AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Merle slammed down the metal thermos about ten times harder than he had any right to do. It clanged loudly, shook the whole table, and startled Daryl.
"Fuckin' asshole," Daryl declared as his brother and Axel both sat down, laughing.
"Don't be that way, lil' brother," Merle said with a laugh. "I was just checkin' your ticker for you. Good damn news, Daryl. It's still workin'."
Both men started to unwrap the food that they'd brought from whatever locations they'd visited on their way back to the business "headquarters" to rest and eat lunch in peace. It was almost always worth it to make the trip back there to eat at the table under the little shed because, if they ate on the job, or nearly anywhere else in public, it seemed that they were always getting bombarded with requests and questions that kept a meal from being truly enjoyed or digested well.
Daryl had finished his job a little early and, since it was almost lunch time, Tyreese had told him to go ahead and count the extra fifteen minutes toward his job and just enjoy his lunch. Daryl had used the fifteen minutes to pick up food and to drop into the dollar store to make a quick couple of purchases. He'd hurried back to work to settle in at the table and take advantage of his quiet time as much as possible.
Seeing that two noisiest sons of bitches in the state of Georgia had settled in to join him, he slipped his pen into the notebook, closed it, and shoved the dollar store receipt into the book to mark his page before he finally unwrapped his own lunch. Daryl checked under the bun of his cheeseburger, as he often did, and was satisfied that it was prepared just the way that he'd ordered it—extra pickles and everything.
"The fuck you doin', brother?" Merle asked.
"Lookin' to see if they put the ketchup on this shit," Daryl said. "Last week, they was rushin' everybody around and I damn near didn't get even a patty on the bun."
He bit into the burger and chewed through it with some satisfaction. He had two burgers to get through, but he'd skipped the fries so he figured that evened things out in the end.
"I weren't talkin' about your damn food, brother," Merle said, clearly having chosen barbecue, yet again, for his lunch, even though he was a man who would loudly crow—to anyone who would listen to his performances— about not settling down because he couldn't stand to be tied to the same thing for a long time and needed variety. "The fuck is all that shit?"
"Looks like you doin' homework," Axel mused from his spot at the table. "You got homework, Daryl?"
"So what if I do?" Daryl asked. "Some of us like to expand our minds instead of lettin' 'em shrink down like raisins until they're liable to just—fall right the fuck outta your ear and roll away one night."
Merle snorted at the thought of Axel's raisin brain escaping him, but he wasn't distracted for long.
"What the hell you doin' for real?" Merle asked.
Daryl shrugged.
"Homework, Merle," Daryl said.
"You didn't do homework when your ass was in school," Merle said. "That's why the hell you damn near didn't graduate."
"And you were the valedictorian?" Daryl asked.
Merle laughed to himself.
"I graduated, didn't I? Besides—it weren't not doin' my homework that damn near got me kicked outta school. Hell—I could do all my homework 'fore I left the damn buildin'. No—it was never bein' there that damn near got my ass in trouble. What the hell'd they call it? Truant?"
"Damn delinquent is what your sorry ass was," Daryl said.
Merle was pleased with the memory of himself as a chain smoking and truant teenager, but it didn't last long. For someone who could conveniently forget every chore that Daryl asked him to do around the house, Merle had a memory like an elephant when it suited him.
"Since I know your ass ain't doin' homework, what the hell you doin'?"
"Readin', Merle," Daryl said. "I'm readin'. You know. With a book. Lookin' at the words on the page. Lettin' 'em make pictures in my head. Literate people can do that shit."
"Smart ass," Merle said with a laugh. "I read all the damn time."
"Skin magazines don't count as readin'," Axel said around a mouthful of food. "I don't think."
"It does if you read the articles an' don't just look at the tits. Besides—I read the Reader's Digest. I like the Farmer's Almanac, too. I read some of them—them crime novels. The ones like who done it books. I can't stand that shit, though, if it's too damn predictable."
"They twice as predictable if you do what you do and read the last chapter first, Merle," Daryl pointed out. Merle laughed to himself.
"If I don't know who the hell done it, how am I gonna know if I'm guessin' right and it's too damn predictable? If I don't look, I could read all the damn way to the end and realize I wasted my time 'cause I figured out the killer like two chapters in."
"You readin' some kinda mystery?" Axel asked. "Takin' notes so you can solve it or something?"
"It ain't a mystery," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "Hell—I might be usin' that shit to solve some kinda mystery, though."
"What is it?" Axel asked.
"Western," Daryl said.
