Negan loved going on runs with Rick. The habit started soon after Negan was released from the cell. At first, he was forbidden to leave Alexandria, and he was tasked with community service. Gardening. Fence-mending. Pantry inventory. Nothing serious like guard duty or anything else that would give him access to a weapon. Negan neglected to point out that the hammer he used when he was re-shingling their roofs could definitely be considered a weapon, and just continued to be on his best behavior. Even though the labor was hard since he didn't have the luxury of things like a nail-gun or a tractor, anything was better than wasting away in the cell.

When he was first released, Negan had a panic attack when he saw the light of day. Agoraphobia, Siddiq had patiently explained. From one of his college psychology classes Siddiq remembered that being a common symptom of prisoners, and one of the reasons why prisons started to allow allotted time spent outside. It took a few weeks staying at Rick's house as a personal cook and maid before Negan could finally comfortably outdoors without crushing Rick's hand in a death grip.

The tradeoff was now Negan was claustrophobic – and terrified of the dark. So far, he slept fine in his own house so long as his bedroom door was open. On the nights without a moon, Negan didn't sleep much at all, choosing to hold his eyes open until he let exhaustion take him. Judith had offered him one of her old dolls to sleep with to help, too.

"Barbie used to always help me sleep when Daddy's not home."

"Aw, angel, you'd actually share Barbie with me?"

"I'm not sharing. You can keep her."

"Really? Are you sure, angel?"

"Yeah. I don't need her anymore. But you do."

Luckily, Negan was more honored than he was embarrassed that Judith would give him her Malibu Barbie doll. He kept her in his bedside table drawer and sometimes he'd take her out just to talk to her on the nights he couldn't sleep. Sure, he felt like Tom Hanks from Castaway, but it was a step up from talking to a baseball bat he named after his dead wife. And it wasn't something he did all the time. Just when he was lonely and couldn't talk to Rick. Which more or less meant that all he ever talked to Barbie about was Rick, but she could keep a secret. She was a doll, for Christ's sake.

So, Negan spent his first winter out of the cell in Rick's house as he slowly acclimated to the New World. Then he spent the spring, summer, and fall becoming a jack-of-all-trades for Alexandria. Farmer, gardener, handyman, plumber, roofer, scape-goat, Tom Sawyer, he did it all. And then it was a Virginia winter again with snow, so nothing grew except for what was in the few greenhouses Negan helped build between his odd jobs. And now, Negan was given a new job; guard Rick Grimes on runs.

At first the winter runs were a pain in the ass. It was cold, cold, cold and Negan didn't really feel like he was helping much. He was horseshit at riding horses, and since there weren't many horses to spare, he usually had to ride with someone else, and not many people would have him. Mainly just Rick. Also, there wasn't much for Negan do to by way of protecting Rick. Even with his bad leg, Rick could handle himself just fine, but also there weren't really enough walkers to protect Rick from. Winter was on their side since most of the walkers they found were frozen in place, joints too stiff to pull free, and if they did, their leg bones shattered and left them crawling and useless.

But time went on and the winter became merciless, and soon the cold was so bad that Rick's knee started acting up and the cold was considered too much for even the horses. Rick Grimes, though, was a stubborn son of a bitch. He was determined to scout and scavenge and patrol the borders for any signs of trouble or if anyone needed help. As the leader of Alexandria, Rick constantly attended the rides out to the other communities like the Hilltop, the Kingdom, the Heaps, the Sanctuary, and Oceanside. Each time he left the gates now, he dragged Negan with him, and more often than not it was just the two of them. Negan preferred it that way.

Today was one of the rare treats where Rick had no specific destinations in mind and he only wanted to patrol the outer territories. While Negan admired his vigilance, Negan also knew that there wouldn't be anything out there because there never was. Anybody would a brain would rather hole themselves up to stay warm than travel, and when Negan brought that up, Rick just murmured in that stoic Clint Eastwood way of his, "I just got a feelin', Negan."

And that was that. Negan climbed on behind Rick on his brown stallion named Buttons and they were off. "Why didn't we take the fucking white horse? The girl one?"

"Bunny?" Rick asked, not protesting how tightly Negan clutched around his waist. The other man was warm against his back, his heat still palpable through his leather jacket and Rick's insulated, faux fur-lined, worn coat. In this bitter cold, he enjoyed it.

"Yeah, that one. I like her so much fucking better." Negan squeezed tight, arms locking in fear when Buttons jumped over a fallen tree in the road. "She's not as fucking…jumpy."

"We checked Bunny the other day, and it looks like we finally managed to successfully breed her," Rick explained, patting Negan's arm in comfort though he did nothing to slow Button's quick pace. "We're not gonna risk takin' her out of the walls until it's spring again. Just in case."

"Shit. I thought she was just getting fucking fat since she doesn't get to ride as much anymore." Negan nuzzled closer to Rick, passing off the gesture as it being from the chill. Rick had started growing back his curls again in the autumn in preparation for this winter cold, and Negan enjoyed how they tickled against the side of his face, catching on the whiskers of his winter beard. He let out a small sigh, his breath a hot fan against the sliver of winter pale skin peaking above the fuzzy collar of Rick's coat.

In response, Rick patted his arm again, but didn't complain. "Bunny's gonna have a little foal, Negan. It'll be her first one."

"That's cool, Rick." Daring to rest his chin on Rick's shoulder now that they were riding over a flat, open expanse of field now, Negan asked, "You guys have raised foals before, right?"

