Susan was tired already. She was never one of the outdoorsy type anyway despite her old job being an advocate for environmental protection. No matter how often she did it, she would never be used to being on the road by herself at the end of the world. It was one of the reasons why she usually found a group or a community for a little while; she needed to have a brief respite: get some more food, water, medicine, bullets, other precious supplies. Then she would always leave.

At first, she didn't make a point of leaving, but life forced her hand. One of the first large groups she had found had been terrible. Composing mostly of men, they made far too many attempts to get into her pants, and feeling too uncomfortable and unsafe to sleep she slipped out one night and ran away with a backpack full of goods so she could make it on her own.

For a while she was fine – they hadn't even bothered to pursue her – but she spent too many nights awake, waiting for danger. After that she found another group, but the group was dissolving at the seams when she joined them. They didn't have a community, and roamed around much as she had done. The area they were scouting lacked supplies and they were forced to disperse to find enough food for themselves.

Again, Susan was on her own and forced to travel long distances. She went north to escape the weather and find areas that haven't already been picked clean; and she ran into another group in South Carolina. Susan was with them for the longest after the end of the world, around three months or so. Among them she had forged friendships and there was this one cute guy named Jay. He was just a friend, and she had been trying to work up the courage to admit her interest to him. Unfortunately, though, as the world and life normally does to Susan when things are looking up and going well – it went to shit.

Mistakes were made somehow – Susan doesn't know how and she doubts she'll ever know – and the Dead came in huge packs. The group was separated by force, and Susan watched Jay get bit before she killed him. It wasn't until later that she realized the cruel irony of the situation. She had crushed the skull of the guy she had had a crush on.

Jay was still human when she killed him, but he wasn't the first human she has killed. Susan wasn't sure how many she has killed, only that she has. It was an effort to forget, so why bother remembering? Sleep was hard enough to come by anyway.

That being her third strike at living with people, Susan struck out on her own, resolved to harden her heart against others. There were bouts of loneliness, of course, moments where she thought she was going crazy. In her heart, though, she firmly believed that isolation was better than making connections with people who were just going to die anyway. Maybe it was her fault that groups fell apart; at this rate, she could believe it.

The fourth time she joined a group was against Susan's will entirely. Susan was too careless, too clumsy, and broke her wrist escaping from the Dead. Fate had quite literally forced her hand (until her wrist broke) to find a community or group for safety. She found one, a group she had been distinctly avoiding once she entered their territory. They were friendly enough, accepted her, but as soon as Susan was able she left. While there she didn't talk much, trying not to make enemies or friends. She succeeded and they let her leave without a fuss.

Winter came and she was in North Carolina, approximately. Not used to the weather and lacking supplies, she fell sick, but this time a group found her. Once she had rested up and gotten over her illness, she left again. By now, she was starting to see how hopping to group to group could benefit her. No attachments, but the benefit of resupplying and resting for a little while. Less of a chance of going crazy by herself, too.

So, when she came to Virginia and stumbled upon a walled community, she decided she would stay for a fortnight. The Hilltop welcomed her, and she was put to work, which she didn't mind at all. Susan only bothered to learn two names: Gregory, the leader of the community who referred to her as 'Sally' or 'Sweetie' and Jesus, the guy she went out on runs with. He taught her a few tricks, but other than that maintained his distance. Though he genuinely cared about the wellbeing of the community as a whole, he kept his distance from people. Susan could appreciate the concept and considered herself lucky that he wouldn't try to get too close to her. She kept her word and left after a fortnight without telling anyone. Additionally, she stole some supplies for herself.

After her stint with the Hilltop, she avoided most people, just in case it was anybody looking for her and the supplies. It was about a month or two – the days blend together after a while when you're alone – and Susan was found by men wearing riot gear on horses. They spoke with shitty 'Ye Olde Englishe' accents and offered her a place at their Kingdom. Running low on water, Susan shrugged and went with them, already making plans to leave in two weeks. She met their King, a rather handsome man, and his tiger, a rather pretty big cat. Physical and emotional distance were required. Some of the knights were nice, like Jerry who made her laugh, but Richard was a bit of a dick. He was suspicious of her. Susan avoided him and enjoyed the cobblers and choir singing for as long as she could. When her two weeks were up she almost changed her mind to stay for a few more days, but she was too afraid. So, again, she left without saying goodbye to anybody; and again, she stole supplies for herself.

