A/N: Apologies, dear readers, for the wait for this chapter. Life gets in the way sometimes, and I was having a little writers block. I hope the next chapter won't take as long. The song Beth sings is an Indigo Girls song. Also, I've been asked why I don't write accents. They are unnecessary. We all know how these characters speak, and I think it dumbs down the character, frankly. Regional colloquialisms are far more important, in my opinion. :) Enjoy!
B Block was like a foreign land. Cut off from the rest of the prison, it was obvious that it was a minimum security section. The cells allowed for more furniture, tables and chairs that could be moved freely, recreation areas that allowed for greater freedom, and less safety. They had secured the inside of the prison block, but had left it empty, taking from it what they needed.
Glenn tagged along behind Daryl in full riot gear, dragging a bolt cutter behind him. Daryl surveyed the block from behind his crossbow, ever-vigilant for danger. They had met a total of three undead as they made their way toward the B Block courtyard. Daryl didn't like it. Glenn was simply glad he wasn't already covered in blood and guts.
Stepping out into the yard of B Block, they squinted against the Georgia sun. They could see some of their folk looking their way from C Block. Glenn waved, earning a wave back from someone he couldn't make out. Daryl rolled his eyes and quickly made his way to the nearest of the three small trailers lined up against the prison.
B-Block's yard had its own entrance, and a fourth small building that appeared to be an office, very much like a construction trailer. The smaller buildings were about half the size and were each surrounded by their own fence. Bars ran along the entire structure at the level of the small windows placed in each wall. Small patches of grass were placed on either side of the three steps leading up to the door.
Glenn made quick work of the lock on the fence with the bolt cutter. Cautiously, they opened the heavy door of the structure, and were greeted with stale, dusty air.
The trailer was made up like a tiny hotel room. A small bathroom walled off in one corner, a table with two chairs on one end and a double bed at the other. Along one wall ran a counter top, under which had several locked cabinets. After checking the bathroom and under the bed, Daryl used his knife to coax open the cabinets. They were full of dusty linens, toilet paper, and condoms.
Glenn grinned unabashedly and chuckled, "Jackpot!" The glare he received from Daryl erased the smile from his lips.
"No lock on the door… could get a hasp screwed on there." Daryl thought aloud.
"Let's go clear the other two." Glenn started out the door of the trailer.
Daryl followed in earnest. "Don't go picking paint colors. We need to talk to Rick about this."
Glenn followed Daryl to the second of the trailers, which was just as empty as the first. The third held two long-dead prisoners who appeared to have opted out. The guard house, however, was a different story. Approaching the structure, they smelled the rotten flesh of animated corpses. The sweet, pungent smell radiated off the building in the Southern heat.
"Must have died in there…" Daryl looked back at Glenn, who was steeling himself for the fight to come. As they approached, faces appeared in the dusty windows, and the growls and moans began. Daryl stepped up onto a cinder block and peered into the window to find out just what they were facing.
Suddenly, a pale, gaunt face rammed against the window, stopped by the bullet-proof glass. The Walker was mostly bald, with wide blue eyes and a prominent jaw. Daryl fell off the cinder block in surprise.
"Careful!" Glenn moved to help Daryl off the ground, but Daryl pushed him away as he jumped up.
Without waiting for Glenn to get his bearings, Daryl, panting, dropped his crossbow, drew his gun and shot the lock off the door.
The only light in the trailer came from the grime-coated windows on either side of the door. Temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of sunshine from the doorway, the walkers were slow to react. Daryl took out a smaller man dressed in a guard uniform with a clean shot to the head. The larger man, dressed in prison blues, rushed Daryl and forced him back toward the door, his gun hanging limply from his hand. Glenn ran to help his friend, but Daryl stumbled and fell backward was he came back through the doorway. He could not react, and time seemed to slow down.
"Daryl!" Glenn's shout caused the walker to look up. Glenn stopped in his tracks, the reason for Daryl's inaction clear. The walker looked like Merle. The walker's ruined chest, shredded uniform and dead eyes made both men pause in terror and confusion.
Daryl felt as if he was in a recurring nightmare. Once again, his dead brother was reaching for him, hungry for him. He lay on the hard scrabble of the burned grass, unable to act. His chest was heaving with fear, disbelief and unspoken grief.
Glenn's mind caught up to the danger and he brought the bolt cutter down at an angle on the walker reaching for Daryl. The corpse fell and Glenn brought the bolt cutter down on its head, splitting it open like a wet bag of garbage. Glenn let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as the body stopped moving. He ran for the door of the trailer and looked inside, ready to defend himself. Seeing it empty, he turned to Daryl.
Before Glenn could tell Daryl the building was clear, his words caught in his throat. Daryl had crawled over to the dead prisoner, hand reaching for its ruined head. Glenn reached out , afraid to touch the trembling man in front of him. "Daryl… It's not Merle." Daryl didn't respond. Glenn knelt between the walker and his friend. "It's not your brother, man."
T-Dog cast a shadow over the courtyard as he came through the cell block door. He saw the other men on the ground and began running to them.