"Never personally. The Kingdom and the Hilltop has, but this is the first time we've tried now that all of our horses have reached maturity." Rick never minded the questions, and he could talk for hours about the little domestic things. Negan constantly found himself seeking Rick out for advice on planting and what to feed the animals that Rick has become a mentor to him. Enemy to warden to mentor to friend. Before he could get his hopes up, Negan had to stop himself from readily supplying the next title he would want to give Rick.

Lover.

Again, Negan sighed and cringed at himself for not being satisfied with only his friendship. He turned and buried his mouth under the collar of Rick's coat to keep himself from cursing aloud at his greediness and stupidly foolish and hopeful nature.

"I was thinkin' it's time for you to start leanin' how to ride, Negan." Rick's voice broke his inner stream of self-pity. "Even Judith can ride better than you, and she's barely six."

"Well, shit!" Negan blustered in Rick's ear, and then immediately drew away in apology. "Sorry, but shit, Rick. Why don't you just give Bunny's foal to the little angel then? My momma didn't raise me to grow up to be a goddamn cowboy."

Snickering, knowing that Negan wasn't being belligerent, Rick admitted, "Nice one, Negan, but Judith is still too young. She don't need her own horse for a while yet. But you do, and I think if you help raise the foal, you'll bond, and that'll just make ridin' easier for you."

"Look, Rick, I know how to ride," Negan boasted, that oily edge to his voice hinting at the lewd imagery he was willfully invoking. "I just can't ride a fucking horse. Hell, you've seen me behind the wheel. I'm shit at driving, too. One of the reasons why they never let me run the driver's ed class."

Full-blown chuckling now, Rick quipped, "The decision is final, Negan. Bunny's foal will be yours and you can name it 'Motherfucker' or 'Linguini' or whatever the hell you want when the time comes. But that foal is gonna be yours and I'm teachin' you to ride, and that's it."

Despite the playfulness of Rick's words, Negan heard the underlying stern edge, too. It was the same tone he used when he was kicking up a fuss in the cell or when Judith refused to eat asparagus at dinner or when an Alexandrian started trying to pick a fight over if Negan can be trusted or not. Now, Negan knew better than to argue, but it was in his nature to rebel a little against all kinds of authority. He was just about to say something particularly bratty, when Rick jerked the reins and brought Buttons to a dead halt.

The movement nearly had Negan slamming his nose to the back of Rick's head, but he managed to avoid it. Rather than complaining, Negan immediately knew something was wrong, and instead stiffened up and craned his neck over Rick's shoulder to see whatever caught his attention.

"What the fuck is it? Walkers or people?"

"Can't tell yet, but they're movin' a little too fast."

Even though Negan knew that this was life now, he would never be used to it. He dug his knees into Rick's hips, definitely not a hug goodbye because they weren't going to die anytime soon, but Negan was still nervous. "Shit. Well, I'm sure they can fucking see us on this big, dumb, shit-brown horse."

"Don't talk about Buttons that way," Rick chided.

"I can talk about him however the fuck I want, Rick," Negan snapped back, unable to be quiet. "At least fucking Bunny is white! We could use the fucking camouflage in this snow!"

"Yeah, your leather jacket really blends in Negan," Rick murmured over his shoulder, his eyes squinted against the glare of the sun against the dunes of white snow.

"Fuck you very much, Rick!" Negan said so loud that even Buttons underneath them trotted in place anxiously, ears flicking backwards.

"Shut up!" Rick hissed lowly, but then it was already too late. The human silhouettes lumbering against the tree line heard Negan and swung in their direction. The closer they got, the more distinguishable they were from their backdrop of scraggy branches, and it was clear now that it was a herd of walkers.

"Shit," Negan croaked. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm sorry, Rick, I'm–"

"Hush," Rick barked since the need for silence was gone. "It's fine, Negan. They would've seen us on Buttons anyway, like you said."

"Yeah." Negan still didn't feel any better. He had a feeling, though, that he would be more confident about taking on the walkers if he was given more than just a large steak knife to protect himself. And if they were in a car instead of on a galloping dinner-bell instead. "Well, why aren't we making like trees and fucking leaving yet?"

"We got their attention now. Might as well redirect them." Rick stroked Buttons' neck, quieting his nerves. "There's only a dozen or so. Shouldn't be a problem."

As much as Negan loved how much of a bad-ass Rick was, for once he wished that had more in stock in self-preservation. "Come on, Rick, let's just fucking go. It's not worth it."

"Don't think you can handle it, Negan?" Rick teased. He reached forward for his club, his new weapon of choice for knocking the heads clear off walkers as if it was a game of polo. "You're gonna let ol' Papaw Rick show you up?"

While seeing Rick with his club did excite Negan and bring back memories of Lucille in a cock-hardening way, now was definitely not the time. Chewing the inside of his cheek, Negan admitted, "I just would feel better if we weren't on a skittish fucking horse."

"You're the one who seems skittish to me, Negan," Rick swung his club at the closest walker, and while it caved in its skull it also did a back flip that had Negan crowing in surprise and delight. Rick kicked another walker, pushing it back so he could club that one, too, and then he started to direct Buttons away, guiding him with his knees to put a little distance between them.

"See? Nothin' to worry about yet."

"Rick," Negan's hands scrabbled at Rick's stomach, desperate to keep Rick on the horse even when he bent his body to drive more force into his swings. "Rick, you don't gotta prove anything to me. I'll never call you Papaw again if we just go the fuck home now."

Swinging Buttons around again, Rick killed a fourth walker. "Aren't you supposed to be out here protectin' me?"

"Yeah, and I would do that a lot fucking better if I was on my goddamn feet!"