That was about three months ago. Susan knew it was three months because it was summer time now, and she had run out of feminine products and needed to go find some more somewhere. Birth control pills had run out long ago. Squinting her nondescript brown eyes into the general direction of the sun, she oriented herself in the direction of a pharmacy. It had been difficult to avoid the Kingdom after she left, but she kept them running in circles and stuck around the area enough to learn a few places. If she headed north, she could find a Walgreens or something, and surely, she could find what she needed there. She would need them soon. Ducking her head down and stubbornly trudging forward, she caught sight of how much browner she was. Well, she had always been brown, but never this dark – and not all of this grime could make her so dark either. Perhaps she should find some sunscreen, too, then.

Susan sighed and continued to walk down the middle of the street. The side of the roads were crumbling, and she'd rather not risk snapping her ankle. Additionally, she would be closer to the tree line, and she didn't want one of the Dead to sneak out and surprise her. She was starting to feel lonely again. On a whim, in an effort to bolster her spirits, she started singing,

"Oh, well, I'm the type of guy who will never settle down.

Where pretty girls are, well, you know that I'm around.

I kiss them and I love them, because to me they're all the same.

I hug them and I squeeze them, they don't even know my name.

They call me the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer.

I roam around, around, around..."

She trailed off as she started to cough, stopping for a minute to get her water bottle from her backpack. It was her last one. Another reason she should find some store or pharmacy. The pollen wasn't helping her cough either. Would people think to loot pharmacies for allergy pills? Maybe not and she could get some. Susan perked up when she heard a harsh noise, and with a sigh she took the blunt pipe out of her backpack before she zipped it back up and slung it back on.

One of the perks of being alone was that she could sing without having to argue about the song or lyrics or being told to stop because she was a terrible singer. Of course, there was a downside, like how the Dead just loved her singing and always came running to take a bite of her.

Looking over her shoulder, she spotted one of the Dead lumbering out of the tree line, heading in her direction. It was ugly, dead for some time now, and the Sun had melted its flesh off of its bones until its eyes were gone. It had found her by sound and (ruefully she sniffed her armpit and wrinkled her nose accordingly) smell alone, it seemed. She deliberately continued singing so it could lock in on her location.

"Oh, well, I roam from town to town.

I go through life without a care.

I'm as happy as a clown,

With my two fists of iron and I'm going nowhere."

Remaining where she stood, she hefted the pipe in her hand experimentally, waiting for it to come closer to her. Susan was bored, there was no other reason for her to do this. Finishing off her water, she gasped appreciatively, and then she neatly chucked it at the Dead and it bounced off its sunken chest. Old Susan would've never littered, but New Susan knew this world was already dead.

As she listened to the Dead's guttural, grating groans growing louder as it hobbled closer, she winced. "Look, buddy, that song I was singing," Susan stepped forward and swung the pipe at its skull, "Was –" Blam! "Not –" Blam! "A duet!" Blam!

The Dead fell lifeless for sure and, for good measure, she flattened his caved-in skull with her heel, grinding it into the hot asphalt of the road. Panting slightly, she glanced down at the sprinkles of blood on her shirt. Damn, she really liked this shirt. Susan swung her pipe, flicking away the extra blood, and picked up singing again.

"Oh, well, I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around.

I'm never in one place, I roam from town to town,

And when I find myself falling for some girl,

I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world.

Yeah, I'm the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer.

I roam around, around, around..."

Taking all the time in the world, she swung her backpack off again and rummaged through it. Slipping off the spoiled shirt, she wrapped it around the pipe to keep from the blood from staining anything else and stuck it back in her backpack before looking for another shirt. Since showers were limited, changing clothes often was the best way she could prevent herself from getting sick. Thankfully, not a lot of clothes store were looted at the end of the world or even now. Maybe the pharmacy would have a spare scrub shirt or two for her. Not really paying attention, she repeated herself.

