Sorry for the long wait :P I had a hectic two weeks. Also, i was hit with MAJOR writers block for this chapter, which is why it's a lot shorter than some others and a lot more crappy T.T BUT, i promise next chapter will be a lot better! :D We are almost to season canon :) Excited .

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway and please remember to review! :D Seriously. Review. A few words makes a lot of difference. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and I am sad.

Chapter 12: Loose Lips Sink Ships

The phrase "famous last words" has never come back to bite me in the ass so hard.

"What did you think about that one," I ask after I've read the final lines of yet another poem. I've said this phrase only a few times but already it's beginning to feel redundant.

"I think I'm gonna win this bet if that's the only shit ya got."

And that fucking response is becoming a little more than tedious if I do say so myself.

Huffing, I snap my journal shut, closing the Dickinson poem I had just read, and drop it into my lap, simultaneously dropping my chin into my hand. "You just have to be difficult don't you," I pout, reaching down with my other hand and twining my fingers in the grass. The blades are dry and dead against my skin and they crumble easily, disintegrating into dust.

Daryl scoffs under his breath and his blue eyes drift down to where I'm sitting in the grass, clear, blue, and striking. As always. "Yer the one who won't give up. Talk bout fuckin difficult," he drawls back to me and I frown.

"I'm not giving up because I'm going to win Dixon, and make you eat your fucking words." Or at least I hope I'm going to win. I used to be pretty confident. After the success I've been experiencing, that is none, I'm beginning to lose a little faith.

The hunter shakes his head and goes back to cleaning his crossbow, hands already slick with dirt and grease as he checks over every inch of his weapon. "Whatever. Why don't ya make yerself useless kid and stop fuckin around with yer diary?"

Furrowing my brow, I rip up the grass I've been plucking at and throw it in his direction. I'm splayed out on my ass a few feet from the stump that Daryl's claimed as his seat so the dead blades don't go very far, just arch up for an instant and then float harmlessly to the forest floor. "I thought we established it's not a diary," I mutter. "And what do you suppose I do? Take up basket weaving?"

My question is a bit on the sarcastic side but I really don't know what Daryl wants from me. Just today I took an early morning watch shift, then checked the perimeter alarms (i.e. the cans on strings), gave Carl and Sophia their lesson, and went down to the quarry with Shane to refill the water jugs. And that's not to mention all the shit I've done with Daryl. The checking the traps, the skinning, the cleaning, hell we just finished the last rabbit like fifteen minutes ago. It was only after we laid out the last critter to dry and Daryl pulled his crossbow across his lap to clean that I even thought to take out my journal, tucked into the little backpack that Glenn had brought back for me on his last trip to Atlanta. It's not as sturdy as the hiking pack I have in my tent but it's a lot smaller and a lot less heavy.

Daryl casts me a deadpan stare out of the corner of his eye and I cock an eyebrow at him in challenge. When he doesn't say anything, because really he can't say anything, I've been as useful as I can fucking be thank you very much, I smirk up at him in triumph, leaning back to lounge on my hands.

"Want to know what I think?" I ask, still smirking up at him.

"No."

I ignore his comment. "I think," I drawl out, shifting forward so I'm closer to him, within arms reach even if I'm still on the floor. He doesn't look at me, but I know he sees me draw closer and he leans slightly away. "I think you don't want me to read any more because you're scared I'm going to find a poem you like and you'll lose our little wager."

The hand that's cradling the nearly 8-inch hunting knife, edge pressed against the string of the crossbow as it snips off wayward strands, comes to a complete halt. Daryl lift's his head and the look in his eyes is a little more than peeved as the silence stretches thin between us. We say nothing, just continue our stare off, his piercing blue against my green, and I, try as I might, I can't help but to begin to fidget under his glare, rubbing at the almost healed scratches on my cheeks. After an endless moment, Daryl just shakes his head and growls something under breath before going back to his crossbow, dirt crusted hands rubbing against his filthy jeans before setting back to work.

Frowning, I lean forward and tilt my head to the side. "What was that?" I ask.

He doesn't even look up when he replies, short and curt. "Said I shoulda left yer ass in the woods. Lot more quiet if I had. Lot less trouble too."

