AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"Order whatever you want, Sugar," Merle said, looking at the menu like neither he nor Andrea had practically memorized the food on offer.
They were leaving in the morning for a mountain getaway that would span a long weekend for the both of them. The little place they'd be staying—a small cabin that was part of a collection of small cabins in a campground kind of set-up—had been rented. The agenda had been set by Andrea. She thought that Merle was under the impression that this was just some kind of fall getaway to suit her, with absolutely no romantic agenda—the revelation of an obsession she had with apples, pumpkins, and changing leaves in the mountains. Merle knew it was a bit more than that.
The cabins were private and, based on the pictures she'd shown him on her phone, they looked cozy and comfortable –it was certainly not a rustic camping trip. It had been Merle that had mentioned to Andrea that he'd like to do some of the silly little fall activities that everyone seemed so crazy about doing simply for the experience of it all. His memory wasn't so bad that he couldn't recall that she hadn't mentioned a single bit of interest in the getaway until he'd said that.
Still, if he didn't point it out, they didn't have to talk about it in depth. There was no need to analyze it. It could simply be a nice trip that they took. Andrea wasn't going to force any kind of conversation about it, that much was clear. And, really, Merle would rather enjoy the trip than talk about it.
Besides—Andrea thought Merle didn't know about the true nature of their little trip, but Merle knew that Andrea didn't know about the two-carat diamond that he'd packed down in the bottom of his toiletry bag.
Tonight, though, was just a normal Thursday night.
They'd decided they were hungry and Merle had a craving for the loaded potato skins that were better at Salty's, honestly, than they were anywhere else. Andrea had agreed to eat with him there, never really minding when he made choices about what they'd do or where they'd go.
Neither wanted any kind of hangover the following morning, since they intended to leave bright and early, so they were both sipping on water while Andrea struggled to make a decision.
"You can get more'n one thing, Andrea," Merle offered after the second time he'd waved away their waiter. She looked like she might gnaw a hole in her lip just trying to make a decision over finger foods. She looked at him with a somewhat desperate expression on her face. Merle couldn't help but smile to himself. She looked adorable, to him, when she made a face like that. "I mean it," he said. "Get two. Hell, get three. We'll box up the leftovers and have somethin' to snack on while we drivin' tomorrow."
"I kind of want potato skins, too," Andrea said. "You want to split something with me, Merle? We'll split the potatoes and something else?"
"I know I can eat all six of them skins, and I know you can, too," Merle said. "Hell—if that's what you want, we each get an order. And somethin' else, besides, if you want it."
After a moment more of painful contemplation of the menu, Andrea made her choices. Merle waved the waiter back over and put in the order for two orders of potato skins and, on the side, one order of the chicken fingers that they could split to round out the meal they were creating.
Merle had just put the menus away, shoving them behind the condiment stand on the table, when they both became aware that they were no longer alone.
Merle registered the man's presence only a half second after Andrea.
"Shane…" Andrea said.
Merle knew the name. Shane had been Andrea's ex and, honestly, wasn't a man that she spoke about very fondly. He was on the police force, though he wasn't in uniform tonight. Merle didn't know him personally, but he could tell, in an instant, that he didn't like him.
"What the hell, Andrea?" Shane growled as a means of starting the conversation. "This is why the hell you don't answer my calls? I should have known I'd find your fat ass down here whoring around and getting wider."
The man was clearly intoxicated. Merle could see it in the way he moved, but he could also smell it on him—as though he'd either spilled his drink on himself or had been drinking, on and off, for a couple of days so that it was actually beginning to seep out of his pores.
"I don't have to answer your calls, Shane," Andrea said, apparently choosing to ignore the rest of his words. "There's no law that says I have to."
"Except you're my girlfriend—or do you conveniently forget that when you've got someone else to run around with?"
Andrea laughed to herself.
"I'm not your girlfriend, Shane. And I didn't forget anything—no more than you ever forgot it when Rick's been out of town for the night and Lori's had an open evening," Andrea offered.
Merle had full intentions to stay out of it, really. He meant to let them handle this little exchange themselves. Sometimes such things were necessary to bring an end to whatever this was.
He couldn't stay out of it, though, when the off-duty officer landed a hard slap across Andrea's face as punishment for something he apparently thought she wasn't supposed to say.
Merle was out of the booth as quickly as he could be and had returned the slap, on behalf of Andrea, with a quick and solid punch to the man's face.
Merle worked his fingers down by his side. He hadn't broken his hand. This wasn't his first punch, and it wasn't his first experience with working out where and how to hit someone to have the most possible impact without sacrificing his own fingers in the process.
Shane looked genuinely surprised.
"You're assaulting an officer of the law, asshole," he growled when he got enough of his sense back to register reality.
Andrea was protesting from the booth, but Merle could only deal with one thing at a time and, right now, he wanted the asshole in front of him to have his full attention.
"You ain't in uniform," Merle offered. "And this is personal—ain't got shit to do with your job. Self-defense on the part of this here lady, and everybody here seen you attack her."
Shane looked around to register that, in fact, others were watching them and had likely seen the exchange. Merle wouldn't hit him again—not unless he had to. He could argue that he was defending Andrea if he only exchanged blow for blow.
"This isn't your discussion," Shane said.
"Don't look like a discussion to me at all," Merle said. "Looks like you come over here botherin' my woman, and she don't want you botherin' her. Looks like she told you so an' you hit her. So—I hit you back to keep you from puttin' your hands on her again. Don't put your hands on her again, and we don't got no more problems, right?"