"Oh, yeah, I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around.

I'm never in one place, I roam from town to town,

And when I find myself falling for some girl,

I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world.

Yeah, because I'm a wanderer. Yeah, a wanderer.

I roam around, around, around..."

Susan trailed off as she thought she heard something. It would be her luck to be more of the Dead, but she couldn't be sure. She sat up straight, hesitantly looking around. It wouldn't do well to be caught with her pants down – or rather, in her case, to be caught with her shirt off. Not hearing anything else, she sang again.

"Because I'm a wanderer. Yeah, a wanderer.

I roam around, around, around..."

Her head jerked up and this time she knew she heard something as she fell silent. There, there was the sound of engines – multiple trucks. "Oh, great." She shook her backpack and dug around in it faster, but she could see dust stirring just around the bend of the road… Not taking any chances, she booked it for the tree line where the Dead just came from. Just her luck, she tripped over the water bottle that she had thrown at the Dead, and dropped her backpack. Not having time to get it, she continued to run until she reached the cover of the trees. Ducking behind a tree, she prayed that the trucks would just drive by and leave her backpack so she could go back and get it.

That backpack had kept her alive so far and carried a lot of stuff. She had used that backpack in college, and there were still a few decorative patches on it despite its general wear and tear. Even though it was faded, that purple color still stood out on the side of the road, and the Dead one in the middle of the road was just as suspicious. Maybe they wouldn't notice a damn thing if she were lucky, though.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a convoy of trucks came around the curve, and Susan swore that they were going too slow. The longer she watched, the slower the trucks went, until they stopped less than ten or so feet away from her. "Of fucking course, they would," Susan muttered sourly.

At the head of the convoy was a blue pick-up truck, the one made for flinging up mud. Was the truck really blue? There was too much pollen to tell for sure. A really tall man with a mustache – even from the tree line she could tell he was tall and his mustache was huge and black – hopped out of the truck and called to the others, "We're stopping here to refuel!" There was a flurry of activity like an ant-hill that had been stepped on as even more men clambered out of their vehicles, some toting red gas containers as they refueled their respective vehicles.

Already breathing heavy from her impromptu sprint, Susan started to panic. The longer they moseyed around her, the more likely they were to find her. She couldn't leave without her backpack, that had everything she owned. On top of that, she couldn't continue through the woods on foot, defenseless, without a shirt, too. Anxiously, she watched the men and hoped that they wouldn't see the backpack.

One of the men, rather handsomely dressed in a shiny black leather jacket, whistled; and Susan immediately zeroed in on him like a dog. His black hair was slicked back and she immediately thought of The Outsiders and Grease. Part of her absentmindedly considered if he could sing and dance. He had a red scarf – an ascot maybe? Like Fred from Scooby Doo. More importantly though, he had a wooden baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, so shiny it glinted in the sun and nearly rivaled the shiny glint of his slicked back hair.

Actually, take that back, his smile was the brightest thing on him. Did he loot pharmacies for whitening toothpaste and mouthwash? Dental hygiene seemed important to him. Also, the most important thing on him had to be his smile after she caught sight of it, it contrasted so starkly with his small beard of grey, black, and white. He was like a dream out here, there was no way someone could be so real as him. No one smiled at the end of the world, but there he was as he surveyed the men around him. Mystery man – or rather more affectionately dubbed, Smiling Man – had to be the leader of this little brigade then. Despite her interest, Susan willed Smiling Man to round his boys up and leave this place quickly.

Against her will, though, Smiling Man just paced leisurely, swinging his bat so playfully as if he were a pimp and that was his cane. He came to a stop right at the remains of the Dead she had taken out. The Smiling Man inspected it, pointing his bat at it, with a curious look on his face. His smile was still there, but now he had pinched his tongue between his teeth, evidently thinking hard about how one of the Dead could get its skull flattened so recently when they had not passed any trucks on the road. Susan bit her lip, partly to ward off her anxiety and partly because he looked so particularly handsome with his head cocked like that with his tongue just so.

While she was distracted by Smiling Man, Susan had neglected to pay attention to two men who approached her hiding spot. She didn't notice them until one of them said, "Hurry up and piss, David. I still don't see why you need me out here with you."