I roll my eyes as I sit back, picking up my journal again. "Oh please. You say that but we both know I'm more help than hinder," I tell him, inching out my foot to nudge the drying rack in front of me so it rattles and reminds Daryl of how much I've helped him do. He ignores me again and, when it becomes clear that he is immersed in his crossbow, I sigh and stretch out in the grass once more, flicking open my journal to a random page, eyes scouring the lines for something, anything, that will make me win this bet and put Mr. Dixon in his place.

It's been five days since Daryl and I began our little wager. However, the day the earth stood still, as I like to call it because really how the fuck I even got Daryl to agree to this I will never know, I hadn't been able to truly start our challenge. Enough time had passed since I had slipped away from camp that people had begun to miss me. Namely Dale I think. He's always so worried about everything. It kind of annoys Amy and I, we aren't children that need to be watched every minute of the day, but I have to admit I also find his concern a little endearing. The world's a pretty fucked up place, even before all this walking dead shit, so seeing a little care and compassion, even if it was a tad bit forward, was a refreshing sight. Either way, someone had began to worry, so a small search party had been dispatched to find me not ten minutes after Daryl and I metaphorically shook hands, driving their way down to the quarry before I could even pick one poem, alerting us to their approach the second they started down the dirt road.

Though a little inconvenient, I hadn't really been all that bothered by their approach. I knew it had been coming and, that way, I didn't have to walk all the way back to camp. The stroll down wasn't all that hard but he trek back up was a whole other story. Daryl, on the other hand, had literally cursed up a storm, jumping down off the rock we had been sitting on like it was on fire. I had frowned at him, opening my mouth to ask what was wrong, but he had beaten me to the punch, blue eyes glaring at the road as he growled about how he'd seen enough of Shane that day and that he didn't need the "sumbitch" telling him to stay the fuck away from me again.

The accidental admission, I'm sure it was accidental because Daryl had been muttering all kinds of shit to himself, had kind of floored me for a moment. Shane had said that to Daryl? When? Then I had thought, well no fucking wonder the hunter had been such a stubborn asshole any time I had tried to talk to him! And, what was more, I couldn't help but be pissed at Shane because who the fuck did he think he was? He wasn't my father, my goddamn husband. Who the fuck was he to dictate to whom I could and could not talk?

In hindsight, I can kind of see Shane's point. Daryl has almost killed me…on multiple occasions. All on accident but I guess that's beside the point.

But, at the time, I was livid and my overall annoyance, to put it lightly, had blinded me for a few seconds because, the next thing I knew, Daryl was already gone from my side. I had blinked at the spot he used to occupy and then spun to see him nearly to the tree line already, crossbow slung across his back as he marched his way across the gravel. He had almost been out of sight before I called out to him, making him halt in his steps and glance over his shoulder at me. I don't know why I had to stop him, I would more than likely have seen him later that day, back at camp or something, but, for some reason, I couldn't let him leave on that note. Not without saying some else, something more, a confirmation, an affirmation. So, with the noise of my search team echoing down the road, I had lifted my hand at waved at Daryl, smiling as I said, "See ya later Dixon! Next time you see me, I'll be winning our bet!" The hunter had stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowed and I almost put my hand done in embarrassment because I thought he wasn't going to react but then he smirked, albeit a small one, and shook his head before slipping back into the woods. It was like he had never even been there.

Shane had barreled unto the scene not five seconds later, spraying pebbles and dirt with the tires of his Jeep. Morales had been with him and jumped out to meet me half way as I gathered my things and made my way towards them. His warm brown eyes were relieved when he had asked me where I had been and told me how everyone's been really worried, and if I was ok; the whole nine yards. I had apologized politely, telling him I had lost track of time, but really, I wasn't the least bit sorry. Even when Shane started up on his you need to be more careful speech, all I could do was look over his shoulder at the spot Daryl had disappeared into the woods with a smile on my face because, even if he hadn't said anything, I had gotten all the confirmation I needed.

Since that day, Daryl's actually honored our agreement. As much as he could anyway. After all, there was still hunting to be done and checking the traps and then cleaning anything that was brought back. That wasn't to mention all the chores I had to get done, like the laundry and the cooking, ever since people learned I could cook, which I kind of had to learn how to do at an early age, I've found myself at the campfire more and more often, and also my lessons with Carl and Sophia. It was hard pressed to find a spare moment to share in between all that shit.

