"Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man."
– Friedrich Nietzsche
Lying in bed, Negan stared up at the ceiling with a mulish look on his furrowed brow. In his head, he replayed Rick's words – and the samurai's, Michonne's, over and over again.
"We can have a future…"
"We're not gonna kill you. We're not gonna hurt you. You're gonna rot in a cell. For the rest of your life, day after day. You're gonna be evidence that we're makin' a civilization, something like what we had, something we're gonna get back."
"And you get to watch it happen. And you get to see how wrong you were about what people can be, about what life can be. You, alive, is gonna help show people that things have changed, that keepin' you breathing earns another way, a better way. That's the part you'll play. So after all this... maybe you're good for something."
He couldn't believe how gullible he was for a pair of ocean blue eyes. Look what it got him: a slit throat and a prison sentence for the rest of his miserable life. Well, he wasn't going to let his feelings get the better of him this time. Never again. Negan started to sigh, but then it turned into a coughing fit. His throat hurt so much.
Breathing carefully through his nose, Negan rolled on his side and faced the wall of his tiny cell instead. He had counted the cinderblocks over and over, and he had stood on his toes trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world through his little window. None of it held an appeal anymore. The only source of Negan's entertainment now came from his own personal warden.
As if summoned by his thoughts – though, more with the regularity of clockwork – the door at the top of the stairs swung open on its squeaky hinges, prompting Negan to expectantly sit up. Down the stairs hobbled the proud Rick Grimes, here to feed Negan and clean out his shit bucket. Negan sneered.
"Mornin', Negan," Rick greeted him, his tone decidedly neutral. "I have oatmeal, if you think you can eat it. How is your throat?"
Rather than answering, Negan just glared balefully. It hurt to talk and the doctor – Siddiq – warned him that if he talked too much now, he probably wouldn't be able to use his vocal cords later once his throat was healed up. Everything in Negan, though, wanted to bitch and curse and whisper words of hate every time Rick showed up, but he held his tongue. There was always later.
"Still bad, huh?" Rick plucked the key to the cell from the wall where it hung, taunting Negan every day. While Rick limped to the lock, careful not to spill the bowl of oatmeal, Negan's eyes dropped to his warden's bum leg.
In his anger at his cut throat, he had snapped Rick's leg and said some things he shouldn't have. It put Rick out of commission for a while, and once Negan was well enough to not be kept handcuffed in the medical bay, he had Michonne and Carl as his wardens instead. They were hateful, but they didn't break Rick's promise. He was never mistreated.
But as soon as he was well enough, he was dumped in the cell, and he had already exhausted himself with this new cage. Less than a week of being in the cell, and Rick was back on his feet again, completely taking over taking care of him. And Rick was anything but hateful.
Dispassionate, uninterested, passive – but sometimes Negan could almost swear he was kind.
"I'm unlocking the door now." Rick warned, "You know better than to try anything."
Crossing his arms like a petulant teenager, Negan hunched in on himself in response.
Taking it as submission, Rick unlocked the door, allowing it to swing open. Unlike the door to the basement, this one was on well-oiled hinges and was silent as the grave. Negan didn't like the connection between the two. Rick limped closer, tucking the key away in his back pocket, ever watchful. The thing is, Rick was right. Even if Negan got out, without Rick, he wouldn't make it two steps. Everyone – even his own people – wanted him dead.
For a moment, he and Rick just stared at each other in silence. Then Rick tilted his head, his curls bouncing hypnotically, and the light coming through the window was just perfect enough to make his eyes brighter in this desolate room. Inside his gut, Negan felt a stirring that wasn't his hunger for breakfast, and he shoved it down again, biting his lip stubbornly.
"There's some honey in this. Should help with your throat." Rick passed him the bowl, and Negan begrudgingly took it. Not only did they watch him to see that he didn't escape, but they weren't sure if he would kill himself either. When he pieced it together, Negan was surprised to see that they cared so much.
Since he was given a metal spoon, Rick had to stay and supervise. Also, he always waited for Negan to finish, just to make sure he was eating and so he could collect the dishes. Negan ate slowly, mostly because he hated oatmeal. This oatmeal wasn't that bad, though. It had blueberries.
"Siddiq won't be coming by for the next three days at least," Rick started slowly.
Negan looked up from his oatmeal, munching on a blueberry.
"I'm gonna have to change your bandages instead."
