Nausea.
That was all she registered when she woke up, the pain of days upon days of not eating finally slamming into her like a train. The pain was awful, a gnawing, burning ache in her core, accompanied by the urge to vomit. Sitting up, she fought the urge, knowing that she would do more harm than good if she did indeed puke, given that all she could possibly produce was a puddle of bile. Brunette waves fell around her pale shoulders as she looked down, examining the injury that had led her to this house, to board everything up, and to sleep in a dead man's bed
Her ankle.
Frail hands prodded at the swollen joint, her whimpering breaking the silence as a shooting pain ran up her leg and as far as her hip. She noticed the stark contrast in size and color from her other leg. Where the other leg was a pale creamy color and extremely thin due to weeks of a poor and lacking diet, the leg in question was swollen to almost twice the regular size, the skin red and purple and angry-looking.
Falling back against the pillows, she closed her eyes. Sleep was tugging at her again. Her blue eyes had slipped shut and she was about to give in to the nagging darkness, when a loud crash across the house made her fly into full alert mode. She managed to peek around the open doorframe from the bed, thanking whatever God may exist that it was a group of living men. Nervous, but knowing that she needed help, she called out feebly.
"I-I need help... Please..." Her voice broke as the tallest of the group, an older man with a salt and pepper beard and a bat slung over his shoulder, perked up and stared at her as the men behind him raised their guns. The man waved a gloved hand and murmured 'at ease,' and from the bed, she watched as they lowered their weapons. This man was clearly a figure of authority, and looking at him closely, she decided that obeying him was her best bet. He was intimidating, tall, thin but built, slicked back hair. There was a fire in his eyes that lit a smoldering ember within her, but she paid it no mind as she wiggled to the edge of the bed, making a slow effort to stand. The leader, she assumed, rushed forward, but stopped short when she let out a heavy huff fell back onto her ass at the edge of the mattress. Her injury prohibited her from standing, let alone walking, on her own.
"Hey doll. What's your name? I'm Negan." The man said as he sauntered into the bedroom, crouching before her at the foot of the bed and flashing her a disarming smile.
"Everett." She whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. She couldn't help but flinch away when he reached up to take a lock of her hair between his fingers, and the motion, however small, didn't go unnoticed by Negan. He dropped his hand back to his side and sighed, standing up again.
"Well shit, dollface, you fucked up, didn't you?" A casual swing of his bat motioned towards her broken foot.
"A walker grabbed me. I stabbed it in the temple and managed to get up and run from the rest of the horde, but I turned a corner too fast and rolled my ankle. I was able to limp back here and board up the door." She whispered, looking down at the injury.
"Tough little shit, huh?" Negan walked back over to her. Her eyes flew open as he brought his bat up under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "Look at me when I speak, doll."
"Y-yes Sir..."
The obedient and submissive response rose from her throat without hesitation, and his grin grew wider.
"Atta girl. Now, let's talk. I have somewhere I can bring you. Somewhere safe, a fuckin' paradise compared to this shithole, with medical help and a place to sleep at night. But, in return for said medical help, you gotta work. And, I take all of this shit." He said, pointing towards her bag. Her stomach dropped slightly.
"What kind of work?" She murmured, trying to fight off the growing lightheadedness and nausea.
"Yardwork, training, cooking, cleaning... Hey. Hey, you fuckin' with me? Everett." He called out to her, but try as she might, she couldn't seem to respond. The bearded man dropped his bat to the floor and lurched forward just as her eyes rolled back, her head making contact with his leather-clad shoulder with a dull 'thump' as he cursed.
"Are you fuckin' kidding me... Dwight, bring me a damn water bottle. Now."
She was vaguely aware of him lifting her off of the floor and easing her down onto his lap, slapping her cheeks as she fought to open her eyes. When she finally managed to do so, she met his brown eyes, shrouded with concern as he uncapped a bottle and nudged it against her lips. She obliged, parting her lips slightly and allowing him to pour the slightly stale tasting water into her mouth. As she noticed all of his men crowding into the room and looming over her, the overwhelming urge to hide caused her to curl up and turn closer to Negan, burying her face in his scarf.
"Will you fuckin' idiots stop crowding around? You're scaring the ever living shit out of her, closing in on her like that."