And then…there was Merle. Merle fucking Dixon, grade A douche bag, the bane of my existence…had decided to try and make himself useful. If the world hadn't already ended I would have proclaimed the inevitable apocalypse. For the last few days, he'd been going out with Daryl on hunts and then dragging his younger brother back to their tent to skin and clean, gluing himself to Daryl's side, barely letting him leave his sight. At first I had thought that maybe, just fucking maybe, Merle had finally manned the fuck up and made the decision to pull his own weight, treat his brother like an equal instead of a fucking lackey, and he did treat Daryl like a lackey, even I could see that despite the few weeks I've been here. Stranger things had happened after all.

It wasn't until yesterday, however, when I had been walking around camp collecting laundry for the bi-weekly run, that I had discovered the truth.

I had just been passing Jim's tent, who resides at the edge of camp, making to turn around and walk back towards the RV, when suddenly, Merle was right fucking there, up in my face, my eyes level with his exposed and grungy chest. Startled, because I hadn't even heard him walk up, I had silently sneered at the older man to mask my surprise and made to go around him. He cut me off. I frowned, the hairs on the back of my neck rising, and tried again but he wouldn't move. Fed up, I jerked my head to glare at him, tell him to move and that I didn't have time for his shit, but he didn't even give me the time to breathe before he was inches away from me, stale, liquor tainted breath slamming into my face with all the elegance of a semi-truck.

It was all so sudden I couldn't even react.

"Ya stay the fuck away from my baby brother ya hear?" he had growled in my face without preamble, voice low and deep and barely audible. His words, when they processed, sent a chill up my spine and I had tried to stumble back but he wasn't finished, catching my wrist with an iron crushing grip and tugging me back. A primal fear, one that I learned long ago to control but that still roiled in my stomach like a nest of snakes, awoke in me as I struggled in Merle's grasp. I couldn't let him see it though; it would be like letting a shark smell blood. Lethal. So, instead, I bared my teeth and stepped closer to him instead of away, even as my knees shook in my jeans, even as the blood sang in my veins, even as the fight or flight response in me was screaming to go for the latter. It was all instinct that forced the words off my tongue. Action and reaction. Reflex.

"I don't know what you're talking about Dixon. Now let the fuck go of me." Growling, I had yanked on my wrist again for emphasis. He only tightened his grip.

"Don't you lie to old Merle now," he had said, a cruel and sadistic smile tugging at his lips. Somehow, it had been worse than the scowl he had been previously wearing. "I've seen the two of ya, sneakin 'round like I can't see ya. Off into the woods. Down to the quarry."

He knew. The realization had made my stomach drop out from under me because, out of everyone, Merle was the one person Daryl and I had tried to keep our…partnership from. Caught red handed, I had seen no use in lying. "Someone has to help Daryl out," I had told him, words bitter and acidic. "And it's not like your worthless ass was doing anything but snorting more holes into your brain." The words had been stupid, childishly antagonizing, but I couldn't help them. They were reflexive, like Glenn's perpetual smile and Daryl's perpetual scowl.

But they had enraged Merle all the same. Snarling, he had wrenched me forward until I collided with his chest, fingers digging so hard into my wrist I could feel the bones creaking together. The pain had torn a gasp from my as Merle loomed over me, blocking out the sun as he stooped low to whisper in my face, steal my air.

"Ya best mind yer manners sweet cheeks. Just cuz some cop's sweet on ya, or that ya can wave some steel 'round, don't mean shit to me," he had growled out. There had been a feral look in his blue eyes that were so like Daryl's and yet so different, and sweat beaded on his brow, his upper lip, catching in the stubble on his cheeks. I had tried to hide the fact that my heart was beating out of my chest as I was pressed against him, my skin crawling from the sensation.

"Merle. Let me go," I had repeated, voice surprisingly strong. I had yearned to reach back and yank out my katana but Merle had my right arm in his grasp and my left one was pinned between us. I could have fought my way out of his clutches but that would have caused a scene and I didn't want that. I could deal with Merle Dixon on my own. Or so I had thought. "Now."

The large redneck's glare had been molten and crazed, and I could see the cogs turning in his mind. There had been a split instant where I thought I saw something in his eyes, something evil, murderous, but then his grip had loosened and I thought I had been free. However, before I could jerk away, he snapped me back, a sadistic game of tug of war, and snarled his last words right in my ear, chapped skin grating against my own.

