AN: Here we are, another chapter here. If you missed the chapter that I posted yesterday, please make sure that you go back and read it!

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Daryl looked up when he heard the sound of Merle's feet, shuffling with heavy steps, on the concrete floor of the shop behind their house.

"You couldn't sneak up on nobody for shit these days," Daryl offered. "I remember when you used to be the quietest thing on two fuckin' legs in the whole state of Georgia."

"Merle laughed to himself.

"It ever occured to you, brother, that maybe I weren't tryin' to sneak up on you?" Merle asked. He put one of the red Tupperware plates in front of Daryl. On it was a sandwich and some potato chips. He put a beer bottle down beside it, and produced another for himself from under his arm.

"Hey—don't put that on here," Daryl said. "Ain't treated it yet. Don't want any rings."

"You're welcome," Merle said with a laugh as Daryl moved the plate and beer from their spot on the lid of the wooden box he was working on. Merle sat down in the somewhat broken chair nearby. It had been a by-the-side-of-the-road find, and it was perfect for rolling around the shop without worrying about ruining something they'd paid good money for in a store or something.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "I just—don't want it to get messed up, you know? Didn't mean to snap."

Merle laughed to himself and lit a cigarette that he pulled from the pocket of the bathrobe he was wearing as a housecoat—a terrible green tartan bathrobe that he'd bought on sale one year. He looked homeless when he shuffled around wearing it, but he claimed it was comfortable and he didn't give a shit what anyone thought about what he wore when he was in the comfort of his own fucking home.

"Don't think you ate last night, brother," Merle mused. "Figured—if you was gonna eat tonight, I was gonna have to bring it to you. Bologna. Ain't gourmet like your lil' honey bee makes you, but it's got ketchup an' shit like you like."

"Good," Daryl said around a bite that had allowed him to take more than a fourth of the sandwich into his mouth. It wasn't until he was chewing it that he realized how incredibly hungry he actually was. He almost wished that Merle had made him two sandwiches, but he knew that his brother would give him hell if he asked him to go and make him another.

"You know, brother, when I think about my baby brother spendin' two damn nights playin' with his wood in the shop—I don't know if I wouldn't rather think he had other shit goin' on."

Merle laughed at his own joke and Daryl rolled his eyes at him. He accepted, though, that such jokes had to be made around their household. Otherwise, Merle might actually shrivel up and die.

"I don't play with my wood, Merle," Daryl said

"'Cause you got you a lil' woman that does that for you, now," Merle mused. Daryl hummed and nodded. Merle looked pleased to know that someone was taking care of Daryl's sexual needs and being attentive to his wood. "This for her? This thing that's—kept your ass busy for two evenings?"

"It's for her," Daryl confirmed.

"The hell is it? A box?"

"A trunk," Daryl said. The original vision that he'd had for the project was to simply build Carol a wooden box that she could shove in a corner or closet somewhere. He'd felt like he didn't want to offer her something pathetic and subpar like that, though, so he'd decided to make something more. And the more he worked on it, the more he wanted it to be something special. "Like a hope chest."

"A hope chest, huh? Ain't that shit like—for marriage? For holdin' like sheets an' shit?"

"Somethin' like that," Daryl offered.

"Marriage, Daryl?"

Daryl shrugged and shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth. He sucked the ketchup off his fingers, tasting wood even through the tomato flavor. He probably should have washed his hands, but it was too late, now, for such concerns. He wiped his fingers clean on one of the rags he had nearby and shoveled the chips into his mouth.

Around the food, he addressed Merle's concerned expression.

"If she wanted, I mean…" Daryl said.

"You that damn serious?" Merle asked. "You don't gotta marry her ass just 'cause she's slobbin' your knob. You know that, don't'cha, boy?"

Daryl finished the chips, wiped his hands again, and washed down the mouthful of food with at least a fourth of the beer before he returned to working at the careful carving he was making on the box.

"It ain't about that," Daryl said.

"She is willin' to give head, ain't she?"

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but she does everything I could want. You ain't gotta worry about it if it's keepin' your ass from sleepin' at night. Fuck knows you need your beauty sleep."

