular alarm because of the feelings involved.
Virgin territory for a man one could never call a virgin.
He thinks of the women in his life. The reasons he wanted to please. The encounters. The things that were said and the things hidden behind the things that were said.
This is nothing like any of that.
Indeed, this is nothing like any relationship he's had in his life, period.
Because it matters to him.
What she thinks of him.
How she might feel about the fact that he left her behind.
He protests that it hasn't been all that long since he left, doubts it was even two weeks, but two weeks is an eternity when left in the dark. He knows it was an eternity for him, and he'd been surrounded by other people and their plans... how must it have been for her? Alone. In that hellhole. With nothing else to think of.
She must hate him. For abandoning her. That he did not want to makes no difference - he left without so much as a fare-thee-well.
If only she could know how much he thought about her whilst he was away. How much he wanted to put things right.
Powerless to do so, all he had left was to think of what might have been.
So that's what he did.
What he does.
He invents stories for her.
Of the happy life she once lived. The happy life she could have had without the Governor. The happy life where their leader never noticed her and she was just another clueless soul in their clueless town. Maybe their paths might have crossed some day… Maybe he would've talked to her...
Maybe, maybe, maybe...
He's almost there, and the closer he gets, the more he hopes he can do this one thing for her.
In his mind's eye, he can see it.
The world where they get away. Steal a car and drive as far as it will take them.
Fast and loose... Lemmy knew the deal...
Find a better place.
Some place where we fit, where we're good, where it's enough...
Merle knows all too well that wherever they might end up she'd be treated as a freak, and that most people are too far gone to even consider that she might be some kind of answer, maybe even a way out of this misére, but he likes to pretend.
So, his brain seesaws between the good he invents for her, the bad that is the real world, and the ugly that is most people in it. He dreams of a future where someone will see her as the remarkable being she is, despite knowing how slim the chances are of it actually happening, and suspecting that any interest in her might well end up with her being dissected in some sick sort of live autopsy.
Because really, how could there be this place? They had lived in the best of times - a veritable Goldilocks world, and it had still seen fit to chew them up and spit them out.
He has to hope though. Has to try.
Because nothing can be worse than to leave her down there.
What if the town should fall? What if the only people that know of her existence are killed? What if she is still a prisoner when it happens?
His stomach lurches violently.
He won't let it happen. Not so long as he is breathing.
With this decision renewed, all fear falls away. He descends the steps into the dark realm that has been hers for god knows how long, and hopes it will be the last time.
.*.
She is huddled in the corner.
Painfully exposed in a ghastly glare of fluorescent lighting.
Head down. Curled into herself.
The scene is practically identical to the first time he saw her. The only exception being the blankets he brought for her and the bandages holding her together - the only sign that anyone was ever here at all.
She seems oblivious to his presence. Staring off into the middle distance. He knows the expression well. Always wondered where she went when she drew into herself like that. Shut herself down.
"Hey there, chickadee, how's it goin'?" he greets, in the best attempt at casual cheerfulness he can muster, which, he must admit, is very shaky indeed.
It doesn't matter.
Her head shoots up and a strangled noise that sounds faintly like his name echoes in the space between them. Hopeful cloudy eyes lock onto wary blue ones, and then her face crumples.
She is crying.
Sobbing in fact.
Trying to say his name.
Dragging herself over the floor.
Merle stands as if frozen. Tears shoot to his eyes and his legs feel as if they will give way any moment.
She starts pulling herself up, skeletal fingers curled tight around the bars and it spurs him into action, has him searching through his clothes to find the keys - he'd taken to hiding them on his person long before the shit hit the fan - had always suspected this day might come. Can hardly believe that it has.
His hands shake as he tries to get the door open. One look up nearly has him drop the key.
She is standing up.
Shaky as a newborn foal but upright.
How did you...?
She is smiling. Smiling through the tears… and as all becomes a blur before him, he realises he is doing the same.
She grips the bars tightly with both hands to stop herself from slipping, and Merle can see it's causing her immense pain, so he swipes an arm over his face and wills himself to quit fumbling. When he finally gets the door open, he rushes inside, sweeping her clean off her feet, and folds her into his arms.
It takes a monumental effort not to collapse into sobs because he's a Dixon and Dixons don't do that shit, but after mere moments his resolve shatters under the burden of worries he's been carrying for weeks and the tears come, completely overwhelming him.
He tells her he is sorry.
Over and over.
Isn't actually able to speak but somehow manages to whisper the words into her neck, folding her ever tighter into his embrace.
She wraps herself around him. Is trying to reply. He doesn't know what she is saying, but it doesn't matter in the slightest.
They are beyond words.
He loves her.
Has never been so sure of anything in his life.
He loves her and he knows what he has to do now.
They are walking out of here.
Out of the cellar, out of the compound, out of the town... and if they will make it, he does not know, but he will fight tooth and nail to give her a chance.
They hold each other a long time. Too long and not long enough. His thoughts try to gatecrash the moment, to caution him with warnings, and eventually, he lets them, because having made it this far means nothing so long as the psychopath responsible for all this is still at large and has them on his shitlist, so he disentangles himself from their embrace, gently placing her on wobbly legs, careful not to let her fall.
She does not protest, beaming at him as if she can hardly believe any of this and it brings Merle such happiness of such a pure kind - a strange optimism he ought not to feel and yet cannot resist because she is surprising him again, with such strength, such determination...
Were you busy whilst I was away, darlin'? They never could get the best of you...