"I spent my whole life tryin to make a man outta him and I ain't gonna let ya fuck that up. I catch you with him again, sugar tits, I'll cut yer throat nice and slow and be outta here 'fore yer lil lap dog cop can do shit 'bout it."

With that final threat ringing in my head, Merle had shoved back, sending me stumbling, and continued on his way, casting me one last glare as he spat on my shoes.

To say I had been shaken…would be an understatement. I had tottered back to the RV on rubber legs, heart in my throat and lungs contracted to the size of raisins. In the back of my mind, I had berated myself for reacting like that. It hadn't been my first death threat, not by a long shot, but…Merle was such a loose fucking cannon that it unnerved me.

At least Before, when I had dealt with shit like this, I had known, had learned very fucking quickly, what to do in order to avoid pissing Mitch off. Granted, there were those nights, his drunken nights, or days when he was just fucking pissed for no reason that I couldn't plan for, couldn't account for, and I had paid the price. But, by the by, Mitch had been predictable, however horrible that sounds.

Merle now…he is too drugged out for me to get his number, too much of an unknown variable for me to even begin to guess his next move. His calling me out about Daryl was testament to that. I hadn't even known Merle knew that Daryl and I had talked. The fact that Merle had somehow seen us, stalked us, like I was something akin to prey, made my skin crawl.

Needless to say, I had been a distracted mess the rest of the day. Merle had plagued me every moment; during laundry duty, during lunch, my lesson with Carl and Sophia. I couldn't get him out of my head and, what was worse, I didn't know what to do.

Merle's threat, I knew, was anything but empty. He wasn't like that. If he said he would kill me…then he would. I could see it in his eyes, in the predatory edge of his expression. I had once thought that men like Merle had come into their heyday the moment the dead began to rise. I never knew how right I had been until now. And there was nothing anyone else could do about it. If Merle made up his mind to kill me, he could sneak into my tent in the middle of the night and slit my throat like he said, perhaps even killing Abby and Lina, my tent mates, on the way out as a way to amuse himself. He'd be gone before dawn broke, towing Daryl along with him through the woods that they were born into, not an ounce of remorse in him.

That's why, on a logical level, I knew I should just do what he said. Just steer clear of him and his brother. I barely knew them, barely knew Daryl, and the hunter had managed before me and he could manage again. He didn't need my help and I shouldn't risk my life over something so inane and stupid.

The problem was…I didn't want to surrender to Merle; my whole being rebelled against the idea. Bowing to his commands just made me seem like some weak little bitch that he could push around and that was not me. Not anymore. And what was more, if Daryl and I wanted to spend time together, if we wanted to be friends-partners what the fuck ever-Daryl was a big fucking boy. He could make his own decisions. But then that thought had aroused the question of…if Merle had said shit to me, had he also spoken to Daryl? And if he had spoken to Daryl, warned him against me…would Daryl listen? Just ignore everything, all the words that have passed between us, all my attempts at rapport and all that shit, and just become Merle fucking Jr?

The thoughts had haunted me all day and, between the thought of Merle killing me and Daryl not caring if he killed me, I could barely see straight.

It had been about an hour before dinner yesterday, just as I was washing up to help cook, when I saw him. He wasn't doing anything, not even moving. He was just standing in my peripherals, a constant, niggling presence. After some minutes of only half listening to Jacqui talk, I had finally cast a sideways glance at him, hiding behind the fringes of my hair. He was half hidden in the overgrowth of the trees, the undergrowth of the forest, but he met my eyes across the distance and I found myself staring, head slightly tilted and brow furrowed.A beat had passed, then two, his eyes latched unto mine, before he cocked his head back, just the tiniest faction, and turned around, disappearing into the woods. Just like that.

Something in me had screamed to just duck my head and turn back to Jacqui, just smile and nod and laugh and cook dinner like I was meant to. But I couldn't, I felt like something was pulling me after him, tugging me into the trees. In my mind I had told myself, it was only to tell him to stay away from me, to break whatever stupid…partnership we had before Merle broke my neck. A small voice in the back of my head had tried to add something else to my reasoning but I shut it out, shut it down, and, before I knew it, I had politely excused myself from the wash bin, smiling as I told Jacqui I needed to grab something from my tent. I had followed him as quickly as I could, just a few minutes behind,wandering around camp for a few minutes before slipping away when no one was looking.