Merle snorted.

"You think I'm harpin' on shit that don't matter," Merle said. "But it's a serious damn thing to even think about some shit like marriage—a whole damn life with someone, brother—if she's just gonna throw your ass into a lifelong draught the minute you put a ring on it. You gotta check that shit out at the beginning. If she's a prude—won't let you have what'cha want? You don't wanna be saddled with that forever."

"Andrea give you everything you want?" Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself. The shit eating grin he wore while he sipped at his beer made Daryl curl his lip at his brother before he returned to his work.

"Andrea gives out shit I wouldn't have even guessed was on offer, brother. But I still ain't out here carvin' up some kinda damn bride price for her."

"Maybe that's 'cause you're a chickenshit, Merle," Daryl mused.

"You really are serious?"

"The trunk ain't so she'll marry me," Daryl said with a sigh. "It's—'cause I wanna give it to her. Can I do that, Merle? Or I gotta have your expressed fuckin' permission to give her a present?"

"You can give her any damn thing you want, brother. It don't make no never-mind to me. I'm just—surprised. Hell—I ain't even yankin' your ass around. Not now that I see you're serious."

Daryl stopped working for a second and looked at Merle.

"I never felt like this before," he said sincerely. "Not about nobody."

"Not even that last girl you was gonna marry?"

"I didn't feel no kinda way about her. Not about—anybody. Not really. Not before. I know that shit now. I was hopin' they could be what I wanted 'em to be. I was hopin' they could fill in a role for me. Hold a spot. But I didn't feel it, Merle. I feel it now."

"The hell's it feel like?" Merle asked.

Daryl's stomach twisted. He might have told Merle to go to hell, but he could tell that his brother was being sincere. Merle said he wasn't yanking him around, and he wasn't.

Daryl helped himself to a cigarette while he considered his answer. He ran a fingertip along the already carved lines of his artwork, cleaning out some of the wood shavings left behind by his carving tool.

"Like—love, Merle," Daryl said.

"But what the hell does that feel like, brother? It's just some word. Some shit people throw around. People get in heavy fuckin' lust and can't tell the difference until their dick just don't want that piece no more."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"It's when a piece ain't a piece no more," Daryl said. "When that don't matter. When it's about the whole fuckin' picture and you're just as fuckin' over the damn moon to see the way her nose crinkles up when she laughs—and to know you made her ass laugh like that—than you are to think you about to get to fuck her."

Merle's face had lost any and all sign of bullshit. Merle had a sincere look. A calm look, really. It was a look that he rarely wore, but Daryl had always known that Merle was being as real as he could in the moments when everything else sort of fell away and there was nothing left but the relaxed expression of truth and transparency.

"You're really serious," Merle said.

"More'n I've ever been," Daryl said. "Hell—I'm just…sittin' out here workin' on this and every single second I'm thinkin' how much she's gonna love it. What her face is gonna look like when I show it to her. In the next damn second, I'm scared to death she ain't gonna like it and she's gonna think it looks like a child made it. Like she's—gonna kick me out the damn house and tell me never to come back for bringin' her some sub-standard shit like this. And if she did that…"

Daryl turned back to the box. He half-heartedly worked at the petal he was carving, following his carefully sketched lines so that he could bring the picture to life—sure that it would never look like his mind's eye wanted it to look.

"If she done that, what, Daryl?" Merle asked.

"I don't know, Merle," Daryl said with a sigh.

"But you know she ain't gonna do that," Merle said. "It's a good lookin' box, Daryl."

"It's a trunk."

"Whatever. You gonna put a diamond in the big ass box, Daryl?"

Daryl laughed to himself. His insides practically shook. It was nerve-wracking. The way that he felt was overwhelming. It was terrifying and exhilarating. It was exhausting and thrilling, all at the same time. He checked his phone every few minutes just to make sure that he hadn't accidentally missed something—some text or call. He'd even googled a video to figure out how to replace his favorite beach scene, which he'd set as his background when he got the phone, with a picture that he'd taken of Carol smiling at him over breakfast at her table.