A brief stumble brings him back to the present, and though he can see that when it comes to getting out of here, she'll fare better than he ever expected, the cellar steps will doubtless be too much. So he scoops her up – folding her tight against him, taking a brief moment to enjoy the closeness, before whispering into her ear to inform her of his plans. She nuzzles against him, sighing contentedly, which he takes to mean that she is on board with all this, so he jostles to get her comfortable, tells her to hold on and carries her up the steps and out of the cellar, praying that all are too busy gawping at the burnt out truck to bother checking on this part of the compound.
It is eerily quiet. Merle wisely keeps to the shadows – the day might be a strange one for the citizens of Woodbury, but there isn't any kind of day where a man carrying a walker folded tight to his chest would blend in. Bearing that in mind, he gently places her upon he feet and is astonished to observe her trying to take a few steps.
"Hey now, look atchu," he whispers, grinning from ear to ear, "you keep goin' like this an' you'll be leavin' this ol' man for dust..."
The moment is spoiled, however, by the sound of voices nearby. He positions himself in front of her should they come any closer but then as all becomes quiet once more, tentatively takes her hand and leads her through the compound.
The place is in disarray. Doors that usually remain shut are wide open. Now his mask has fallen, it seems the Governor has no further interest in keeping up appearances. Merle scans the terrain with trepidation. What other surprises might one stumble upon here?
Deciding he most certainly does not want to find out, he turns sharply to take a more circuitous route out of the building – leading her away from whatever gruesome trinkets the psycho may currently be collecting.
She don't need to see any of that.
Come to think of it, nobody did. It's a sentiment that has him wishing he could just torch the place, but sadly, he doesn't have time – the Governor will have arranged a ride back to Woodbury by now - he cannot squander their head start, no matter how satisfying it might be to watch it all burn.
As they make it to the door, his heart is in his mouth. Anyone will be able to see them out there. Everyone knows who he is and though no one knows who she is, being dead is not something one can merely overlook.
They'll shoot her soon as they see her.
He can't have it.
He needs something to conceal her. He goes to the nearest window and tears down the curtains – it's not a great solution but it's the best he can do under the circumstances.
This causes another problem however, one he had not previously considered.
Her eyes cannot handle sunlight.
She jolts away from the harsh glare, loses her balance and topples to the ground.
Merle is with her in an instant, sorrier than he ever thought he could be, because he'd honestly not foreseen that in his haste to make things better for her, he could actually be making them worse. She cowers against him, hiding herself away, the pain burning her eyes and contorting her body into forms that can only cause more pain, and he folds her into him, covering her with the curtains, whispering apologies, his heart sinking as it occurs to him that perhaps he cannot take her out of here at all, and if he does, he could end up damaging her eyes irrevocably.
It is a bitter turn of events, and he struggles with the emotions it evokes - sadness that this could well be the end of the line, but also anger that the conditions the Governor has subjected her to have perhaps made it impossible for her to be free.
The unfairness of it makes him want to scream. To rage. To kill. To tear the place apart in one last f*ck you to the world because was this not the way things always went?
A small voice that comes from a dark place deep within him insinuates that she is clearly not made for this world. That she cannot exist in it, and any attempt to do so will only cause her more suffering. It takes him back to what Michonne said about needing to put her down, and though he knows it was meant as a kindness, he finds he simply cannot...
Aside from the fact that it feels gut-wrenchingly wrong, it would make a mockery of all she has endured. Did she not deserve a shot? Had she not earned a chance? He can understand where Michonne was coming from, but she had not seen how hard she was trying...
Is trying...
He watches her closely for any indication she might share these thoughts he is currently entertaining - any sign she might wish give up, but no, on the contrary, she is in fighting form - no longer pressing her hands against her eye sockets, nor curling up into an ever tighter ball of misery, but moving the fabric from her face… letting the light touch her skin… slowly tilting her head towards the window…
His heart soars.
She might be pale and sickly, frail and falling apart, neglected, abandoned, disfigured and scarred...
And yet...
She is trying to push through the pain - determined to overcome...
And if she still wanted to 'live', what right did he have to take that from her?
She opens her eyes and the sting of it has her recoil, but Merle holds her tight, tells her he is here, that he won't let go, that he isn't going anywhere. A small smile appears upon her lips as she reaches for his hand, steeling herself for the next wave of pain, directing her gaze up at him as she wrenches her eyes open, blinking away the river of tears the pain evokes. She trains her gaze upon him, holding a hand up to his face as the pain subsides a little and she finds she can keep her eyes open a little bit longer...
At some point, Merle realises she can see. As her jaw unclenches, a smile takes hold, and the tears are falling but they are no longer tears of pain, but of happiness instead, a wave of raw emotion hits and it is all Merle can do to hold on. All the despair he felt mere moments ago dissipates and in its place comes an incredible surge of joy sweeping away the dark whisperings and leaving bare a simple truth, so plain and so clear: The Governor will never break her. He never could, and he never will.
He has brought upon her unfathomable sorrow... time and again...
And yet...
Some part of her has lived on...
Has carried her through...
Still carries her through...
And who can say what pain this world might yet hold for her, but one thing is certain: that pathetic excuse for a man will never hold a candle to her.
Merle pulls her into his arms and holds her a long time, hoping it will say all that he cannot. She melts into him and he figures it must. As they separate, she slowly and shakily picks herself up from off the ground, sweeps the curtain up around her shoulders and with a rakish grin gestures to the door as if to say 'after you'.
A bark of laughter bubbles out of Merle, because good lord, wasn't she just full of surprises…
One last look is shared to make sure they were really doing this, and the look of determination on her face has Merle wondering how he could have ever doubted her.
Alright then, I'd say we're good to go...