I hadn't made it fifty yards into the woods before I ran headlong into Daryl, rounding a tree and crashing into his chest. A yelp had forced its way out of my throat as I stumbled back, hand automatically twitching up to find the hilt of my katana.

Daryl had cocked a condescending eyebrow at me, not even bothering to reach out and catch me as I tripped over my own feet. "Took ya long 'nough," he had groused, a long stalk of grass bobbing from his lips, half gnawed. Frowning, I had opened my mouth to retort, something witty and biting and reflexive but, before I could, the bobbing strand of grass flickered and, just for an instant, turned into a half smoked cigarette as Daryl's sky blue eyes, with their ring of hazel around the pupil, flashed to the slate, opaque blue, of his brother's.

Merle.

The thought had taken my breath away and confusion mixed with fear burned under my skin. Fuck. "What am I doing here?" I had thought. "What was Daryl doing here?"

A hundred explanations had jumped to the forefront of my mind, each half finished and half cocked. Had Merle already talked to him? Was he here to tell me to fuck off? Wasn't I here for the same? So should I say it first or wait for him? Why was this even a big deal?

As my mind ran its frantic marathon, Daryl had shifted in front of me, boots crunching in the leaves and grabbing my attention. He had taken a few steps away from me when I wasn't paying attention and was pinning me with an almost expectant look that had bewildered me. When I had continued to stare at him, lips pursed and brow furrowed, he had huffed and fidgeted, adjusting the strap of his crossbow.

"Ya comin or what?" he had finally asked, jerking his chin over his shoulder, down towards the quarry.

The question had not computed for a moment, the neurons in my brain misfiring because, out of all the things I had expected him to say, that had not been one of them.

"Wh…what?" My voice had been wavering and high pitched as I stammered, seemingly overly loud in the forest, even above the din of the cicadas. Daryl had stared at me with an inscrutable look, eyes never leaving my face, before spitting his strand of grass to the side.

"Tch. Ya give up already kid? Made this too fuckin easy."

It took me a second, the impulses to jump from neuron to neuron and make the connection, but I finally got it.

"The bet? You're talking about the bet?" I had nearly demanded. It had not made sense. Why was he even mentioning if it, for all intents and purposes, was now null and void?

Daryl had frowned at me and folded in arms across his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. His posture had been hunched and defensive, guarded. "The hell else would I be talkin bout? Ya think I'd drag you out here just to talk?"

I had refrained from pointing out that we were just talking. "No I just…" The words had wrestled around in my throat and I had debated if I should just let sleeping dogs lie. However, the question had been burning a hole through my tongue and I just blurted it out, dying to get them out of me.

"Did Merle talk to you?"

The second I had said the words I was equally glad I had and desperate to take them back. But I couldn't retract them because Daryl had heard and a certain sharp edge suddenly entered into his expression, into his voice when he responded.

"No," he had said, tone as sharp as glass. He was always so defensive of his brother. I couldn't fathom why or what Merle had done to earn such loyalty. "Why?"

For a moment, I had thought that perhaps Daryl had been fucking with me, wanting me to bring up his brother's bastard ultimatum and thereby just embarrass me further. For a moment, I thought that perhaps Daryl was more like his brother than I had realized.

But, as I had looked into his face, into his eyes with uncertainty flickering in their depths, accompanied by the ever-lurking undercurrent of anger hidden in the lines and planes of his face, I had realized…Merle hadn't said anything to him.

He had only talked to me.

The epiphany had rocked me back onto my heels; my mind spun with the implications. I was the only one who knew of Merle's ultimatum. That meant…what ever happened, whether I obeyed or defied Merle…it was to be my choice. Not Daryl's. I knew the consequences. I knew the stakes. I was the one who could, would, be hurt. The ball was in my court.

If I was any kind of smart, I would have just shaken my head in that instant, said something Dixonesque, harsh and curt and acidic, before turning right around and heading back to camp. I would have cut my losses and washed my hands of Daryl, just like I should have done after I thanked him for bringing me to camp, the only thing I've ever owed him, and where our interactions should have stopped. But, thing is, I'm not any kind of smart.I am a fucking idiot, stubborn and prideful, and lacking any type of ability to keep a status quo that I did not like, even if it was to my benefit.