His gruff voice vibrated through his chest and she felt the light rumble against her cheek. She remained in that position until he stood up, and in a panic she flailed, afraid that she was going to fall, only to hear him hush her as he hooked a hand under her knees and lifted her up.
"Looks like you're coming with me, dollface. You need medical attention." He muttered, reaching over and grabbing her backpack. "And you could sure as hell use some fuckin' food. You weigh less than a damn toddler."
She had no will or reason to protest, so she simply buried her face back into his scarf as he walked.
A short truck ride had brought her back to Sanctuary, a place that she would soon call home. She looked around, taking in what she could as Negan walked hurriedly. Seeing people bow at his feet as he passed, the few orders he barked out as he walked towards what she could only assume was the infirmary, and the air that surrounded him, demanding respect and radiating dominance. He was clearly respected, possibly even feared, by these people. She wasn't scared, though. He had a mouth on him, sure, but he hadn't been anything but kind to her, had he?
Her thoughts were cut short when he kicked open the door to a small building, hollering as he made a beeline for the cot in the corner.
"Carson! I need help. Now." Negan called, leaning over and easing her onto the cot with grace and gentleness that she wouldn't have thought he was capable of, judging by his build and physical appearance alone. She stared at the ceiling quietly, the gnawing feeling returning to her stomach and overshadowing everything else. All she could do was fight to stay silent and not let on just how much pain she was actually in.
"Now what did you do this- oh, Lord. Where'd you find her?"
"A secluded house on the edge of a forest. She called for help from the back room, scared the shit out of Simon. Almost dropped his fuckin' gun." Negan recounted, a sharp undertone of irritation not going undetected by Carson, nor Everett.
"Well, just from looking at you, I can tell you're malnourished. Probably anemic. Foot looks broken, too. I'll get you taken care of." Carson offered a warm smile as he turned to retrieve rolls of bandages from the shelf next to the cot. She winced as he began prodding at her foot, and she was startled when a gloved hand was held in front of her face. She looked up at Negan and noted how stiff he was, his gaze turned towards the window, his jaw clenched slightly. He was offering his hand to hold, and despite how little she knew about him, she appreciated the gesture and wrapped her much smaller hand around his regardless. He gave a small squeeze when Carson informed her that he needed to reset the bones in her foot.
"I can give you pain medication. It wouldn't be a problem." Carson piped up, making eye contact with her. She knew damn well that it was a lie. It would be a problem. Far worse injuries had to come up, and she wouldn't let him waste the painkillers on her when it would help someone else out more. She shook her head and watched Carson as he shook his as well, taking her foot in one hand and holding her ankle with the other.
"One, two..."
Negan gave a surprising, but welcome, squeeze of reassurance.
"Three."
She couldn't help the squeal that escaped her lips as she felt her bones grinding together. Her nails dug into Negan's exposed forearm, and before she realized what she was doing, she had managed to draw blood. He simply glanced down at his arm and then back out the window.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry, Negan, I-"
"Calm down. It's just a fuckin' scratch, doll. Though, I didn't think you were into that shit."
Her cheeks lit up at the accusation, and although she knew he was simply teasing, she was still shocked. His eyes met hers and he grinned wide, chuckling at her reaction. Through her embarrassment and stuttered attempts at responses to the tall man, with his undeniably beautiful grin and intoxicating laugh, she had failed to realize that Carson had finished splinting and wrapping her broken foot.
"You can stay here overnight if you'd like." He called over his shoulder as he placed the unused bandaging back on the shelf.
"Actually, Carson, I think I'm taking this little lady back with me tonight."
Carson sighed and shrugged, looking at a small notebook on his desk and scribbling something down.
"Well, Sir, I'll have someone get some crutches and deliver them to your room. I suggest taking her to the cafeteria in the meantime. Don't overeat."
Once they got to the cafeteria, Everett was slightly more comfortable.
However, Everett sat in silence, the amount of attention on her from workers and residents of the Sanctuary unsettling her once again to the point that she could barely stomach the sandwich and fruit she had been given. Negan, with a firm but gentle touch on her knee, simply nodded at her plate and waited. She took a few bites, eating as fast as she could without becoming nauseous. She wanted out of the cafeteria. Too many people. The man beside her seemed to pick up on her discomfort and stood up, carefully pulling her back up into his arms, ignoring the questioning glances of his people as he carried her. She closed her eyes and fought back tears as he walked.