"With tits all over it," Merle said, leaning to get a good look at the cover of the book. "And some kinda ridiculous lookin' cowboy. Daryl—what the hell you readin'?" Daryl wished he'd flipped the book over to be cover-down, but he figured there was no sense in running from the inevitable for too long.
"It's a romantic book," Daryl admitted.
"Damn, boy," Merle mused. "If you that hard up, we can find you some pussy somewhere. Your ass don't gotta just read about it."
"Believe it or not," Daryl said, "there's more things in life than pussy, Merle."
"The hell you say," Merle mused. "I don't believe it. At the end of the day, it all comes down to pussy. The whole damn world. Wouldn't be no world if it weren't for pussies, so it stands to reason they're like the—like the—well, hell…I guess pussy's like the real fuckin' meanin' of life, brother."
Daryl rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"He isn't wrong," Axel offered.
"The hell would you know about it, Axel?" Daryl asked with a laugh. "When's the last time you even saw one?"
"I wouldn't go barkin' at Axel just 'cause you saw one the other week," Merle said. "You ain't seen one in years, and she ain't let you near it again, so you don't know how long that taste's gotta hold you."
"It ain't all about pussy, Merle," Daryl reiterated. "It's about—conversation. Romancin'. Interaction. Breakfast, even."
"And if you lucky," Merle said, "breakfast comes after pussy. And if you real lucky, then I reckon it comes before pussy, too."
Daryl laughed to himself.
His brother was a tried and true pig, just as surely as was the animal that had provided him with lunch. However, Daryl knew Merle well enough to know that a great deal of Merle's words were just that—words. He liked to run his mouth. He liked the shock that his words got from people. Merle may believe some nugget of what he said, but most of Merle's words were just a performance, of sorts.
"Your ass talks a big talk," Daryl said, "for someone who's damn near run every piece of pussy that he ever got outta the house before the sun come up."
Merle laughed to himself. He shrugged his shoulders.
"You run it off or it'll run itself off," he mused, this time being a little more sincere and a little less seeped in false bravado.
"Maybe," Daryl ceded in agreement, opening his second burger and checking the condiments. "Maybe not. Guess that depends on the woman attached to the pussy. That's when it's better to have a greater vision of the whole damn picture and the whole damn woman, right?"
Merle smiled to himself. He laughed, quietly, and returned to eating his barbecue sandwich that had been somewhat neglected.
"What are you writin' while you're reading your book?" Axel asked. "I never write things down while I'm reading."
"Takin' notes," Daryl said, accepting that it was just easier to answer questions than to try to dodge them.
"Notes about what?" Merle asked, snorting quietly.
Daryl raised his eyebrows at his brother.
"For those of us who are interested in more than pussy—like the whole damn package? This shit is a motherfuckin' goldmine of information."
"What you mean?" Axel asked.
Daryl shrugged his shoulders.
"You wantin' to know about—what the hell do women really want or what do they like? It's all right here. It ain't no grand ass mystery like every asshole would have you believe. We've got like—thousands—of these books just takin' up racks in every store your ass walks into and nobody's payin' 'em no attention, but it's all here."
"What's in there?" Axel asked. "Like—what you mean?"
"Kinds of compliments and stuff," Daryl said. "The stuff that he says to her that doesn't ever piss her off—gets…gets this author talkin' about her feelin' like it's hard to breathe and she's gettin' dizzy and shit. You can see right there what's the best kinds of things to say. And I'ma give you a hint, Merle. I haven't seen this asshole say one damn thing about this woman's pussy and I've been reading this every chance I've had since this morning. I'm already in chapter three."
"If you're in chapter three," Merle mused, "and that asshole ain't got no pussy yet, then it means it ain't a very good educational type book, brother. Seems to me that you been doin' alright not gettin' pussy on your own—without all the studying."
Daryl rolled his eyes at Merle.
"Where's all this pussy you're rollin' in?" Daryl asked. He didn't miss his brother's slightly fallen expression. Daryl could see through all of Merle's bullshit the same as he could see through a clean glass window. It was all for show, but Daryl wasn't in the mood for performances—and he wasn't in the mood for competing with them.
The one comment, though, from Daryl was enough to make Merle sulk—and Daryl knew why.
"A man that can have his choice of pussy don't gotta settle for the first piece that lands at his feet," Merle mumbled, his mouth half full of barbecue that he appeared to have lost his taste for eating.
Daryl sighed.
"Just call her ass, Merle," Daryl said. "You been mopin' around the damn house for days like a dog that's been kicked. Starin' out the door and shit like you expect her to come walkin' up the damn driveway to ask you to let her back in. Just fuckin' call her."