And it was because I am an idiot, foolish and moronic, that I had grinned at Daryl yesterday, making my decision, nailing my coffin shut, before slipping past him, reaching into my backpack that I always kept on me to wave my journal in his face. It was because I am an idiot that I mockingly called back to him, taunting him as I said that I had just the thing to win our little bet. It is because I am so fucking imbecilic…that even when our first twenty-minute meeting yesterday, the scarce time we had before the dinner bell rang, did not end in success on my part, that I met Daryl again. And again. That I agreed to go hunting with him today and sat with him to skin and am still sitting here now, paging through my journal, looking for a piece of writing that will speak to one Daryl Dixon.

I haven't forgotten what Merle said. Not by any stretch of the imagination. In the back of my mind, I still feel the fear; I still acknowledge the fact that I've pitted myself against a Meth addicted, racist, violent bear of a man. Why Merle hates me, why he sees me as such a threat, I still can't understand.

Ok, that's somewhat of a lie. Perhaps, I do understand, to some degree. Merle's words from yesterday circle a drain in my head, over and over again, a broken record.

"I spent my whole life tryin to make a man outta him and I ain't gonna let ya fuck that up…"

I've never thought that I was a genius. I got decent grades in school, my best being in my English classes, but I was never going to be valedictorian. However, there was one thing I always prided myself on and that was reading people. It's not an exact science and I'm not saying I can read people's minds. It's just, over the years, given my past, I've developed the skill to look past people's words and see the ulterior motives underneath. Most of the time anyway. Some people are still difficult to get a number on but Merle Dixon is not one of them. He's arrogant and volatile but there isn't much mystery about him. He is pretty much an open book when it comes to his emotions. And the emotion that is most directed at me, since my second day in camp, in every word, every glance he's cast my way, is hatred. He's hates me, I've come to deduce after some profound contemplation, because, for some reason, he's afraid of me. I knew men like Merle. They were hateful and cruel and sadistic but they were never more so than when they were afraid.

He won't admit it, not even to himself, but Merle fears me. I'm not trying to sound egotistical or cocky, just observant. I've seen it, underneath the anger, lurking beneath the hatred. He fears me because, for the first time in probably his whole life, someone has stepped up to him. Has not taken his shit. Has not backed down. And not only that…but I've also undermined his control.

As I've said, I knew men like Merle. They were hateful and cruel and sadistic but they also loved, needed, to be in control, or at least seem like they are. And given his attitude, the cocky and invincible air about him, I think that, for a long time, Merle has been in control. Maybe not of his life, certainly not of his addictions, but at the very least, of Daryl. His younger brother who, in the last few weeks, I've seen defer to Merle in almost everything.

That is not to say that Daryl is glued to his side and licking at his feet like some kind of fucking dog. The younger man goes off on his own, more often than not honestly, and he's not exactly an attention-seeking whore for Merle. Daryl just tends to stand in the shadows as his brother time and time again seeks the spotlight. I think that's what he's always done, just stood back and let Merle be Merle, make the decisions, call the shots, be the older brother. On occasion, Daryl will step out of his brother's looming shadow, usually to pull Merle back and keep a little order, keep blood from being spilled and stupid decisions from being made. Mostly though, he just does what Merle says. An ingrained reaction, an old habit. And now, here I am, fucking all that up. Or at least in Merle's mind I am. I'm making Daryl do something different, act different, different from what Merle has come to expect, different from what Merle has come to want or demand.

In all honesty though, I'm not making Daryl do shit. He's making his own decisions. Like I said, he's a big fucking boy. But Merle doesn't see it like that. Merle sees it that I'm the one 'changing' is brother, 'taking' Daryl away from him. That I'm the problem. His words to me yesterday are testament to that.

That's why he wants, needs, to be rid of me, one way or another, either by a voluntary bowing out or a forced take down. Makes no difference to him and yet it makes all the difference to me. Because I can either give Daryl up or have him taken away from me. Which sounds stupid, that I'm so distraught over this, so conflicted, because I've just met Daryl, just a few weeks ago.

But…

Lifting my eyes from the forest floor that I've been staring past for the past God knows how long, I take in Daryl's profile, the concentrated clench of his jaw, the flex of the lean muscles in his arms as he focuses on the task he has at hand. I think about how I came to be here, sitting near him, relaxing after yet another hunt. I think about the man I met in the woods, all those weeks ago, and what he and I have said to one another since then, what we have done and accomplished together.

