"What the f*ck did you tell him?"
If Milton could speak right now, he'd likely bid Merle good morning and ask him what seems to be the trouble.
Alas, he cannot, for he has a forearm wedged against his throat and there's nothing good about a morning where your air supply has been cut off.
So, he does what any man in his position would do - gapes like a fish out of water and desperately tries to remove the offending limb. The smirk on Merle's face paired with the fact that the arm doesn't budge an inch, tells him how successful this plan was. Were his brain functioning normally, he'd try to remember that one move he learned in a self-defence class some twenty years ago, but as it is, he merely flails as if he's been plugged into the mains.
When Merle eventually deigns to release him, he proceeds to cough so hard he thinks his head will explode.
"Are you out of your mind!?" he inquires after a lengthy spell of wheezing.
"If yer gonna go snitchin' to th' boss, you're gonna havta learn to man up," is Merle's unruffled reply.
If looks could kill, Milton is certain his could fell Merle in an instant but unfortunately, it has no effect whatsoever.
"What did you say to him?"
Ah. We're back to this again. Milton pretends not to know what he's talking about, (as if he has more important things going on), but Merle takes one step in his direction and he's practically soiling himself.
"Nothing! I told him what happened with Michonne and that you took care of… the prisoner." This brief hesitation tells Merle that this is not what Milton usually calls the girl, but because he has other fish to fry, he merely files the information away and continues where he left off.
"Bullshit! I know you tell him everything you lil' pants pisser!"
"I swear to you, that's all I know!"
Merle's all out of patience, and this results in him getting up in Milton's face - forehead to forehead, and backing him up fast. As they approach the wall, he considers bringing his arm up once more but recalls that choking a man isn't the best way to make him sing and it's pointless anyway because Milton's fallen flat on his ass and is curled up in a ball like a frightened hedgehog. Merle might even have felt sorry for him, if it wasn't for the fact that this was pretty much how he found the girl the first time he saw her.
"Now, I know you ain't stupid, so I ain't gonna ask again…" he growls, placing a boot in close proximity to one of Milton's more vulnerable body parts.
"What do you want me to say?" Milton wails, "I don't know what else to tell you! I told him you took care of her. I didn't say any more than that because I didn't have to! Don't you get it? She doesn't let anyone take care of her! She doesn't let anybody near her!"
A small part of Merle puffs up at this information and the rest of him might have followed, were it not for the fact that what Milton just said was blatantly untrue.
"Then how the hell did she end up a cripple, huh? Seems to me somebody got close enough to take real good care o' her!"
Milton sinks his head into his hands. It doesn't evoke the faintest wisp of pity however, because now the excuses will come, and as far as Merle's concerned, none of them will ever be good enough.
"He snapped…" Milton says, eyes snapping up to fix Merle with a look of pure desperation, "He didn't want this to happen, I know he didn't… If she'd just given him a chance…"
Merle is on him straight away. Has him up and pinned to the wall before he knows what hit him. Brings the forearm up, not so high that he chokes, but high enough to have him completely immobile.
"Now you listen to me, you pantywipe! I don't give two shits what that asshole told you, but it ain't on her, yer hear me? There ain't nothin' she coulda done to deserve the state he put her in and you left her in! I mean, what was stoppin' you from bein' a man for once in yer shit stain life and puttin' her out of her misery?"
"I wanted to," Milton says, so quietly Merle has to strain to hear him. "She'd given up," he adds, eyes looking anywhere but at his aggressor, "Nothing I did made any difference… so, I gave up too."
A long pause follows, and Merle is tempted to give him a slap to move things along.
"I was going to end it," Milton eventually confesses, his mouth a grim line, downturned at the corners.
"So!? What stopped you?"
"You did Merle."
.
Milton can count himself fortunate.
Not that he would know it, having crashed to the ground, in a sprawl of sore limbs and reproachful glares.
You're lucky you still got teeth in ya head.
Indeed, Merle has done more damage for less.
The man in question is currently pacing back and forth like a caged tiger itching to unleash the havoc that's in its nature, but knows that hurting Milton more will probably not get him to spill the beans, so he tries to be patient.
"So, jus' what tha f*ck are you sayin'?"
"She plays dead."