All elbows and knees, Negan tried to wrap himself around Rick impossibly tighter. Below the ground was splattered with old, black, walker blood and Buttons' hooves had churned up the downy, white snow until it was muddy slush. It would be a long drop just to be trampled up and then feasted on by walkers. Negan think he would be lucky enough to have his neck break first.

At Buttons' sudden twist around for a second pass under Rick's direction, Negan dug his knees into the stallion's ribs. "Shit!"

When Buttons whinnied, it sounded like a woman screaming and for a moment Negan thought the damn horse got bit until he saw that none of the walkers were close enough for that. Buttons did that horrible whinny again and reared back on his hind legs, flailing his front hooves and kicking a walker clear through its face. Rick held on, trying to stay in the saddle, but Negan's weight pulled him off until both of them tumbled back in the snow. "Fuck! Rick!"

"Negan!" The club spun out of Rick's hands and he fell back against Negan, knocking the air out of his lungs from the impact.

Free of a rider, Buttons took off back to Alexandria, and Negan pulled Rick to his feet again, the snow that thankfully cushioned their fall now clinging to their jackets. "Fucking fuck you, Buttons! You shithead! Oh, fuck."

The walkers that had originally chased after the horse heard Negan's curses and swung around again to the closer target. Stiff arms outstretched like mummies, they clumsily pushed through the snow drifts, maws agape and groaning like the winter wind through the trees.

"Rick, Rick, get the fuck up," Negan jerked him by the elbow. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," Rick lied. Even though both the snow and Negan broke his fall, his knee refused to support any weight. He pushed Negan's hands away and started limping, gritting his teeth as his bad leg dragged through the heavy snow, weighing him down.

Diving for Rick's dropped club, Negan gripped it in both hands and swung at the closet walker. He knocked its jaw bone loose until it completely unhinged and dropped in the snow. Its tongue had already rotted away to nothing, so it was a gaping hole moaning miserably. The walker still had its arms, though, and reached out for Negan. He swung again and this time bashed its brain in. It dropped dead for good.

The club was familiar in his hands, though not Lucille by a long shot. He definitely preferred this weapon for the distance it offered him more than just his steak knife that he left holstered in his belt. Falling back, Negan scrambled backwards, not daring to turn his back on the few walkers still left. Well, at least until he saw how there was a steady trickle of more of them pouring through the tree line in a direct beeline for them. "Rick! You're going the wrong way!" Another swing, another permanently dead one. "Alexandria is the fucking other way!"

"I know that!" Stumbling over a hidden rock under the snowdrift, Rick fell to his knees with a whump.

Hearing Rick's hiss of pain as he struggled to pull himself up, sputtering snow caught in his mouth and beard, Negan immediately turned around and dashed to Rick's side, hauling him to his feet again. "I can, I can carry you if you want. Fucking piggyback or something. You can even dig in your spurs, cowboy, just don't fucking give up on me." Negan continued to drag Rick along, supporting him with one arm around his waist and the other arm brandishing the club to keep the walkers from swarming.

Now Rick was the one clinging to Negan's waist as they hobbled along, still stubbornly away from Alexandria. "There should be," Rick huffed, his breath a cloud in front of his pinched face, "a shack up ahead. We'll hide there, let 'em pass."

They didn't talk after that, and Negan didn't try to beat off any more of the walkers either. Instead they focused on putting distance between them and the walkers that nipped at their heels. As stumbled out of the field and back into the woods again, the going became easier since they didn't have to fight to tromp through the snow. Now they concentrated on not tripping over tree roots or sliding on any icy patches. Just as Rick said, there was a little shack up ahead with two rusted out shells of cars broke down beside it. Without hesitation, Rick pushed inside the shack first, but Negan still lingered outside, clutching the club.

"Negan," Rick whisper-hissed, "come on before they see you!"

Staring at the shack – couldn't have been much bigger than an outhouse really – Negan mutely shook his head. It looked smaller than his house, smaller than his bedroom, smaller than his jail cell.

"Negan!" Rick outright growled, "Get your ass inside right now!"

Automatically, Negan's brain registered Rick's tone and his feet started moving before he could even think to do so. As soon as he passed over the threshold, Rick shut the door behind him and locked it with its pathetic, little rusty hook-style latch. "Help me push this in front of it," Rick was back to whispering again, his shoulder against a small wooden shelf, "Quietly."

Negan's numb with cold hands pushed against the shelf until it was solidly in front of the door. When he and Rick pulled away, they could hear the walkers outside now. The icy layer of snow crunch under there uneven footsteps and their sound was a monotonous buzz, thankfully muffled by the wooden walls of the shack. But it was clear that they were undoubtedly close, though, and while the walls weren't paper-thin, they weren't well insulated either. The smell of rot blew in through the air drafts along with the cold, and as Rick sunk down to sit on something, he started to shiver.

Running his hands over the walls, Negan mapped out the space in the small shack. From memory, he knew that the cell was roughly six by eight feet. Stepping one foot in front of the other, Negan quietly walked the perimeter of the little shack as much as he could. He knew that Rick was staring at him in confusion, but he also knew that Rick wouldn't dare say anything yet with the steady stream of walkers passing by outside.

Four by four.

Just to make sure, Negan checked again, but it was the same. The shack was four by four. Barely enough room to breathe in the small space. Shrinking down, making himself as small as possibly on the dirty floor, Negan stared up at the ceiling riddled with a gaping hole that maybe might've been an intentional sky light at some point. Gulping down much needed air, Negan was so cold and it felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. There was no way he could wait it out, and he should take a chance on the walkers now –

Rick touched his face, and the sensation of glove on his skin pulled Negan back into himself. When Rick pulled his fingertips away, there were tears clinging and visible on his glove. Focusing on Rick with wide eyes, Negan pressed his lips together, helpless to explain himself even if he could talk anyway.