Shane was absolutely going to have a hell of a shiner. Merle didn't dare to flick his eyes to Andrea long enough to see how she was faring from Shane's hit. It wouldn't matter. He'd make her feel better about it when this was over. For now, he wanted to keep the eye contact he'd established with the angry man. Staring him down was a way to de-escalate the situation.
"Are you threatening me?" Shane asked.
Merle laughed to himself.
"Only if you consider me tellin' you that if you touch her again—hurt her again? I'ma defend her ass. You consider that a threat…" Merle shrugged his shoulders.
Shane practically bared his fangs at Merle. Merle was amused by the clear frustration and pure white-hot anger that was bubbling inside the man. Something had driven him to drink at Salty's. Merle doubted it was actually Andrea, though, given that he hadn't seemed to miss her too much—at least not until he saw someone playing with his proverbial toys.
In his drunkenness, Shane switched gears.
"You don't know her too damn well. You don't know her at all," Shane said.
"I think I know her all right," Merle offered. He laughed to himself. "At least enough to know she don't like gettin' popped in the mouth."
"She's a whore," Shane offered. "Sick, too. She likes shit like that. Getting hit. Told what to do. She probably got off on it."
Merle shook his head.
"No, that aint' what she gets off on," Merle offered. "Might be what you get off on, but it wouldn't do shit for her." He winked at Shane. "Don't you worry. I know you didn't never figure out what exactly it was that she liked—she told me all about it. But I got it covered, so you can rest easy."
The anger boiling in Shane was practically visible. Merle swallowed back his amusement and did his best to tune out Andrea's protests. He couldn't be distracted by that right now—there would be plenty of time to deal with it later.
Shane reached quickly toward Andrea—faster than Merle could block him. All he did was get his hand closed around the upper part of her arm, though, and begin to move like he might drag her out of the booth before Merle had a hand on each of his shoulders. He didn't do too much—he wanted everyone to see that he was only trying to stop Shane's movements.
He wasn't trying to land in jail, no matter how much he might bluff, because they were going to the mountains in the morning, and he wasn't letting this asshole fuck everything up for their nice little fall weekend.
"Let go of the lady," Merle said. "You're a lil' bit drunk. So why don't you just go sit down some damn where and have yourself a nice ass glass of water? I've tried it. It's fresh here. Cool. Tastes like glacier water—not like no damn tap water." He raised his eyebrows at Shane. "And remove your fingers from the top of her damn arm before I'm forced to break 'em loose so you can't even hold your water glass. You got me?"
"I could put you in prison for assault and threatening an officer!" Shane protested.
It was clear that his inebriation made him want to keep fighting, but his expression said that he wasn't even sure of what he was saying or whether or not he truly wanted to keep fighting. Merle also knew that he was bluffing. He wasn't throwing Merle in jail for anything. If anything, half the bar had seen him assault Andrea without provocation.
Merle simply smiled at him.
"You go ahead an' try," Merle offered. "But I'm tellin' you to take your damned hands off the woman. You about to find out that, at my age, even the words life in prison don't hold the same weight they once did."
"Fuck you," Shane said, but he did remove his hand from Andrea's arm and she moved backward in the booth to put as much distance between them as she could. "Fuck you!" Shane repeated, this time directing the words to Andrea. He looked back at Merle with venom in his expression. "You can have her any damn way…she's not worth it."
Shane turned and somewhat faltered when he did so. Merle reached out a hand to steady him, but he righted himself without Merle's assistance. Merle swallowed back his laughter, but not all of his amusement, as he watched the man leave the bar with long strides toward the door. Merle wasn't sure if he'd paid or would find a tab waiting on him the next time he came in there—likely sober and unable to remember what had happened here or how he got the shiner he'd wake up with in the morning—but he didn't stop and nobody stopped him.
When he was gone, Merle slid into the booth across from Andrea. He could see the waiter, charged with bringing their possibly cooled down food, was hovering some distance away, frozen and waiting for some kind of sign about how to proceed.
Merle ignored him a moment and reached across to touch Andrea's face.
"You OK, Sugar?" Merle asked. Andrea nodded at him, but he wasn't sure he believed the nod. He examined her face. Shane had landed a decent enough hit that it would bruise. "We'll put some ice on that. Won't show too bad. You wanna eat here or you wanna take it to go?"
"I'm not hungry," Andrea said.
Merle laughed to himself.
"You were," Merle said. "And you will be later. When your adrenaline slows down."
"You heard what he said."
"I heard a lotta drunk bullshit, that's what I heard," Merle said.
"He's right. I don't have any business eating—crap—at night. Or ever. My ass and thighs are enormous."
Merle laughed to himself. He winked at her.
"You just like I like you, Sugar. That's all there is to it," Merle offered. "Gets cool up in them mountains. What the hell else I'ma use to keep my ears warm at night if ain't them beautiful thighs, Sugar?"
Andrea laughed in spite of herself.
"Some people might use—a hat," she teased.
"Some people wouldn't know a damn good thing if they had it," Merle said. He raised his hand and waved at the waiter who was looking nervous and jumpy. "Come on. Let's get this shit to go. I've had just about as damn much of the atmosphere as I want and I suddenly got a cravin' to eat somethin' else 'fore I dive into these potatoes."