Merle waits for the punchline because 'duh, she is dead', but Milton is being infuriatingly slow to get to the chase and Merle's not sure he's going to be able to keep a lid on his temper much longer.
"She fought in the beginning – would threaten to bite anyone who came near, but then at some point she just... stopped... would just lie there... let everything wash over her."
Merle frowns. He has never seen her like that and therefore finds it hard to imagine. He's shaking his head but Milton cuts in before he can argue. "She was like that a long time... like I said, she'd given up... but then... you came along."
Milton smiles and Merle has an urge to wipe the smile off his face because nothing that Merle has done for her was for Milton's benefit.
"You brought her back to life."
.*.
How does one deal with such a statement? What is one supposed to make of it?
On the one side, things were better for her. On the other, he was prolonging her pain.
It's too much.
Before he knows what he's doing, he's back to doing that which he does best – lashing out and Milton is also back to his role in this equation – cowering to evade the blows.
"To bring her back, she had to be killed in the first place! You made her what she is! You and him! An' now yer pleased someone saved yer goddamn science project!?" Merle punctuates this soliloquy with boots to Milton's torso and has no problem to watch him writhe in pain. As far as he's concerned, he should feel it. Should be sick to the stomach as he currently is. Because he knows what playing dead means. Knows why it is done. Has seen it in a woman before. Understands why she will not fight.
Because it's the only thing left to do. The last defence. The only thing that gets the aggressor to stop.
He prefers his victims screaming...
Merle gets one last boot in, a particularly hard one to the stomach, and walks off. If he stays, he might kill him.
Milton might not be the target of his rage, but it doesn't matter. He's guilty by association. He has a picture in his mind now of Milton carrying on with his 'experiments' regardless of the lifeless 'corpse' lay before him and his temper flares once more.
But then something infinitely more sinister occurs to him, stopping him directly in his tracks.
A camera.
A groan leaks out of him and he spins on his heels so fast he almost makes himself dizzy.
"Where is it?" he roars.
Milton blinks dumbly, but a slap to the head gets him with the program. He stammers a denial but his eyes flicker to a far corner of the room and Merle knows.
He's up and out of there like a shot, storming through the compound, ignoring the puzzled looks from all in his path. He's confronted by yet another puzzled look when he makes it to his destination but finds what he is looking for practically straight away. Nestled behind a tangle of rusty piping.
The plastic casing crashes to the ground and breaks into pieces. He makes quick work of the rest with the heel of his boot, a torrent of curse words pouring out of him and echoing off the walls as he does so.
He looks up to find her wide eyed and curious. Then something akin to relief settles upon her.
"Think we're done with America's weirdest home videos..."
Woodbury could do with tightening up security.
Merle smirks because actually that's his job.
And now he's doing a spot of B & E.
Still, needs must and all that.
He supposes he could've just asked Milton to give him the answers he needs, but where was the fun in that? No, much better to break into the lab, (strictly off-limits to a grunt like him), and spare himself the surly looks and bad attitude.
You'd think the guy had never been on the end of a kickin' before.
Merle scoffs but then recalls that he did destroy his 'research equipment'. And as crestfallen as the nerd had been, Merle couldn't find an ounce of guilt in him on that one.
F*ckin' creep.
So, where to start?
Merle circles the lab, frowning at the assorted oddities he finds. The sensible part of him understands the value of this sort of thing, but for the most part, all he can feel is unease.
Eventually, his eyes rest upon a filing cabinet and he starts picking the lock straight away. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he hears a small 'click', and then he gently pulls the top drawer open. He takes care not to move anything, just takes in the lay of the land, and at first, nothing really stands out, but then he notices a gap between two files and that tells him that these are the ones Milton visited last. One file bears the name Michael Coleman and Merle knows, for obvious reasons, that this is not what he's looking for. The other however, is titled B 9000.
What the hell?
He pulls the file out and takes a peek inside.
It drops from his grip instantly.
His breath catches in his throat and his hands are shaking. A shiver runs through him and he breaks into a cold sweat. He knows this is what he came here for, but he feels so impossibly unprepared all the same.
And now the reason for his clumsiness is lying upon the floor staring up at him.
It is a picture of a woman.
The woman she used to be.