"What the hell's going on? We heard gunshots!" He stopped abruptly, seeing Glenn with a tentative, but reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl was visibly shaking. T-Dog's brow furrowed in confusion; Glenn met his eyes and shook his head: Don't ask.
Daryl took several deep, cleansing breaths. "I know. " He said, "I know it's not him." As he stood, he couldn't take his eyes off the corpse. Glenn and T-Dog eyed exchanged looks and eyed Daryl. They wanted to comfort him, but they both knew, all too well, what Dixon temper was like.
"Um, let's, ah, update Rick and, and, I'll ask Carol to help clean out the trailers." Daryl nodded, as if to confirm he was alright, picked up his discarded crossbow and quickly left the cell block, leaving T-Dog and Glenn standing in the dust of the unkempt yard.
He found Carol on watch on that perfect summer day. Why she was crying, he couldn't fathom. No one had died in at least a week, he had brought in a wild boar and they were eating well lately. As she heard the door close, she tried to wipe away tears before he could see them. But he was so tuned to her, he knew.
She gave him a wry smile as he approached her. She knew he would be uncomfortable seeing her cry.
"What's going on?" He left room for her to tell him why she was crying, or just give report for her shift. He leaned against the railing, setting his crossbow beside him, as she looked out over the prison yard, bare arms hugging herself tightly.
"You really want to know?"
Pushing down the urge to press his face into her belly and weep, Daryl reached out and lightly grazed the back of his hand against the back of her upper arm. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how, especially with his encounter fresh in his mind. Rubbing her arm, he replied, "If you want to tell me."
Carol was silent for a moment. New tears grew in her eyes. With a deep sigh, she spoke. "I think today would have been Sophia's birthday." Daryl stepped away and gripped the bars on the watch tower, the heaviness in his heart pulling down on him. "You said about two weeks ago it was the solstice. Her birthday was just after." Carol laughed sarcastically. "We packed up and left home just before her twelfth birthday. She'd be fourteen years old…." Carol's voice trailed off. "I heard gunshots. Everything OK in B Block?" Her attempt to change the subject was thin.
Daryl looked out over the prison yard. The leaves of the plants in the vegetable garden swayed in the breeze. A handful of chickens clucked drowsily in the makeshift coop. Wispy, barely-there clouds hung in the sky as if they were napping. How this broken, dying world could still look so picture perfect… Daryl couldn't understand. Just like seeing his brother die again, it seemed like a cruel joke. He couldn't explain to Carol what had just happened. Not when he found her mourning her child. He knew she would set aside her grief and nurse his wounds instead.
"It's OK, Daryl." Carol put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's not OK." Daryl bit out. "Sophia is gone and it's my fault… I don't know what to do about that. What do I say?" He looked up into the perfect summer sky.
Carol leaned her temple against the hand on his shoulder. "It's no one's fault, Daryl. It's this world. I asked God not to punish me by hurting her and, well, I think we're all out of favors from God."
Daryl let out a wry chuckle. "The last time I asked Him for anything, it was to find your little girl. I didn't even ask Him to look out for my brother…" He kicked the vertical bar of the guard tower railing half-heartedly. His face flushed with shame and the effort of keeping his emotions balled up in the pit of his stomach. He let his hair fall over his eyes in an attempt to further hide himself.
Carol stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He still held on to the railing, as if he was holding up the watch tower. He felt her crying against him, tears wetting the back of his shirt. He could only stand there and will himself to keep it together. They stood there for several minutes, Daryl allowing Carol to cry, just being a presence for her. She was unaware that she was the rock holding him to earth, keeping him from floating away, keeping him from letting his own grief pull him under. Finally, she began to pull away, but his hand came up and stilled her. Taking her hands in his, he pulled her tighter against himself and held her there. Her entire body was pressed against his back, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades. His hands were rough against her soft skin, and he clasped his hands around hers, like holding a fragile animal between his fingers. Carol relaxed into the muscular plane of Daryl's back, feeling his baited breath beneath her cheek.
It was the most they had asked of each other. Without words, they had asked for comfort, and received it. It was new, for both of them. Neither knew how much they needed the presence of another person in their grief, and it surprised them both. Carol's body pressed against his was a counterweight to Daryl's guilt. She clung to him, as if her tears would drown her if she let go.
They both jumped as the tower walkie-talkie squawked. "Carol? Is Daryl up there with you?"
Daryl grabbed the radio off the outside ledge of the window. "I'm on my way." He met Carol's eyes as she finished wiping away her tears.
"Going to finish cleaning out the trailers in B Block." Daryl explained.
"Rick agreed?"
Daryl shrugged "I told him I needed some space. It's this or being outside the prison." Daryl turned to leave. "Come over when you're done with watch? Could use your help getting everything cleaned up. "
Carol simply smiled and nodded.