Negan paused, spoonful of oatmeal raised halfway to his mouth. It dropped into the bowl, and Negan frowned. He hummed his displeasure, one of the few sounds he could make without his throat hurting. Usually, he preferred to be silent than to sound like an animal, but what can he say except Rick brought out the best in him.
"Do you want an infection?" Rick raised his eyebrows, annoyingly patient. "Do you wanna be able to speak again someday?"
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Negan faced off with Rick for one of their frequent staring contests. As always, Rick won, and Negan dropped his bowl of oatmeal to his lap, looking at the ceiling to bare him his bandaged throat.
"That's what I thought," Rick drawled. "Eat your oatmeal first and then we'll do your bandages."
With jerky, violent movements, Negan shoveled the honey-sweetened oatmeal into his mouth, not caring if it dripped in his beard. He had taken to growing it out – mostly because he couldn't shave himself, and also because it hid his throat. Siddiq complained, but Rick let him keep the short beard, claiming that Negan deserved at least some control of his life. Negan hated that he was grateful for that; and if he could speak, he wouldn't tell Rick that he was grateful for the honey, too. It soothed his throat and made the oatmeal taste marginally better.
While he angrily finished his breakfast, Rick took the shit bucket upstairs. At first, Negan was smug about that, but now he's reached the point of embarrassment, feeling like a child or an animal. Once Rick came back, having washed his hands, he pulled out the ointment and bandages from his pocket. "You ready, Negan?"
Setting the bowl aside on the bed, Negan assumed the position in answer, his hands balled into fists on his lap.
At the first touch of Rick's hands on his beard, Negan jerked back slightly, remembering the last time he let Rick get too close. Again, he and Rick exchanged a stare, and though Negan tried not to show any weakness or fear, Rick wordlessly understood, and his eyes softened with something like an apology, though he didn't say it.
"It'll be alright. I have practice from Carl's bandage."
When Rick touched him again, Negan didn't flinch away. First, he wiped away the oatmeal, muttering, "Worse than Judith." Then he parted the hair of his beard away, adding on, "You need a trim sometime, Negan." He stopped talking once he focused on Negan's neck, carefully unwrapping the bandage. Once it was revealed, he inhaled a sharp breath of sympathy. "Looks like it's healing up well."
His fingers were cool – but not cold – as he applied the ointment to prevent infection. The smell of anti-bacterial soap and the slight peppermint of the ointment was pungent in Negan's nose, refreshing compared the dank, stale stink of his jail cell. Negan was surprised that they spared supplies on him, but Rick never ceased to surprise him. As he spread it evenly over the sensitive scar tissue, Negan couldn't help but squirm, making a face. A shiver ran down his spine while a blush rose to his face, and he hoped that Rick wouldn't notice or at least have the decency not to comment on it.
Instead, Rick just hummed, "I'm not a doctor, but I say you won't have to wear this for much longer." Wrapping the bandage around Negan's throat, he continued, "I'm sorry Siddiq couldn't be here, but Maggie's gone into labor. She's using the Kingdom's OBGYN, but Siddiq could use the experience." Finished, Rick smoothed Negan's beard back down into place over the bandages. "Better?"
From habit during his time where it hurt to move his head when he was strapped to the bed, Negan blinked once.
Yes.
"Good. I'll be back later with lunch. Alphabet Soup, okay?"
Yes.
Nodding, Rick shuffled away with the dirty bowl and medical supplies. He locked the cell door – triple checking that it was fully shut – and then went back upstairs to the world, leaving Negan alone again.
As soon as Rick was gone with a final squeak of the door, Negan heaved a deep sigh and touched his neck with ginger fingers tracing over the crisp, new bandage. Everyday he told himself that he wouldn't give into Rick, and everyday after Rick left, Negan knew it was a lie. Curling up in his bed, Negan rested his head on his pillow, closing his eyes for a nap while food was still warm in his belly. He had hope that all of this would be only temporary. All he wanted was more.
"Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets."
– Arthur Miller
Eventually, the bandage came off, and Rick switched Negan's diet to solid food. Negan was still struggling to speak, though, his voice rougher and hoarser than he remembered. Whenever Rick or anybody else (meaning Michonne or Carl if Rick was busy, and sometimes the doctor just to see his throat) came to visit, Negan avoided saying anything, embarrassed of how he sounded like an old man.