Immediately, Susan ducked back around her tree and flattened herself against it as she heard David's answer. "Gary, didn't you hear about what happened to Dwight? Some guy just straight up bit his dick. I don't want one of those things to bite mine off. That's a bad way to go."

"Whatever, David. Just piss."

Susan was nearly about to piss herself. Part of her wanted to laugh about a guy getting his dick bit, but then the rational part of her knew that David and Gary were way too damn close for comfort. David could piss on her for all she knew, he sounded close enough to do it as she heard the tell-tale sound of a zipper.

"Hey, wait, David. Zip it back up, man." Gary's suddenly hushed voice interrupted David before he could even start.

"What, Gary? You see something?"

"Yeah, check out this cool backpack I found." Susan distinctly heard the man rustle around her bag and she had to bite her tongue to keep back her fury. At least he thought her backpack was cool. "David, look at this bloody pipe. It's fresh."

"Those panties look pretty fresh, too." David commented, and Susan hoped to God that he did not just snatch her good panties out of her backpack.

The sound of a baseball bat slamming against something metal – a truck? – interrupted the men's conversation. "Ho! Davey, Gary, you finished jerking each other off yet? We will leave without you slow fucks!"

Susan inhaled sharply. Not Smiling Man. Don't call him over here.

"Negan, we found something!"

Damn! Is that Smiling Man?

"You fuckers better have found some good shit to waste my damn time like this," confirmed Susan's worst fear. Well, not technically worst fear. Smiling Man was attractive after all, but here she was shirtless and not exactly in the best shape of her life.

The crunch of leaves underfoot broke her out of her reverie as she heard the men approach the tree line. "See if you can find some more shit out there for me then. And Davey? Put the fucking panties back in the backpack, you sick fuck. You don't even fucking know where those have fucking been."

When she was a child, Susan use to pretend that she was a tree-nymph. Being one with nature, she could feel its pain. She was a regular tree-hugger hippie. Well now, Susan really wished she could just melt right into a tree. Holding her breath, she scrunched her eyes nearly shut, and watched as both David and Gary passed on either side of her tree, not noticing her at all. Lady Luck, fickle bitch that she was, was on Susan's side for once it seemed. Susan exhaled noiselessly through her mouth, nearly sagging to the floor in relief. Now she had the problem of avoiding being seen when they would come back.

A sudden twig snap startled her, and Susan knew it had to be one of the Dead. Both David's and Gary's heads swung in the direction of the Dead and started towards the noise. Taking that as a sign to slip away, Susan slowly edged out from behind her tree, eyes fixated on the retreated backs of the men. Once they were out of sight, she sighed with relief and then looked away.

And, of course, there was Smiling Man. Keegan? Negan? Yes, that was what they called him. He was inside the tree line like she was, but he hadn't seen her yet. Like the other men, he was examining the contents of her bag, rolling the pipe around in his gloved hand. He only had one gloved hand. The dreaded baseball bat was propped against a tree within easy reach of him.

Debating with herself, Susan considered if this was how she could escape. Smiling Man was tall, but not particularly big as he was very slim. Maybe she could overpower him through surprise, but not without killing him. If she killed him, the group would chase her for revenge she was sure. He was a figure of respect and fear, and killing him would warrant no mercy.

Not seeing any other choice, Susan silently tread forward, taking advantage of his attention being elsewhere, and grabbed the bat. "Please, put the pipe back in the backpack, drop it, and move away." Susan didn't hold the bat threateningly, not wanting to appear too aggressive. Mainly she grabbed it so he wouldn't. His only weapon would be that pipe, she knew. The baseball bat had the advantage of length and distance. She was therefore at the advantage until those men come back or if he screamed. Smiling Man didn't look like a screamer, though, at least not a pussy screamer. Maybe pussy could make him scream… she's getting off track. "Didn't you hear me? Do it now, please. And don't turn around."

She watched as Smiling Man stiffened and slowly turned around, defying her instructions. Once he caught sight of her, he smiled, and God, if she didn't melt into a puddle then. Boy, was Smiling Man living up to his unofficial nickname or what. "Well, hello there. I'm Negan. And you are?"