"If I knew she'd take it, Merle? That she wanted it?"

"You really sunk, brother," Merle mused.

"No," Daryl said. "Opposite. I don't feel sunk at all. Feel as fuckin' high as I've ever felt in my whole damn life, Merle. Like I could run the whole circumference of Living Springs six times without givin' out of energy. Wakin' up in bed with her this morning, all I could think was…what if I did this every damn day of my life from now until…forever?"

"Kinda quick…" Merle mused. "Soon?"

Daryl sighed.

"Seems like a waste of damn time, don't it? Know you wanna—start forever, but you gotta wait to do it. Like it's gonna make more sense if you start it a year from now than it would if you just started it tomorrow."

"Hell, if you feel that way about it, why don't'cha start it tomorrow? Tell her ass."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Like you said, too damn quick. Prob'ly scare her ass away, runnin' up on her that fast."

"Well…" Merle mused, drawing the word out for an unnaturally long period of time as he searched for something to say. "You just—give her that box, Daryl. Take it from there. Besides—if you serious about this shit…"

"I am," Daryl interrupted.

"I was sayin' that if you serious about this shit, then…it don't mean you don't start forever tomorrow just 'cause you don't tell her about it."

Daryl put down the tool, again, and picked up his beer. He lit another cigarette for himself.

"I gotta admit," he said, "I expected to catch a lot more hell from you. At least—I expected some hour-long speech about pussy and how you don't want to get saddled to the same piece 'cause it won't be no damn good if you've already had it, or how there's some expiration date on pussy or some shit like that."

Merle stared at him. The real Merle. The Merle that was under all the bullshit and the bravado. He pursed his lips in thought and nodded his head slowly. He helped himself to another cigarette from the pocket of his bathrobe.

"That what the hell I really sound like to you, brother?" Merle asked.

Daryl's stomach tightened at the sound in Merle's voice.

"Sometimes," Daryl admitted.

Merle nodded in response.

"I weren't gonna say—nothin' about it," Merle offered. He laughed quietly to himself. "I mean—pussy's important, and don't you go expectin' me to change my mind about that, Daryl. But—maybe there's somethin' to be said about findin' one that fits you right."

"You found one that…you're thinkin' fits you right, Merle?" Daryl asked.

Merle simply frowned at Daryl and leaned forward in his chair.

"You're puttin' a lotta damn work into that trunk, Daryl. Your lil' woman's gonna like it. But—uh—when the hell I get to actually meet the woman that's…that's put such a damn spell on my baby brother?"

"Don't you say nothin' to scare her ass off, Merle," Daryl warned.

"That ain't fair, brother," Merle offered. "I already know your ass is talkin' to Andrea whenever you damn well please."

"Then you know I ain't said shit to her that would make her turn tail and run," Daryl said.

"I wouldn't fuck with your lil' sweet thang," Merle said. "I'm offended you would think that of me."

"Actually—I'm kinda glad you asked, Merle. Andrea talked to you about a party?"

"A party?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Tomorrow night, Merle. You gonna meet Carol. And you gonna get dressed up. Andrea's gonna get dressed up. And we're gonna meet all their friends."

"Like some kinda double date or something?" Merle asked.

"Just like that," Daryl said. "Except—we're goin' to a party for the date."

"I don't like parties," Merle said. "I don't know what the hell to do at 'em."

"You talk to people. Like a normal person, Merle. Eat. Drink. Try to convince Andrea to let you come home with her." Merle smiled to himself. "Can you do that, Merle?" Daryl asked in response to the expression.

"Might not be too bad," Merle mused. He stood up. "I'll go to your party, Daryl. Meet your lil' woman." On his way out the door, he tossed a few more comments over his shoulder. "Trunk's lookin' good, Daryl. And I'm lookin' forward to gettin' to know the woman that's done gone and got hooks in my brother."

Daryl laughed to himself. He turned back to his carving, determined to at least get a little bit more work done before he called it a night.

"Me too, brother," he mumbled to himself since Merle had shuffled out the shop door and was headed back to the house. "Even if your ass is determined to pretend you can ignore your own damn hooks."