Still, he never gave up hope that he would get his voice back how it was before. While Rick was gone, he'd practice, singing to himself, talking to himself, just whatever came to mind. Now, as Negan sat on the edge of his bed, he chanted to himself, "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy goddamn dog. The quick brown fucking fox jump over the lazy fucking dog! Shit!"
He still sounded like he deepthroated Lucille's business end. Frustrated, Negan tore at his hair, hunching over his knees. Breathing through his nose to calm himself, he got ready to try again. His throat didn't hurt as much anymore, but when he yelled like he did just now, that did hurt. Sitting up straight again, fisting the loose fabric of his pants, Negan took a deep breath and started again.
"Miss fucking shit-faced Sally fucking sells shitty seashells by the motherfucking seashore. Miss slutty Sally sells her pussy on the beach and gets sand everywhere. Sally sells –"
Squeak.
Falling silent, Negan stared up, watching as first Rick's boots and the bottom of his cane appear, and then his knees, and then his hips and hands, and then his chest, and finally the rest of him as he stepped off the stairs. Rick was balancing a tray on one hand, Negan's lunch, which was a sandwich, an apple, and a pickle usually. Negan suspected that he was eating leftovers from Rick's house that his kiddos probably wouldn't eat before the food goes bad. Again, Negan felt like he was a stray that Rick took in but was still too afraid to bring in the house.
"Afternoon, Negan," Rick's voice was smooth and warm, and Negan was as envious as he was comforted by the kindness. "Hungry?"
Pressing his lips together, Negan blinked before he realized he could nod instead. Shifting a little restlessly, Negan watched Rick grab the key and unlock the cell door and step inside so trustingly. When he passed the tray over, Negan avoided his eyes, focusing on his lunch instead. The only reason it was awkward is because Negan couldn't even tell Rick that he didn't like mustard on his sandwich without sounding like a brat. And Rick still tried to have full blown conversations with him anyway.
"How is your throat doing? Any pain?" Casually leaning against the bars to take the weight off his bad leg, Rick crossed his arms with his simple cane resting against the bars alongside him. Now it was his turn to watch Negan, and while his face was always serious, his eyes were soft and gentle. His head tilted to the side, and he looked exactly like some wanna-be James Dean in his white t-shirt that Negan hated even more that he couldn't tell him so.
"Negan?" Rick prompted, and Negan just waved his hand and took another bite of his sandwich.
"Still not speakin' to me, huh?" Rick pointed out the obvious. "I never would've expected the silent treatment from you. I'm almost enjoyin' this."
Negan shot him a look that voiced his displeasure. Rick's eyes crinkled with a smile.
"I'm kiddin'."
Huffing, Negan continued to placidly eat, trying to ignore the taste of mustard. It was a comfortable silence for all of about two minutes before Rick went back to asking questions again.
"Somethin' wrong, Negan?"
No, Negan blinked while he tossed the other half of his sandwich aside on the tray a little violently. He picked up his apple and took a hearty chomp.
"You should be able to talk by now. Maybe I should go get Siddiq."
NO, Negan blinked, deliberately and more firmly. He held Rick's gaze until he acquiesced with his hands raised placatingly. Negan went back to his apple, stubbornly rubbing the juices out of his beard.
When the apple was nothing but a core, Negan switched to the pickle. He had barely put it in his mouth before he heard, "You know it's a shame you can't talk. I'm sure you would've made some kind of comment about me giving you my pickles every day."
Negan's eyes squeezed shut and he groaned in misery. He opened his eyes when he heard Rick's soft chuckle, looking up to see him hiding his smile behind his palm as he ran his fingers through his beard.
Once he finished the pickle, he went back to the other half of his sandwich. He had just braced himself for the taste of mustard when Rick – relentless, determined, selfless Rick – opened his beautiful, pink mouth again.
"If there's something wrong, Negan, you can tell me. I want to help you –"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Rick. Can't you just let me eat my goddamn lunch?"
Negan shut his mouth with a click, eyes-wide with realization.
"Glad to hear you sounding like your old self," Rick dryly commented, his mouth twisted into a wry half-smile.
"Yeah," Negan rasped softly, coughed, and then tried again, "Yeah." Looking back up at Rick again in wonder, Negan smiled, his first real smile since he was Rick slit his throat. It was like he could pretend that nothing had changed now that he got his voice back, but he knew that that wasn't necessarily true either.