Racking her brain for something clever to say – clever? Why did she want to impress him – Susan blinked rapidly, testily swinging the bat. "Shirtless. Tired. Hungry. Dehydrated. Hot. Thirsty." She stopped herself before she said something too revealing. "Look, please, just gimme back my backpack and I'll go. Here, I'll trade this for the backpack. I don't have guns or anything good. No pomade for your hair or bleach for your teeth. Nothing. Please gimme the backpack." She lifted the nose of the bat in a pleading gesture, not lifting the bat any higher than knee level to him. It was a little hard to lift the bat one-handed, but her other arm was wrapped protectively around her midsection as a shield.

Surprisingly, despite her loose lips, he was still smiling. "Well fuck," he harshly chuckled, though the sound was rather pleasing to Susan's ear. "I guess you are all of those fucking things. Especially hot, huh?" If it was possible, his smile got even wider, his eyes pleasantly crinkling in the corner. What pretty eyes…focus Susan! "That there that you're holding is Lucille. Be careful with her." He dropped the pipe to the ground to appease her, and Susan lowered the bat again.

Glancing at the bat, Susan didn't bat an eye that he named it. It was a pretty name. Wait, was she envious of the bat? Never mind that now. "Quit stalling, Dapper Dan, and gimme back my stuff, damn it." Her frustration was bleeding through, and she hoped she didn't sound too unfriendly. "The least you can do is pass me the clean shirt from there."

"Fucking dapper, huh? I prefer mind-fucking-numbingly sexy." He was ignoring her now. "I could pass you a fucking shirt, but I'm fucking enjoying the fucking view for fucking free while I fucking can. Besides, I didn't see a fucking shirt in here." He lifted and shook the bad for emphasis, the added effect almost comedic enough to make Susan laugh if she weren't in a hurry.

Remembering her vulnerability again, Susan wrapped her arm over her stomach more tightly. Her breasts she was proud of, but her midsection? Not so much. "Smiling Man, please," Susan let the nickname slip as she grew more desperate. "Don't make this too hard. I'll give you Lucille and those panties for my shirt and the backpack and everything else in it. Let me go." She knew that there had to be a shirt in there.

"I am very hard in general, and as for your fucking offer," he trailed off. Leaning back on his heels as if he were about to fucking limbo, Smiling Man just tilted his head to one side like an adorable puppy dog and smiled at her. "Nope!" He popped the 'p' and quickly glanced behind her. Susan immediately whipped around, raising the bat defensively in case David and Gary had snuck up on her.

In so doing, she lost her upper hand, and Smiling Man pounced on her like a cat. His gloved hand wrestled Lucille away from her grip while his ungloved hand caught her hair and yanked it hard like the reins of a horse. Susan stilled, pliant, hoping he wouldn't rip her head off, and Smiling Man dragged her against his chest, pressing her against him from rear to her head that leaned against his shoulder. She felt his hot breath wash over her face – minty, confirming her suspicions about dental hygiene – and the arousal she had for him flared in interest once more. Against her will, she groaned and hoped it sounded more like genuine frustration that the actual sexual frustration that it was.

"Now, how many fucking nicknames do you have for me?" Smiling Man asked her, dipping his head until his lips nearly brushed against her ear. With one hand in her hair, the other hand Lucille in front of them horizontally like a bar. She held her hands up helplessly as if to ward off Lucille's attack.

"Um, mostly just Smiling Man, Dapper Dan, and right now Asshole." Why did she say that? Well, if she was going to die, she would make the most of it.

"I've heard Asshole before," Smiling Man huffed his laughter directly into her ear and the dampness she felt from his breath was reflected on another part of her anatomy. "But I'm fucking Negan."

Gulping, Susan decided it was her time to die, and what a way to go when she's scared as hell and wet from arousal rather than piss. "Well what if I want to be fucking Negan, too?"

