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"Guess I'm going to have to get used to looking at your ugly mug while I'm fucking you," Daryl says, because Merle can do a lot with one hand, but getting a man off isn't one of them, and it's been months and Daryl never believed Merle could've died out there, not Merle, but all the same, it's fucking good to look at him again, to touch him.

Merle hasn't said much about where he's been, not with everyone watching and listening - and waiting, Daryl knows; waiting for Merle to do something that'd justify shooting him like a rabid dog, after they've treated him like one, leaving him chained to a pipe like some animal.

Things might've gotten real ugly, Daryl thinks. Merle's cunning though, smart when he has to. He's kept his big mouth shut for once, and now Daryl's got him back inside, all to himself, back where he belongs, at least for the moment.