Curling his index finger in a come-hither gesture, Rick carefully shifted his weight on the box he was sitting on – a cooler, it was a faded blue cooler with a dingy white lid – and spread his legs out, his bad leg outstretched in the cramped space to pull some of the pressure of his knee.

At a turtle's space, Negan crawled over to Rick. He first passed him the club, which Rick set on the shelf they blocked the door with, out of the way and out of danger from knocking against anything or falling. Then Negan was sitting between Rick's legs, his lower back pressed against the cooler, like a block of ice against his back. Sitting like this, they were both perpendicular to the door of the shack, and both of them kept an eye on it out of rightful paranoia.

Following Rick's lead, Negan stretched his legs out, which wasn't very far, but he knew it was better to get comfortable now. His shoulder was pressed against the inner thigh of Rick's good leg, sitting as far away as he could from the bad leg so that he wouldn't jostle it. Rick didn't seem to mind, and he stroked Negan's hair back off his forehead, over and over rhythmically until Negan finally fell asleep.

When he woke up, the shack was swathed in shadows and the walkers were gone. Negan had his cheek pillowed on Rick's leg, a small spot of drool darkening the color of his jeans. Quickly, he sat upright and surreptitiously wiped the drool of Rick's ratty jeans and the corner of his own mouth.

"Easy," Rick hummed to him, and Negan felt his fingers combing through his hair again.

"Walkers are gone, right?" Negan's voice is sleep-roughened, a growl in the baritone.

"Mhm. Have been for 'bout an hour. There was a lot of them, and they just marched past like ants in a line, followin' the scent trails of each other."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Negan quietly yawned. "Good thing those fuckers can't even follow fucking snow tracks, huh, Rick?"

"Mhm." Rick stretched out his bad leg until it shook before he relaxed it again with a small sigh. "I'm glad we led them away. If they keep goin' they'll slip and slide across that frozen lake. Hell, ice might even break and they'll get trapped underneath it 'til it thaws in the spring."

"So that's why you led us here," Negan mused. He tipped his head back so that he could see Rick's face, the back of his head barely resting against Rick's stomach that rose and fell about an inch or two with each breath.

"Couldn't lead them home. Or the Hilltop, Sanctuary, Kingdom. At least this way, they're walkin' towards West Virginia and Ohio."

"I'm from West Virginia," Negan commented, and so long as he stared at Rick's calm face, he could ignore the fact that this shack was four by four and that it was only getting darker by the minute.

"Kentucky."

"Shiiit, I thought you were a Southern boy, Rick." Negan teased.

"I am, but I'm from Kentucky. Moved to Georgia in the third grade. Stayed there for the rest of my life until the world went to shit and we thought it would be bright to try to walk to Washington, D.C." At Negan's look, Rick added, "Eugene's idea. Tried to convince us Washington had a cure for these kinds of epidemics, but if the CDC didn't have it, I guess Washington wouldn't have it either."

"Oh." Negan knew that there had to be a reason he liked Eugene.

"What about you? Did you try for Washington?"

"Yeah, I guess maybe at some fucking point we did. Uh, mostly just walked around and followed whichever group I wound up with. Had to keep moving until I found somewhere safe, and the factory was that. A Sanctuary."

Suddenly, there was a growl and Negan felt a spike of adrenaline until he realized it was just his stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that was just a pear on the go. "Fuck. I hope you picked this shithole shack because it has some fucking supplies." Negan slowly climbed to his feet, one leg still tingling with sleep as he put weight on it.

"Maybe," Rick mused, "We used to use this shack for fishin' in that lake. Daryl and Jesus found it."

"Fuck, that just means they fucked on every fucking surface." Negan shook his head. Briefly, he considered rechristening the little love-shack with Rick, but he knew that was never going to happen.

"Probably," Rick ruefully admitted with a half-smile. "You can try to find some supplies, but I doubt it'll be any good. Never been a fan of frozen fish sticks myself, and we haven't used this shack in a while. Can't imagine what else there'll be."

"Why's that?" Negan started browsing through the single shelf in front of the door. "Why not use this little piss-ant shithole shack?"

"Not sure I can remember. The distance, probably. Maybe we should try fishin' again in the spring."

"Yeah, that how you originally found this place? I bet it was a goddamn outhouse. It would be just our dumbass luck to be sitting in shit like pigs." Negan's hands brushed over Rick's club. Its business end, studded with small iron triangles that reminded Negan of old punk leather jackets, had walker blood frozen onto it. At least when Negan touched it, it didn't rub off on his fingers.

"Daryl and I found this place by mistake. We had just found a truck full of cans. It was gonna be a good haul and Alexandria really needed it. We'd been down on our luck even before you. But the problem was is that we weren't the first ones to have our eye on it. Jesus was going to try and steal the truck from us, hidin' out on our roof. One thing led to another and long story short, as we were chasing Jesus the truck just…drove into the fuckin' lake. All that food gone. We were pissed." Shaking his head, Rick laughed more to himself, and Negan paused to appreciate the richness of his voice. "We came home empty-handed, but Jesus followed us. It ended up being a good thing. That's how we met the Hilltop…and we made a deal."

This part Negan knew. He forgot now who told him – probably Carl on one of his visits to the cell – but he knew about the exchange. It used to make his blood boil, but now, looking back it didn't bother him. Negan wasn't pissed at it anymore either.