What was happening? What did she do? How did she end up here? Did she even want to be here?
Her thoughts were cut short when Negan spoke.
"Well, my dear Everett, this is where you'll be staying for a while." Negan rumbled, his voice vibrating in his chest.
She opened her eyes, glanced around, and nodded, taking in the simple walls of his room. It was cozy, it was comfortable. Much nicer than where she had been. When Negan eased her feet down onto the ground and turned to grab the crutches that had been propped up just outside of the door, she fumbled slightly and reflexes caused her to swing out her broken foot to catch all of her weight, or rather what little weight she carried, on the injured extremity.
"Fuck!" She squealed as she fell to the floor. She remained there for a second, the pain dulling her senses to the point that she wasn't really aware of Negan's yelling until he lowered his voice and crouched next to her, reaching to help her up.
"Are you okay? Fuckin' shit, doll, fuck. I'm sorry. I thought I had a better grip on your waist. This one's my fault." He murmured, carefully picking her up again. He moved towards the bed.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"Couch." She whispered. "I'm not taking your bed."
"I may be a massive prick, but I'm not enough of a dick to let you sleep on that hard couch."
"Then if you have spare pillows, we can make it softer. I will not take your bed. I'm your guest, nothing more. I refuse to invade that much. Please."
She yelped loudly in surprise as he moved one arm and dropped her upper half down onto the bed, though he was careful to keep his other arm under her legs and ease them down onto the mattress as to avoid causing her more pain.
"You're taking the bed. Don't argue."
She sighed softly and nodded, quickly realizing that she would get nowhere by arguing with him. He moved about silently, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. She began to shiver suddenly and gripped the edge of the bed, her breathing turning into labored panting in mere moments. She bowed her head and gasped for air, staring wide-eyes at the floor as tears began to fall.
"The hell? You were fine a second ago, the fuck's wrong with you now?"
"D-do you still have that bag that I had with me when you found me?"
"Why?"
"I need the medicine out of the front pocket..."
"Fuckin' shit... High maintenance little gal. I'll go track it down. What's it called?"
"Effexor XR... You'll know it's mine, the prescription label has my name on it..."
He didn't say another word before walking out, his bat slung over his shoulders. She remained there, shaking and almost unable to breathe for a good fifteen minutes before the door creaked open again and she was vaguely aware of Negan getting down on his knee in front of her, his voice softer than before.
"Hey. Carson said if you're taking this shit, you've got some issues and are gonna be jumpy as shit and crying all the time."
Clearly, he didn't have much of a way with words... At least when it came to being comforting or civil.
"So... I'll try to be gentle with you. Here." He handed her the pill bottle and a bottle of water, watching her quietly. She took three of the anxiety pills out of the bottle and downed them, still shaking and breathing erratically as she waited for them to take effect. It was another ten minutes before she could breathe again, and another ten on top of that before she could bring herself to look into Negan's eyes. She expected to be met with an annoyed, pitying glare, but was instead met with genuine concern.
"I'm sorry... This is why I travelled alone. I couldn't annoy anyone when I had my mental fucking breakdowns every other week." She reached up and wiped her eyes, letting out a bitter laugh and looking away.
"Don't apologize. Just don't go breaking down like that on any scavenging missions and we should be fine."
"No promises... My anxiety hits me like a train when I don't expect it. I'll try to keep it at bay, though."
Negan sighed and stood up, grunting softly as he set the baseball bat down.
She was intrigued by it. The barbed wire, the blood stains in the wood. She reached out without thinking and lightly touched the bat, admiring the scars and slivers in the wood, even the rust settling on the wire.
"That's Lucille." Negan chimed, startling Everett out of the trance she was in.
"Pretty name."
"Yeah... Named her after my wife. She passed away before this all started."
Everett nodded slightly in understanding and murmured an apology before picking up the bat, noticing the dirt beginning to build up on it.
"Do you have any cleaning supplies...? Water and a toothbrush maybe...?" She murmured, gently brushing off some loose dirt, frowning at the mud and clay crusted onto the bat. Negan smiled slightly and got up.
"You're fuckin' weird. Hope you know that."
"I didn't name a baseball bat after my late wife-" She stopped, covering her mouth.
She heard a small chuckle and let out a sigh of relief.
"Guess you're right." He handed her what she had requested and she set to cleaning Lucille.
That was the beginning of something more.