I've known Daryl for less than a month but the thing is…as stupid as it sounds, as idiotic as it may be, I consider him just as much of a friend as Amy of Glenn. He's a different type of friend to say the least. I don't talk about asinine day-to-day happenings with him like I do with Amy or Glenn. Hell, we barely talk at all and if we do, I usually instigate it and Daryl responds with his usual one to two line replies.

But we work together, in a way, even if I don't provide much help until the animals are already dead. Quite well I might add too. And now…now we have this journal thing. Technically, it's just a bet, something shallow and done to save face on both our sides, but…it is something only we have and, to be honest again, it makes me a little happy, to just sit here, after a long days work, and read poetry to Daryl. Sounds stupid, well then again I am stupid, but it's relaxing, even if Daryl shoots down everything I read with biting comments and derisive snorts. It's…nice. Just really nice.

"Getting a bit sentimental there aren't ya?" a part of my mind taunts and I shake my head with a self-depreciating snort. Ugh. I'm getting way too philosophical here. What is a friend? To be or not to be? Christ. Whatever happened to just a good old afternoon read?

Oh yeah. The dead started to up and walk.

Trying to shake off the oppressive and contemplative mood I've placed on myself, I turn my attention back to the journal in my lap. A dull throbbing had started up behind my eyes a few minutes ago but I do my best to ignore it. In fact, I do my best to ignore everything else but the feel of paper and ink between my fingertips. I shove the thoughts of Merle away, my impending sentence when, because it's not a question of if but when, he finds out I've disobeyed him. I let the thoughts of Amy, who is still upset at me by the way, fade from my mind. Carl and our lessons. Shane and his more recent critical eye. I forget it all. It isn't that hard. I've had years of practice of detachment.

Because all I am right now is a girl trying to win a fucking bet. A girl that is going to win a fucking bet. I still haven't decided what my winnings will be but I'll make sure it's something real good.

Suddenly, I'm just about to turn the current page I'm on when a piece catches my eye. It's small, scrawled in the corner, haphazard and crooked, and, by the atrociousness of the handwriting, I can tell I wrote this when I was much younger. But the poem itself makes me smile, grin stretched from ear to ear, and I just have to read this one to Daryl. This poem was made for him.

"Hey Daryl," I call out, biting my lip to hide my amusement. The hunter lifts his head and meets my gaze, his eyes narrowed, as I'm sure he sees the smirk I'm trying to fight.

"I got another one," I continue, waving my journal at him. "Ready to lose?"

Daryl scoffs and drops his head again, hands picking up what I realize is a makeshift, almost finish, arrow. That he just made. Fuck. How long had I been lost in my own head?

"Tch. Ya've said that the last 6 times kid. Ain't lost yet. 'm not gonna lose neither."

I make a face at his retort and wave a hand at him dismissively, ignoring the fact that he's kept count. "Yeah yeah. Anyway. Are you ready for this? It's pretty epic. One of my favorites." The effort that I'm taking to keep from bursting out laughing is astounding at this point. Daryl doesn't even spare me a glance as he continues to whittle the wooden shaft in his hands.

"That don't mean shit. But if it gets ya to shut up again, get on with it," he grunts.

Sticking my tongue out at the churlish man, I open the journal and balance it on my knees, absentmindedly tucking strands of hair away from my face so I can see. I clear my throat dramatically, lips already twitching, and begin.

"I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.

Some come from ahead and some come from behind.

But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see.

Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!" (1)

The silence that follows is deafening. It seems even the cicadas had stopped to listen. A moment passes and then another but I keep my eyes down cast because I know that if I look up I will…

"What the fuck was that?"

…lose it.

Unable to contain it any longer, I bust out laughing at Daryl's affronted tone. Within seconds, I'm bent over at the waist with my head against my shins, which is vastly uncomfortable given I'm sitting cross legged on the ground. The discomfort barely registers, however, as I continue to laugh hysterically, sides already aching. It takes a few minutes, but I eventually calm down enough to lift my head and face Daryl, ready to explain myself.

Only to lose it again as I catch sight of his irritated scowl and glaring eyes that, together, gave the affect of a child pouting.

"Oh…my god," I gasp out in between giggles. "I wish…you could see your face right now." I'm finding it hilarious, though, it might just be a touch of heat stroke.

Daryl doesn't find this whole situation as amusing as I do. "The hell ya just read?" he demands over the sounds of my hysteria. "Fuckin Dr. Seuss?"