"Hmm, hey! Looks like this little love shack doubles as a fucking radio shack!" Negan gingerly pulled a radio off one of the higher shelves, blowing the layers of dust it had collected on the top. "Think we can signal for help? I fucking doubt it because this is more for listening to music, but hell, I don't know. Worth a shot maybe?"

The radio was one of the older kinds, which means it looked like a bug with the speakers as the multi-faceted eyes and the one old-fashioned antenna on its head like a single antenna. It was a faded purple color, almost out of place in the shack, but when Negan checked it for batteries, he could see they were brand new, size D. Maybe this was brought in by Jesus or Daryl at some point.

"We can search for a signal, but we're not gonna be able to talk to them. Doesn't matter if we do, by now Buttons has made it home. They know that we're missin', and they'll probably come lookin' for us, but we're not goin' back in the dark. We can wait it out 'til mornin'." Rick shifted, obviously deciding to settle in and make himself comfortable for the night.

They spent all of about five minutes listening to the steady crackle of static as Negan spun the knob trying to tune into a voice before Negan quickly switched it off. "God damn it, I can't listen to that. Can I open the door, Rick?"

Serenely patient, Rick drawled, "I'd prefer if you didn't. You'll let all the cold in."

"Not like it's that much fucking warmer in here."

At that moment a particularly strong gust of wind howled outside the shack, sneaking its fingers in through the drafts to leach off their warmth. Rick's teeth chattered as he ducked his head, tucking his chin into the collar of his coat.

Shivering, Negan set the radio on one of the lower shelves. "Yeah, you're fucking right. Fuck, I'm sorry I've been such a dipshit today, Rick." Leaning against the wall opposite of Rick, Negan crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Talking had helped with ignoring the cramped nature of the small space, but Negan also felt a little stupid running his mouth just now since that's what had caused the trouble in the first place. "I fucked up."

"Not your fault," Rick immediately replied, "but I hope you realize now why I want you to have ridin' lessons."

"Yeah," Negan drawled, voice quiet and low. Sliding down the wall a little, Negan stopped right before the toes of his boots could nudge against Rick's cooler. "How's your leg? A little fucky?"

"Better now." Rick smoothed his palms on either side of his bad leg, slowly pushing down until he settled at the knee. The action drew a small groan from the back of his throat, but not a sound of pain, but pleasure.

Hearing Rick's groan, Negan sunk his teeth into his bottom lip so he wouldn't mirror it. The silence on his part didn't last long though as he pulled his lip free and unthinkingly asked, "Want me to rub it for you?"

Looking up, Rick's blue eyes were first round with surprise before a smug, amused look settled over his face. With a wry twist of his lips, he sassed, "You still askin' about my leg, Negan? Or somethin' else?"

"I was referring to your fucked-up leg. Get your mind out of the gutter, you dirty old man," Negan teased right back, "I'm fucking surprised at you! Rick Grimes cracking jokes about getting his dick sucked!"

"Who said anything about gettin' it sucked?" Rick tilted his head at Negan, that light-hearted sparkle visible in his eye despite the dying light of day. "I recall you asked to rub somethin'. A rub and a suck and a fuck are all different things."

"One just kind of leads to a-fucking-nother, you know?" Negan flashed a smile in the dark, and his chest felt the lightest it has been since it was just the two of them on that horse. "That's one way to keep fucking warm. You know what I'm saying, Rick?"

Licking his bottom lip, Rick smiled back and then looked away. "Yeah, I do."

Figuring that his teasing went too far, Negan quickly back-tracked. "Seriously, if you want, I can, uh, rub your knee for you, if it hurts. I understand if you don't want me to fucking touch you or whatever in this small, itty-bitty, teeny-weeny fucking shack."

Rick surprised Negan. "I would appreciate it." Pulling his hands away, Rick leaned back against the wall and laced his fingers together, resting his forearms on his lap. His hands were like a wall in front of his belt buckle, thumbs twiddling together and fiddling with it.

With a lick of his lips, Negan sunk down to his knees between Rick's spread legs. He slowly placed his hands-on Rick's calf, keeping everything kosher. Underneath his lashes, he glanced up at Rick, checking to see if everything was still okay. Rick's expression was placid, and Negan took it as encouragement. He slid his hands up to Rick's knee, and carefully prodded with his fingertips.

"Here?"

"Right over here," Rick reached down, hands over Negan's, and repositioned them how he liked. "Yeah, just like that, Negan."

Despite his dry throat, Negan swallowed and did as directed. He dug his fingers in, massaging around the stiff muscles, and every time he heard Rick release a little groan or small grunt of satisfaction, Negan felt himself throb in his pants.

At one point, Negan shifted his grip and rubbed a little too vigorously, causing Rick to jerk and slap a hand down on Negan's shoulder blade, tugging him away with a yelp.

"Shit! Sorry, Rick. I'm usually fucking better at this kind of shit, I swear."

"It's okay." Rick's comforting smile was a little crooked, and now it was so dark that Negan could only see him more from memory. "I think I'm good for now. This cold is just not gonna let it feel better."

Reluctantly pulling his hands away, Negan looked towards the shelf again. "You think that fucking redneck would bring a blanket or something."

"No, I'm sure Jesus and Daryl used that old-fashioned way to keep warm," Rick teased back. "And if they did bring a blanket, they took it back with them. Hell, if it was left here, it would probably be frozen solid like a baking sheet."

For once, Negan was thankful for the dark so that it could hide his blush, but he still laughed at Rick's joke, too. Once again, his hands sought out the radio, and he pulled it down to his lap, crossing his legs underneath him, body bowed over it.

"You're gonna try it again?"