"Call who?" Axel asked.
"The woman that he picked up on Friday," Daryl said.
"Farrah Fawcett," Merle said.
"You slept with Farrah Fawcett for real, Merle?" Axel asked.
"You know, Axel," Daryl mused, "some damn times, you're about as dense as packed mud. Merle didn't fuck Farrah Fawcett. Hell—I didn't see her, but I'm willing to bet the only thing she had in common with the woman is that she was blonde."
Merle frowned at him.
"She was better lookin' than Farrah Fawcett," Merle informed his big piggy sandwich.
"That just about knocked me off my chair, Merle," Daryl said. "I've known you my whole life and there's never been a woman that could even come close to your precious Farrah. Now you come here sayin' she was better?"
Merle shrugged his shoulders and frowned at the remains of his food.
"Better tits an' ass," he said, somewhat mournfully. "Voluptuous—that's the right word for it."
"You learn that in one of your crosswords?" Daryl asked. Daryl hummed at him, but it was clear that Merle wasn't currently in a joking mood. "If she's that fuckin' voluptuous, why the hell won't you fuckin' call her? I just about can't stand you with the way you been mopin' around and twistin' up that little scrap with her phone number."
Daryl already knew, deep down in his gut, the answer to his own question. His big brother was scared. He was terrified because the blonde, in some way, was better than Farrah Fawcett. More than likely, she was better than the actress because she was real—tangible. And, for one night, Merle had known her. Merle—for all his bravado and his skill at being an asshole—had never handled criticism or rejection well. Not after how their father had treated him. He was extremely sensitive to those two things and, for that reason, though he'd never admit it, he'd created the persona, for himself, of being a completely calloused asshole.
Merle was afraid, and the only way to keep himself from getting hurt, was to keep his distance.
Daryl was starting to realize that there was a whole damn lot of that in the world.
Life was short, though, and the clock was ticking for all of them. It had been ticking for Merle ten years longer than it had for Daryl.
Merle was eyeing him with warning. Axel was watching the whole thing with a great deal of interest. Axel would jump in and heckle someone just to go along with someone else—he was particularly good at following Merle's lead—and to fit in, but he wouldn't just engage in that behavior alone. Merle's feelings were safe for now—and he didn't know that Daryl had already copied down the number, while Merle was sleeping, from the little scrap of paper that he'd been carrying around like a security blanket. Daryl was certain, without a doubt, that it was tucked safely, at that very moment, into Merle's wallet.
"Forget it," Daryl said. "I don't want to talk to you no more. You do what the hell you wanna do. Or don't. Go lookin' for more pussy if it tickles your fancy. Hell—you still got twenty-five minutes for lunch. You could prob'ly run get you a piece right now."
The change in subject clearly relieved Merle, and he perked back up a bit more.
"Ain't in the mood for no pussy right now," he said as a way of dismissing the comment, and also avoiding the truth about the fact that he was too busy pining over one woman, in particular, to want to think about any other. "But I could go for a Buddy Bar. You wanna get a soft serve, brother?"
"Wanna read my damn book is what I wanna do," Daryl said. "But you two won't get outta here and shut up so I can concentrate."
Merle laughed to himself. He reached over and clapped Daryl roughly on the shoulder—a sign of pure affection from his older brother—and rocked Daryl's whole body.
"Alright, boy," Merle said. "You got it. You read your little book." He pushed up from the table and cleared his trash, grabbing Daryl's as he went. "Come on, Axel. I'll spot your ass a Buddy Bar, too."
Axel quickly scrambled out of his seat and followed Merle. Merle threw the trash away in the large trash can, with Axel on his heels, and stopped a moment before heading toward the truck that they'd take to the Dairy-O. Axel went on ahead, leaving the brothers alone for a moment.
"I hope you find what you lookin' for in that book, brother," Merle said. "Get—whatever it is you wanna get out of it. Mean it."
Daryl smiled to himself and nodded his head in the direction of his brother.
"Thanks," Daryl said. "I do, too. And—I hope…you let yourself have what the hell you want, brother. I mean that, too."
Merle hummed at him, but he didn't say anything else. Instead, he simply nodded his head and turned, walking quickly toward the truck where Axel was waiting, lighting a cigarette as he went.
Daryl lit a cigarette for himself, opened his notebook, and then opened the book to find the spot where he'd wedged the receipt.
The book wasn't bad, and he'd have plenty to talk about with Carol later—though he was sure he'd find to sneak in another text message or two that evening.