Behind her, Smiling Man tensed, muscles coiling like a snake. Surely, this was the end of Susan. "Well, you can be fucking Negan, too, I guess." He tugged on her brown hair again, more to keep her attention than anything else. "Listen here, you can either be like one of these men – a Savior – where you scavenge for me. You will go by Negan whenever anyone asks." Again, he repeated the tug and Susan felt herself gush in correspondence. She didn't know why the hair-pulling was getting to her, it just was. Maybe it was because of him. "Or you can be one of my wives, and then you'll really be fucking Negan, fucking me."

"Um," Susan hummed. This wasn't what she was expecting. She was ready to die, but now he was offering her career choices. Either she could bring home the bacon or be a trophy wife. Briefly she had the internal struggle of going against the rules she had made, the rules of not staying longer than she has to. But maybe now it was time for a break again, and she could sneak out. Well, if she was going to leave after a fortnight, and this was to be a vacation from the road, then she knew which position she wanted. "I'll fuck you, Negan." Oh, yes, she knew exactly which positions she wanted.

There was one more tug, and Susan felt like she was going to cum. Then Negan promptly released her. "Good fucking girl! I like you, you're fucking smart. Charming, sexy little feisty thing, yeah! You'll fit right in." He spun Susan around and she felt dizzy, this encounter head-spinning for multiple reasons. He was smiling. "Say, what's your name then since you're not gonna be Negan?" Being smart, he stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth mischievously, and his eyes were glittering with good humor. He was too handsome for his own good, or more precisely for Susan's good.

"Uh, Susan." She numbly answered, and her hands came up to wrap around her chest and stomach. This motion wasn't to cover her decency so much as it was to keep the butterflies still in her stomach. Susan told herself it was just normal sexual attraction. No romantic feelings, no problem. Fucking him for two weeks couldn't make her love him. She'd caught how he said wives, plural, too. There was no way she could make that much of an impression that he'd care so much when she leaves.

With fluid grace, Negan scooped up her backpack and handed it back to her. "Well, uh Susan – can I call you Suzie?"

"No." She answered him shortly, gratefully accepting her backpack.

"How about Suzie Q?"

"No, I've heard all that noise before. No thanks." Taking her eyes off of him again, she started searching for her extra shirt. Did she really not have one? She could've sworn she had at least one cute red one.

"What about Sue?" Negan asked, watching her intently, gently tapping Lucille against the heel of his boot.

Susan paused, remembering how she was singing when the trucks started to roll up. There was no way that he knew that. "I would prefer Susan."

"Well you had a billion and fucking one nicknames for me. Turnabout is only fair play, Susan." He waited a moment and then continued, "You don't got a fucking shirt, do ya? Told ya."

Trying not to whine, Susan answered, "Well, I thought I did, I'm sorry."

"That's fucking fine with me, Susan. But I don't think you'd want everyone to see your girls, so here." Negan started to unzip his jacket, and Sue's mouth watered. Funny, she thought all the moisture in her body had gone to wet her other pair of lips. As soon as he was standing there in his white shirt – sans leather jacket – tucking his red scarf into the back pocket of his pants, Susan confirmed that he was particularly slim and still all the more handsome. "Wear this until we get to the Sanctuary." Like a fucking gentleman, he handed her his black leather jacket.

"Sanctuary?" Susan parroted back to him as she pulled the jacket on. It fit her entire wrong. It was too long, but couldn't hang over her too-big ass, so instead it bunched up on her hips. She could barely manage to zip it and she didn't want to risk breaking the jacket of her new husband when she had just met him, so her 'girls' as he put it were still practically handing out. The enjoyable part was how the sleeves came down to her the palms of her hands, her fingertips and too-long nails just hanging out. That was the only part she could deem attractive to him in her eyes. Honestly, she's surprised he proposed marriage and seemed agreeable to fuck her. Maybe her luck was turning around.

"Yes, Sanctuary. You're new home, Susan." Negan's eyes roved over her form once more and he snickered. Her stomach dropped correspondingly, ego plummeting just as low. "You look fucking cute." Stomach and ego returned to their places, and Susan relaxed at her false alarm. She didn't want her vacation cut short because he found her lacking as a wife. That would make escaping harder.

"Okay then, dear husband," she lightly sassed him. Susan clutched her backpack to her chest and looked up at him, admiring his smile. "Take me home."