Most of the people at the prison preferred the safety of C Block and wouldn't even consider the suggestion of moving into other areas. Rick didn't even flinch when Daryl said he was taking one of the trailers for his own. Sheriff Grimes knew Daryl needed his space, and frankly, it meant more room in C Block. It also meant eyes on more of the area around the prison, as well. Herschel was not thrilled with Maggie and Glenn taking one of the other trailers, but having Michonne in the larger guard office helped ease his mind at least a little. They would all be close enough eat together and share chores, but far enough away that they had privacy and some semblance of a home.
Daryl had let the women clean and decorate (watercolor handprints courtesy of Judith, in a frame scavenged from the warden's office) hooked up a generator for hot water and began cutting a hole and gathering cinder blocks to put in a wood stove.
That first night, between clean sheets, on a real bed, after a hot shower, Daryl Dixon couldn't sleep. Every time he would doze off, he was opening the trailer door and his brother was falling across the threshold. Merle was followed by Sophia and Andrea and Lori and Dale… The minute the stars on the horizon began to fade, he dressed, grabbed his crossbow and left the trailer.
Coming around to the main yard of C Block, Daryl heard a soft whistle, one he had taught T-Dog long ago – a hunter's whistle. T-Dog waved from the tower, but Daryl didn't even look back.
He set his crossbow down and heaved the walker from the burn pile, dragging it across the yard to the growing cemetery on the other side. Halfway, he stopped to take off his leather jacket, already sweating in the predawn heat. T-Dog watched with concern from the tower, occasionally peeking through the scope of his rifle. Rick would be there at Dawn to take over watch, and he would let Daryl alone until then.
With an earnest request for redemption in his heart, Daryl began digging a grave for Merle. Rationally, he knew the walker laid out beside the hole was not his brother. But he had not brought Merle's body back and had no place to mourn him. If he couldn't bury Merle, he could at least make him a grave and give the man's memory a place to rest. In that grave, he could leave his grief, to revisit, but not carry.
By dawn, Daryl was nearly halfway to a suitable grave. Rick came up to the tower to relieve T-Dog, who only had to gesture at Daryl's lonely figure in the yard. They regarded Daryl for a moment before T-Dog voices what they were both thinking.
"That's our brother down there. He'd do it for us."
Without needing an explanation, Rick and T-Dog gathered Glenn and took up shovels, digging beside Daryl in earnest.
When the men didn't come to breakfast, Maggie and Carol loaded up some of their meager breakfast and went outside to find them. Carol set the bowls of oatmeal on the picnic table, folding her arms across her chest. Maggie shielded her eyes from the rising sun, both women taking in the sight of the men finishing the grave.
"Think we should help them?" Worry creased Carol's brow.
Maggie responded, "I think we need to get the others."
Late in the morning, after the women had washed and shrouded the body as best they could, the prison family held a service for Merle.
"When Andrea… died," Rick began, "I told her that all of our people made it out OK." Risk shifted uncomfortably. "We didn't know then the sacrifice Merle had made for us. He let Michonne go – he made a decision I was slow in making – and he knew he wasn't coming back. Now, we had our differences, and didn't see eye to eye, well, ever, but Merle loved his family, and that's something I think we can all relate to, especially these days."
The group stood in silence, letting Rick's words sink in. Daryl's eyes remained fixed on the grave, where dark soil had begun to crumble down onto the fallen walker. Carol stood beside him, feeling each heavy breath as it left his body.
Glenn cleared his throat. "Merle was smart… and inventive…."
"He was loyal." Michonne said quietly.
And so it went, each person who knew Merle spoke. Even with his brash, bigoted and ragged heart, Merle Dixon was someone to be remembered.
One of the Woodbury people held Glenn's guitar and began to play as Beth took a couple of steps closer to the grave, and began to sing.
"Fare thee well my bright star
I watched your taillights blaze into nothingness
But you were long gone before I ever got to you
Before you blazed past this address
And now I think of having loved and having lost
You never know what it's like to never love
Who can say what's better and my heart's become the cost?
A mere token of a brighter jewel sent from above
Fare thee well my bright star
The vanity of youth the color of your eyes
And maybe if I'd fanned the blazing fire of your day-to-day
Or if I'd been older I'd been wise
But too thick the heat of those long summer evenings
For a cool evening I began to yearn
But you could only feed upon the things which feed a fire
Waiting to see if I would burn
Fare thee well my bright star
It was a brief brilliant miracle dive
That which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life
Had to burn itself up just to make itself alive
And I caught you then in your moment of glory
Your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
With a memory so clear that it's as if you're still before me
My once in a lifetime star of an age
So fare thee well my bright star
Last night the tongues of fire circled me around
And this strange season of pain will come to pass
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down"
As the last strains of the song died on Beth's lips, Daryl slipped his hand inside Carol's. She caught her breath when his skin touched hers and she had to add her other hand, Daryl was trembling so badly.
"A few weeks ago, Rick said something that made me think. He said surviving doesn't mean not getting killed." He swallowed thickly, nervously. "I want to start living, not just surviving."
Carol squeezed his hand between hers. Their linked hands were not unnoticed by the rest of the group.
Please read and review! I believe Season 3 will be on Netflix 9/29 - can't wait to rewatch before Season 4 starts!