Shrugging, Negan quipped, "Yeah, why the fuck not?" He switched it back on and there was nothing but static. Idly, he turned the knob, no discernable difference from earlier. With a sigh, he went to switch it off, but instead flicked it from the Radio setting to CD. There was at first a mechanical whir as the disc inside started to skip and then spin. Then the small shack heard the first strums of guitar strings and strokes of piano keys.

"I know you loved him, a long time ago."

Startled, Negan's eyes flew towards Rick's.

"Even now in my arms, you still want him, I know."

Pressing pause, Negan snickered, "Well, that just fucking figures that the redneck would be shacking up to Jesus with some twangy love song."

"What's the CD?" Rick asked, his voice cutting through the darkness flatly, not a note of humor to be found.

"Huh, what? You fucking recognize it?"

"I think I do. Just see what the CD is, Negan. Please."

Rick's single 'please' spurred Negan's fingers to move on their own accord. It should be unsettling how much his body reacts to the other man so willingly, but Negan didn't want to think too much about that, since it would only serve to make him sad. With a press, the top of the radio/CD player popped open and the disc slowly spun to a halt when Negan touched it in the middle, careful not to leave any smudges. Carefully lifting it up, Negan flipped it around so he could read around the inner edge of the circle on the other side for Rick. "Keith Whitely, Greatest Hits."

"That's what I thought," Rick sighed. He shifted his feet a little restlessly, and then suddenly stood, making the too-small shack seem even smaller. "I need a drink." Briskly, he flipped open the lid of the cooler.

Watching him, Negan shifted backwards on his bottom, pressing himself against the wall and curling in on himself to give Rick the space he needed. "I don't think you'll find anything in there, Rick. It'll probably be fucking frozen if you do. Fuck, we're gonna freeze in this goddamn hell hole."

Proving Negan wrong, Rick pulled an untouched bottle of vodka from the cooler, tossing a cool, smug look in Negan's direction. As he settled back down on top of the cooler again, Rick pulled the small knife from his belt to peel off the faded red foil on the neck of the bottle.

Mouth agape, Negan sputtered, "Well, fuck! Fucking redneck has been holding out on us. I mean, the fucker could have better goddamn taste. With his boyfriend like that, you'd think it would be a bottle of merlot, not cheap-ass Smirnoff."

Rather than answering, Rick took a large swig. His eyes squeezed shut as it burned on the way down, but when he pulled the bottle loose from his lips with a pop, he gasped appreciatively.

"Uh, wow." Negan dumbly commented.

Turning his brilliant blue eyes on Negan, Rick shoved the bottle in his direction.

Never one to turn down alcohol, Negan took it with a thankful nod. Their fingertips brushed, but the fabric of their gloves dulled the contact. A shock of thrill still danced up Negan's arm anyway, but he still felt cheated about it. He took a few sips that left him coughing afterwards, out of practice. "Shit, this stuff'll warm you right up, huh, Rick?"

"Yeah." Rick took the bottle back and tipped his head back for another pull, and Negan watched, captivated, as Rick's adam's apple bobbed, and then looked away again.

Realizing he was still holding the disc, Negan held it close to his face, looking through the track list. He used his free hand to rub up and down his arm, trying to generate some friction for warmth. The vodka bubbled in his empty stomach, but he could feel it warming him from his extremities inward. Negan was freezing except for his toes, his fingertips, and the tip of his nose.

"You don't do well in small spaces, do you?"

Starling, Negan looked back to Rick with wide eyes, trying to see more than just his general outline in the darkness. Through the slivers of the wood-plank walls, Negan could see that the snow on the ground was trying its damnedest to reflect the light of the moon, but the night was cloudy, so the moonlight was never steady enough to hold a picture of the land, especially since it could only beam instead through their little makeshift skylight.

Every time it was too dark, Negan held his breath until it passed. When it took too long for a cloud to drift across the moon, Negan thought he might pass out with how loud his heartbeat was in his ears and how it hurt his chest to not breathe. Finally, a cloud slunk by, and in the dappled light, Negan answered honestly, "No, I fucking hate small spaces." A cloud reached its fingers across the moon, and the shack was pitch black again. "Uh, since the, uh, cell."

This time the cloud moved out of the way just in time for Negan to see Rick's sympathetic grimace before another cloud took its place. "I know we both did things, Negan. Things we told ourselves that were okay for the ones we loved, to just survive and make it day by day. I know you by now, Negan. I know you regret all your killin' like I regret mine – but at the same time, we don't. Some people deserve to die, and at the time, you deserved to be locked up."

At Rick's words, Negan ducked his head, nearly pressing his cheeks between his drawn-up knees. His heart hurt so much and his eyes stung even though no tears would come.

"You deserved to be locked up then," Rick continued softly, his drawl a caress across the eardrums, "but not now. Not anymore."

Lifting his head was like emerging from the water after drowning for air, but Negan was afraid if he opened his mouth to suck in a breath he'd just let it out in a sob. Like a tease, the clouds only waved their hands over the moon before letting the light shine through again, illuminating Negan's face while only silhouetting Rick's.

"Gee, Rick. That's gotta be the shittiest apology I've ever fucking heard." Negan sniffed, and it wasn't from the cold.

"I don't think either of us have ever really apologized for what we've said." Rick shifted the bottle in his hands, and once again, took the plunge to be the bigger and better man. "I'm sorry, Negan. For tryin' to kill you and lockin' you up like an animal."

