Triggerfinger ➳ Daryl Dixon

t w e n t y f o u r

"Help me, Presley." Merle said desperately. She'd never heard the man with an ounce of emotion in his voice, but it was clear enough that he was desperate for her help. Violently, her heart twisted in her chest.

She wanted to hate him.

But she wanted to help him.

"Presley? Who is this?" John appeared out of the second house, approaching fast. He moved to stand beside his daughter, scrutinizing Merle with narrowed eyes.

"I'm fine, dad." She said quietly, leaning away from him. She still couldn't help but to feel bitter toward him.

"C'mon, Presley." Merle said, stepping toward her. Rick shot forward and stood in front of her, standing stiffly.

"Haven't you damaged her enough?" His southern voice was strong and bold, brimming with authority.

"It's fine, Rick. I'll walk him out." Presley brushed past both men and walked forward without looking at Merle.

"Take a gun!" Rick called to her.

She pretended she didn't hear him.

- - -

Once they'd gotten a decent distance from Alexandria, she turned to him. His eyes were downcast; his expression was defeated. Much like Daryl occasionally did, he looked like a dismayed child. A bald child, but a child none of less.

For a second, Presley felt bad. She'd never had a sibling, but she'd wondered what it was like to have a relationship like that. Now she had an entire group of siblings, and she knew she would rather not have any.

"I spent all that time lookin' for 'im." Merle mumbled, his back to Presley. "I don't know what I'm gon' do now."

"Just keep moving forward." Presley murmured. She wasn't about to comfort him, but she couldn't bring herself to be heartless, either. "Maybe he'll come around."

"He won't." Merle said. "He's too damn stubborn, that one." Merle looked at her from the corner of his eye, "And he cares about ye too much."

Presley bit her bottom lip and looked away. Her existence had driven a wedge between the Dixon brothers.

No, no. That was wrong. Merle letting the Governor rape her and humiliate her time and time again had driven a wedge between the Dixon brothers. Remembering that, she raised her chin and set her jaw.

You can't really blame him. She had enough sense that Merle was having a hard enough time with the whole thing, so she kept the thought to herself.

Merle, digging his hand into his pocket, turned and faced her. The cocky asshole looked absolutely defeated, but there was no bitterness toward her like she'd been expecting. "I fucked up, Presley." He laughed and threw his head back, looking up to the canopy of trees. "Do you think he'll forgive me?"

"Yes." She did believe it, too. But Daryl would forgive Merle on his own terms. He'd spent all that time placing Merle on a pedestal because he'd thought his brother was dead. When he'd returned, Daryl remembered the awful things. His cold reaction had probably been due to shock rather than complete bitterness. "He cares about you."

"Not half as much as he cares about ye." Merle retorted.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Presley tilted her head. "If he didn't care for you, you would have been dead the second you walked into the gates of Alexandria. He would have killed you himself." She took a deep breath, holding his gaze. Part of her hated him with burning, aching passion, but she couldn't hate all of him.

She couldn't hate the part that loved Daryl.

"I should get back before he comes looking for me." Presley said.

He looked helpless and lost. She wished she could tell him, but she didn't even know what to do with herself. She was in no shape to tell him what to do with his life.

"I'll stick 'round for a while, I guess." Merle scratched the back of his neck with his good hand. "There's a storage unit a mile or so from here. Will ye let him know I'm there? I'll be there for a week or so before I head out."

She gave a small nod and the man sighed with relief.

"Take care, Presley. Take care of Daryl, too." Merle said with a sense of fondness in his tone. "Daryl, he.... He's lucky to have ye."

"No." Presley murmured. "It's the other way around."

The stubborn man shook his head, "No, missy, I'm 'fraid not. Daryl hasn't had an easy life, which I'm sure ye know." He gave her a crooked smile, "Before, he never woulda got a woman like ye. Now ye got him wrapped 'round yer little finger."

Presley gave a small shake of her head, "Be safe. I'll try talking to Daryl."

"He'd prob'ly listen to ye."

"Daryl doesn't listen to anybody."

He smiled and turned and walked away. There was nothing cocky about his walking swagger, not with the lack of people around. Presley walked back to Alexandria, greeting Zeva, who waited by the gates. Rick was waiting, standing guard with a hatchet in his hand. "I was afraid I'd have to send somebody out for you."

"I can handle cocky assholes just fine." Presley said, slipping through the gate that he pushed open for her.

"I know you can." Rick chuckled. "You've proved that a few times."

John swiftly approached, "Did he give you a hard time?" He asked, but he was smiling. He knew Presley could handle her own.

"Not at all." She paused, "Where's Daryl?"

"He went out hunting." Rick said. "He'll be back in a few hours."

But nightfall came, and Daryl still hadn't returned.