The fact that he even knows who Dr. Seuss is, Daryl, Mr. Rough and Tumble fucking crossbow, Dixon, makes me laugh even harder, flinging me back to roll in the grass until I am sure my ribs are about to just snap.

I might not have won our little bet with good old Dr. Seuss, but fuck if it didn't make for a good goddamn laugh. Besides, I always have tomorrow to win.

Contrary to popular belief, Merle Dixon wasn't stupid. People thought he was, took one look at him and labeled him redneck, inbred trash. Coupled with the drugs he took, most just wrote him off as a dimwitted fucking idiot.

But he wasn't. Sure, he was easily angered, sure he was violent cuz he didn't give a fuck about nobody else but Merle. But stupid...naw that ain't him.

That's why he knew that fuckin cooze wasn't gonna listen to him. He knew by the way she sneered at him, like he was the shit on the bottom of her shoe, that she would ignore his warnin and just do what the fuck she wanted cuz she was just 'nother entitled, city, bitch.

It didn't surprise Merle that she had disregarded him. However, it did surprise him that she had done it so quickly. Now the bitch really was stupid.

Taking one last drag of his cigarette, Merle flicks the useless butt off into the trees, not givin a shit if the cherry caught fire or not. His eyes are locked on the sight in front of him, a clearing about twenty yards ahead. His lip is curled in disgust. Little miss sugar tits is there, lounging on the ground, readin from some book like it's a Sunday fuckin stroll. Merle scowls as he looks at her, eye traveling down the length of her profile. She's way too uppity and mouthy and Merle wants nothin than to shut her the fuck up but…she is a hot piece of ass he has to admit. Nice slim body, firm ass and perky tits. A pretty face too but Merle can think of a lot a better uses for that mouth of hers. Heh. His baby brother has good taste.

Speakin of Daryl, Merle tears his eyes off the girl on the ground and looks over at his kin. Daryl's hunched over on a stump not too far away, whittlin away at a piece of wood. Merle's seen him do this before, always needin something in his hands to keep him busy, whether it be skinnin some kill or cleanin that bow of his that he treats better than any women he's ever slept with. But he's different. Merle's been noticin it recently, can see it even now. The Daryl Merle knew, his lil brother, wouldn't be down here, talkin to this fuckin cunt. Merle's all for lettin loose some steam, bumpin some uglies, a good old relaxin fuck. Hell, if Merle could find a nice whore right now, he'd be off in the woods too.

But Daryl isn't fuckin the bitch. He isn't even tryin. He's just sittin there, listenin to her babble, just like he did few days ago, when she took out that book and read to him, like he was a fuckin baby. Merle doesn't understand it and it pisses him the fuck off. The cooze was doin somethin to his baby brother and he wasn't standin for it.

Suddenly, a braying laugh echoes out of the clearing and Merle zeros back in to see the bitch bent over, laughin her ass off. His eyes narrow as he hears her say somethin, the exact words mumbled by the distance. Her amusement sets off his anger, and he gnashes his teeth but the sight of Daryl makes it even worse.

The younger Dixon is watchin the kid in front of him laugh, just like Merle is. But, unlike his older brother, he doesn't look pissed or irritated. In fact, as she falls back to roll in the grass, like a goddamn dog, Merle sees Daryl smirk, a softer expression than the older man had ever seen on his face, and reaches out to jab at the bitch with the blunt edge of his shoddy arrow.

She squeals like a stuck pig, shuffling around in the dirt, and Merle can hear her expletives now as she struggles to sit up but it's Daryl laughin, honest to fuckin God laughin, that does it for Merle. He's had enough. Sparin one last glance at the pair in the clearin, Merle spits to the side in disgust and turns to head back to camp.

Merle Dixon wasn't fuckin stupid. And the cooze would learn this, one way or another. He'd would make sure of it.

(1) Dr. Seuss poem

And there it is. Not particularly proud of this chap :/ But i wanted a bit more Daryl and Audrey interaction before we get into the season canon.

Also, the ending bit with Merle was different, an in-chapter change of POV but i thought it meshed...adequately :/

Please remember to review! :D And please remember to read my friend's story "Cold Hearted". It is really good :)

!READ THIS NOTE: All who review get to make one, reasonable, suggestion for the next chapter :D I'm using this as incentive for reviews because I'm a review junkie that has no restraint x) Until next time!

~Shadows