"I get it, Rick," Negan's voice was tight. Another cloud eclipsed the moon. "You did what you did outta…outta love. Because you care." He meant about Rick's family, of course. It couldn't be about him. It was never about him. "I'm sorry, too. I was such a fucking asshole – I'm still a little bit of an asshole, but the normal amount. The, uh, the amount I've always been. I know I can be a shithead, but I'm really trying now. Most e-fucking-specially because I have you showing me the way."

"I haven't showed you nothin', Negan." As if to disagree with Rick, a cloud pulled its hands away from the moon to show the way forward, Rick's snowy beard holding all the light and his eyes brighter than stars and bluer than sapphires. "I just showed you who you could be."

"You've showed me a lot of other things, too, Rick." Negan smiled, his dimples deepening and visibly through his winter scruff. "Shit, how to plant a fucking seed that'll grow. How to nail a shingle to a roof. How to fall off a fucking horse."

Rick's scoff dissolved into laughter that then blended with Negan's, and then he quieted as he took another sip of vodka. "You can play that CD if you like."

Already reaching for the radio/CD player, Negan asked, "You sure about that, Rick? This isn't your Kentucky Bluegrass or honky-tonk, but bonafide country shit."

"I like country just fine, Negan. Banjos and all." Rick's smile flashed in the dark before it was hidden by the bottom of the vodka bottle. "Music is a treat nowadays."

"That it is, Rick." Popping the disc in, Negan pressed play and settled the radio back on the shelf. Again, those same strums of the guitar and strokes of the piano flooded into the shack, and he adjusted the volume so that it wouldn't be too loud and attract unwanted attention. Satisfied with the low level, Negan curled up on himself again, both arms wrapped around his knees as he breathed into his lap to keep warm. Rick had his vodka for that.

And Keith Whitely began to sing.

He sang about heartbreak and love, of course. It was cheesy, and Negan didn't want to think about how pathetic he was, but when he chanced a glance at Rick to sneer something that would probably make him look like a bigger asshole than he was, he saw that Rick was near the bottom of his bottle, and he had a ring of teardrops clinging to his long eyelashes, and the shiny tear tracks on his face all the way to his beard. His lower lip was shiny, but Negan suspected that was more from the vodka, and there was that tell-tale flush of alcohol reddening his cheeks. And Negan felt like such an asshole, because Rick was so goddamn beautiful when he cried. And Negan also learned something very important, that he would never forget; Rick was a weepy drunk.

It wasn't until there were four tracks in that Negan finally heard a song he recognized.

"The smile on your face lets me know that you need me,

There's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me."

Perking up, Negan said, "Hey, I know this one, but it's…it's different."

"You pro-prolly," Rick hiccupped, "would know it better if it was sung by a woman."

"Yeah," Negan mulled it over, "Yeah, yeah, I think you're right. What is this, his fuckin' cover?"

"No. His is the original."

"You sure know a lot about this guy." Negan's statement hung in the air as an unspoken question, and Rick didn't leave him disappointed.

"I like his songs." Rick's fingernails tapped against the glass bottle along with the music whereas before Negan didn't even see him tap his boot. "I even used one of 'em at my weddin'."

The penny dropped. "Which one?"

Turning slightly glazed over eyes to him, Rick raised his brows. "Huh?"

"Which fucking song did you use?" Negan couldn't tell the difference if it was the tears or the alcohol that made Rick's eyes so bright.

Hiccupping again, Rick thought for a moment and let the music fill the silence between them.

"A touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall,

Now you say it best when you say nothing at all."

Finally, Rick answered with another small hiccup. "Tell Lorrie I Love Her."

Negan remembered reading that one on the back of the CD. Sitting up, he pressed skip on the CD player, pausing each time to see if it was the song and judging by Rick's face if it wasn't. Of course, Rick's wedding song would be the last one on the CD. As soon as the beginning chords rang out and Rick's face crumpled in pain, Negan knew it was the right one.

The song was actually beautiful, no more beautiful than his other ones, but Negan feel how powerful it was just from seeing the pride in Rick's shoulders dissipate into the air, bowing his body over the bottle. Rick went to take another sip, but Negan pulled the bottle out of his hands. He didn't even bother to fight him, and when Negan went to sneak a sip of his own, he saw the bottle was already empty. That didn't stop him from furtively licking the rim, and he wasn't doing that for any last drops of booze.

Cupping his cheeks, Rick sniffled and propped his elbows on his knees, eyes on the dirty floor where his and Negan's boots bumped against each other's. When his lips parted, Negan expected him to sob, but instead, Rick's broken voice crooned, "Tell Lorrie I love her, tell Lorrie I need her. Tell her everything would be okay if I could just see her. Tell Lorrie I love her, tell Lorrie I need her. And if I leave this old world–" Rick broke off in a croak he quickly quieted, "–tell her she's the only girl for me."

With that, the song drew to a close with its final chords, and then the only sound in the shack was their breathing and the skip of the CD in the player and the soft, soft sound of snow falling outside. A little pile of snow had started to build up in the corner underneath the skylight, but it was melting away and then refreezing into an icy patch before it could form anything too solid. It was a soft sound, like water trickling, and at first, Negan thought it was Rick's tears.

Hesitantly, Negan reached his free hand out, but he drew it back quickly. "Rick."

"My wife's name was Lori, too. Spelled it differently, though. One 'R' and no 'E'." Rick swiped at his eyes sloppily, and in his grief, sobriety started to flood back into him.

Slowly, Negan shuffled closer to Rick, both to offer comfort and to leach off his warmth. The old Negan might've seen this and sought to warp the situation to his advantage. While Rick was tipsy and vulnerable, he'd sidle up to his side and whisper a few sweet nothings to promise to take the pain away with his mouth, and urge Rick to split himself on his cock so he could just feel instead of hurt and ride away all his troubles and memories. But Negan didn't want that now. He didn't want Rick to come to him because he was broken. He just wanted Rick to feel better.

