Author's Note: Oh, hello. Thanks for taking the time to click on my story, man. I originally posted this fic on my tumblr, but I decided to dust off my old fanfiction account and share it here, too. Clearly, I haven't gotten enough validation from this puppy. Haha. I intended to make this a three part fic that could be read either all together or as separate pieces. I'm currently in the process of writing part three. Leave a review if you like, stay classy, and of course, thanks for reading! (:


It was over for her. This time it really was.

Sophie sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of some abandoned shop or another, numb to the groans of a lone walker scraping at the door outside. Cradled in her lap was the corpse of her recently deceased German Shepherd, his mangy fur matted with both old blood and new. Her pistol lay at her side, its clip entirely spent. Sophie should have seen this coming, to be perfectly honest. She and her furry companion had run into a nasty pack of feral dogs a couple of weeks ago. Bear had managed to run them off before they made a meal of her, but he paid for it with more than puncture wounds and a torn ear. So here Sophie found herself, alone, the last living thing she had left in the world dead at her own hand after contracting rabies. She was skinny, filthy, and all together half-dead, although none of that seemed to matter to her anymore. All Sophie could do was rock back and forth and stare blankly at her last and only friend. She'd closed his lifeless eyes, so that he almost seemed to be resting peacefully. Sleep, heal, and wake up again. She thought desperately. I can't do this without you, Bear. Please. She stroked his good ear soothingly, as if her touch would somehow bring him back to her.

Far away, the sickening crunch of rotted bone accompanied by deep male laughter echoed in her ears. Someone was here, she realized vaguely. Someone alive. Someone human. Sunlight streamed in as the door was carelessly flung open, crashing against the wall. She heard confident footsteps creaking across the wooden floor. They wandered leisurely through the space of the room, pausing every so often between aisles to examine a pair of cheap neon sunglasses or a display of keychains. The owner of those feet found her corner eventually. A pair of dirty leather boots entered the edge of her field of vision, stopping just short of where she was sitting. Sophie did not bother to look at him at first, hoping that if she pretended that he wasn't there, he would just leave her to die with her dog. Hell, maybe he'd even speed the process along and kill her himself.

"Well, hello there, doll," Said a voice dripping with charisma, smooth as honey.

Sophie glanced up at him with a dull curiosity, sniffing. The man in front of her was tall, lanky, and ruggedly handsome, looking down at her with a warm grin pasted across his face. There was something off-putting about that smile, she thought immediately. There was a sense of danger to it, as if he were a predator that was entirely too pleased to happen upon an easy morsel of prey. What caught Sophie's attention most of all, however, was his grisly choice of weapon. Instead of carrying a gun or a knife, he had a baseball bat swaddled in barbed wire slung casually over one shoulder. There was a bit of ragged gray flesh hanging from the end of it, probably from that persistent walker. Sophie reckoned that it would probably take him a couple of swings with that thing to put her lights out for good. Perhaps she didn't want him to kill her, after all. The man crouched down and extended a gloved hand.

"I'm Negan."

She furrowed her brow at him, genuinely puzzled. Negan did not seem to notice her dead dog, her gaunt frame, or even the pungent smell of sweat that radiated from her body and hung in the humid Georgia air. He just held his hand out and waited. Feeling as though she had no other choice, Sophie took the handshake. His hand was much larger than hers, the leather of his glove cool against her skin. She felt as though she'd just made a deal with the devil, but he'd only just told her his name. Negan's grin widened, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. He wanted her to respond, Sophie realized. She struggled to find the words.

"S-Sophie. My name's Sophie." She finally managed to stammer.

"Sophie," Negan repeated slowly, savoring her name. He licked his lips. "And what is a fine little number such as yourself doing in this shithole all alone?"

"I-" Sophie began, but the explanation died on her lips. Physically, she was hanging around in a miserable, forgotten souvenir shop with a dead animal. Now that she thought of it, she could not recall how long she'd been there. Had it been hours, or even days? Suddenly she noticed the smell of death coming off of the corpse in her lap. Truthfully, she was waiting to die, too heartbroken from the loss of her poor, sweet Bear. Sure, she'd lost people, too, just like everyone else. But Bear was special. He was the very last one, her last ally in a world that wanted to murder her at every turn. Bear was, for all intents and purposes, the straw that broke the camel's back. Tears stung unbidden at Sophie's eyes, blurring her vision.

"...I don't know." She whispered, too ashamed to tell him the truth.

"You got people? A group?" Negan asked. Sophie shook her head. He feigned thought for a moment.

"Tell you what," He said, one finger raised as if he'd just come up with a brilliant idea. "I've got myself a fucking great setup at home: food, shelter, safety. You come back with me. You work for me. In exchange, you get all of those comforts mentioned. Think of it as a give and take-type deal. Now how does that sound, doll?"

"Work?" Sophie inquired, wary.

"I've got a lot of fuckin' people to take care of," Negan explained, leaning in closer. She caught the clean scent of soap underneath his natural masculine musk. Where can anyone take a proper bath these days? Sophie wondered. "Taking care of a lot of fuckin' people requires a certain amount of work. So you do what you're good at. Provide a little, and we all benefit. What are you good at, sweetheart?"

"I used to be a nurse." She said, remembering her career from what now felt like another lifetime. The memory of a bustling emergency room filled her mind, so much so that she could almost taste the bad coffee from the break room again.

"Hard to come by those these days," He replied, standing. He swung the bat from his shoulder to point its bloodied end at her. The scrap of walker flesh still dangled absurdly from one of its cruel barbs. "I could really use someone like you. You seem like a nice girl. A real stand up gal, even."

Sophie's eyes darted nervously from the bat to Negan. He chuckled, although she couldn't figure out what on earth was so funny. That predatory grin had never left his face, perfectly white and framed by a salt-and-pepper beard. His tawny eyes swam with amusement and overwhelming confidence, his gaze seeming to pierce right through her. Sophie felt as though he were playing some sort of game with her, and she was the unwary participant. Negan studied her for a moment longer before abruptly turning on his heel to swagger towards the door, whistling. She watched his retreating back, dumbfounded. Where did he think he was going? He couldn't just offer her safety, shelter, and community and walk away like that! Negan stopped at the doorway to glance back at her.

"You fuckin' coming or not?"

Every instinct screamed at her not to, but Sophie rushed to her feet to follow him just the same.