"Carl told me how she died for the little angel. She sounds like she was a bad-ass."

Nodding, Rick agreed, "She was. We had our…a few issues, but she was good. She was strong at the end of the world, stronger than how most of us start." Not bothering to hide his drippy nose, Rick used his jacket sleeve to wipe the snot away. "Get me drunk some time and I'll tell you how the end of the world started for me."

"Well, I don't have to be drunk to tell you how the shit-show started for me." Negan started scooping the loose snow into the vodka bottle, figuring that if he cuddled up to it tonight, it wouldn't freeze and he'd have some water to drink in the morning. That and it just gave him something to do with his hands so that he doesn't reach out and pull Rick's face to his for a kiss.

"I was in a hospital. My wife, my wife, she was fucking dying for no goddamn good reason at all. Fucking cancer. It was bullshit. I cheated on her, and she's the one who got goddamn cancer. And that's what made me realize that I pissed away a good thing and I broke it off with my mistress – can't even remember her fucking name now – and I was with my wife until she died." Negan paused. "I was also with her when she came back."

Stubbornly avoided Rick's gaze, Negan also pretended that he didn't hear Rick's sharp inhalation of air. "I couldn't even fucking kill her myself. I had no idea what the fuck was going on. Shit, I had just kissed her forehead goodbye and she could've fucking bit me right then. I had to fucking go fucking get a fucking kid to come kill her for me – after I thought I fucking murdered some guy, but he was just a walker, too. The kid bashed in my wife's brain, and then…and then I left my wife to rot."

Digging his knuckles into his weepy eyes, Negan's voice was barely muffled by his arms. "My biggest fucking regret in this whole goddamn world is leaving my wife to rot."

"What was her name?" Rick gently asked.

With a bitter laugh, Negan finally looked back at Rick's open, honest, sweet, beautiful, stupid face. "Take a wild goddamn guess."

"Lucille," Rick breathed, and Negan nodded.

"Yup. I named my murder weapon after my dead wife. I'm so fucked up, Rick."

"Yeah, you are."

Negan knew better than to take offense, and turned away to turn the CD player off. The CD skipped to a halt, and there was almost silence again.

For a while, both of them avoided looking at the other, but then another harsh wind whistled through their shack and a fresh bout of clouds started their journey across the moon. "Fuck," Negan practically whined, "I'm cold." His knees and back were killing him from sitting on the ground so long, too.

"Me, too," Rick sighed. His breath a cloud in front of his own face.

Dimly, Negan wished he had a cigarette to warm up his insides. It's been years since he smoked – since Lucille was diagnosed with lung cancer, in fact. Under the cover of darkness, Negan pretended he had a cigarette between the 'V' of his fingers and puffed into the air through his nose like he used to, the muscle memory coming back to him easily.

"Negan?" Rick called.

"Yeah, Rick?"

"Come here."

Negan's body moved, and even though he was unable to see where he was going, he found himself between Rick's outspread legs again. Rick's arms settled around his shoulder, and he bent over Negan until his nose was buried in Negan's hair and he had pulled Negan's face into his chest, zipper pressed against the man's cheekbone. Without question, Negan wrapped his arms around Rick's waist, squeezing tight as if they were back on the horse again.

"Mm, I'm much warmer now," Rick murmured in his ear.

"Yeah, but now I'm fucking uncomfortable." Negan shifted back on his knees, not willing to pull his hands off Rick's body yet. "Think your fucky leg will be okay if you sleep on the floor?"

"No, but it won't be okay if I keep sitting on this cooler either."

With Negan's guiding hands, Rick lowered himself to the shack floor. It took some maneuvering in the small space, but they managed to get comfortable with Rick on his back with his knees bent to help his leg, and Negan on his side, cuddled up to Rick's side. Rick's head was pillowed on Negan's arm that was already going numb from cut off blood circulation, and Negan had his head pillowed on Rick's chest, his steady heartbeat loud and comforting in his ear. Rick had an arm around Negan's back, his palm tucked into the back-pocket of his jeans, and on Rick's stomach they had their hands laced together. It was more than Negan could ever hope for.

Negan even went so far as to tuck one leg between Rick's, his pelvis and slight erection digging into Rick's hip and the inseam of his jeans driving him crazy. At first, he thought Rick didn't notice, but then after a few of Negan's lip-biting hip-rocking, Rick warned, "Easy, Negan. At least buy me dinner first."

Flushing with embarrassment, Negan asked, "You don't mind?"

"I've known for a while that you like me," Rick cryptically answered. "I've known since the cell."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Negan waited for the inevitable rejection to cut through the air and cleave his heart in two.

"It wasn't until after you moved out in your own house that I realized you didn't know I felt the same way."

Opening his eyes, Negan twisted around until he was hovering over Rick. "Cut the shit, Grimes."

"It's not shit; it's the truth. You think you would know that after how rock-hard you got me earlier with that massage you gave my knee."

Still in disbelief, Negan ignored him and said, "I don't appreciate you fucking with me."

"I'm not fucking with you, Negan." Rick tilted his face up. "And I'm not gonna fuck you in this shack. Just wait until we get home." Then, he kissed him, tasting like vodka, lips chapped from the cold.

And they kissed and kissed in the dark, keeping warm off each other, until they were so tired they lapsed off and fell asleep with their mouths kiss-bruised and swollen, their breath forming one cloud above their faces, shielded even from the moonlight in the dark.