Slowly, Rick smiled back, though not as wide and not as bright, but a smile nonetheless. Negan never really got to see Rick's smiles unless it was at him rather than with him. It was nice to feel the benevolence in it.
"Well, if you there's nothin' wrong and you're finished with lunch, I have to get back to my garden."
"No, no, wait. There is something fucking wrong."
Cocking his head to the other side, Rick pushed himself off the bars, supporting himself on his cane again. "What is it?"
"Please, when you make my fucking sandwiches, no goddamn shitty mustard. I hate mustard. It's the devil's piss."
A flurry of emotions passed over Rick's face, quick as a cloud over the sun before there was light again. Negan sensed that though Rick was hiding it, he was a little disappointed; he tried not let it bother him, but his stomach still twisted with guilt regardless.
"I'll keep that in mind. Ketchup still okay?"
"Just give me some fucking mayonnaise, if you got any. The kind with olive oil is the fucking best."
Nodding, Rick collected Negan's place wordlessly, his face carefully kept blank. He had already limped out of the cell and locked the door when Negan couldn't stand the guilt in his stomach bubbling up his throat like nasty acid reflux.
"Rick?"
Steadying himself on the stairs, Rick carefully turned towards Negan.
"I'm…" Negan struggled, but Rick's face showed nothing but his patience and concern. "Thank you." After a beat, he half-heartedly added, "For lunch."
Rick tapped his cane, a thoughtful sound. "You're welcome, Negan." He tapped his cane again as he shifted, a look of pain at his leg crossing his face. "We're having a pot roast for dinner. The meat is rabbit."
"Sounds good to me, Rick."
Squeak.
"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."
– Emily Dickinson
Since Negan had gotten his voice back, he had taken to singing, fully embracing his role as a jailbird. Today was no different. After rearranging his furniture, as he habitually does every day in between breakfast and lunch, and after doing some push-ups and sit-ups and taking a nap as he habitually does between lunch and dinner, he had reached the point of not feeling like doing anything or getting up from his bed. Right now, he was laying on it haphazardly, legs vertically propped on the wall, his palms pressed flat to the floor, and his head hanging over the edge of the bed. He was too old for this shit, but hell, he was bored and even a rush of blood to his head was better than jacking off for the third time today.
"Nobody knows, the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows, my sorrow."
Squeak.
"Negan, what are you doing?"
"Nothing." Negan rolled and wiggled until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for dinner. This time is actually smelled appetizing – up until now he firmly believed Rick was a bad cook – and vaguely like garlic. His mouth watered in anticipation.
"It wasn't nothin'. I heard you. You were singin'," Rick playfully accused. He stepped inside Negan's cell and passed him the tray where there sat a heaping plate of spaghetti with biscuits laden with honey.
"Spaghetti! It's my fuckin' favorite. Did Carl tell you that?" Negan twirled some saucy noodles on his fork, eager to try it. "You know, you never got to try the spaghetti that I made for you, Rick. You remember that?"
Negan's stomach swooped unhappily when he saw Rick's face fall. "I try not to remember that day." Rick resumed his usual spot of leaning against the bars as he settled to watch Negan. "How is it?"
Making a big show of slurping the noodles up, Negan stretched the moment out as he considered the taste. Overly salty, but not bad for Rick Grimes. At least it wasn't burnt. "Not as good as mine, but still fucking good, Rick."
Snorting, Rick shifted his feet, pulling away from the bars so he could rub at his lower back. "Glad I didn't disappoint."
"You never could, Rick," Negan mumbled around his mouthful of noodles. He watched Rick rub at the kinks in the base of his spine with a barely-there grimace and impetuously offered, "Why don't you sit next to me?" Swallowing, he made a show of scooting over and patting the free space next to him. "Take a load off your feet there, Papaw Rick."
He snorted again, but gave into the offer without putting up a much of a fuss. "Just don't get any ideas."
"Well fuck, Rick, and here I wanted to reenact my favorite fucking Disney movie."
Rick quirked an eyebrow in question.
"Lady and the Tramp, Rick! Fuck, at least tell me you've gotten a TV now. I'm sure there's a copy of it out there somewhere and your little angel definitely needs to see that shit." Negan smiled and hoped there wasn't pepper in his teeth.
Rolling his eyes at Negan's endless antics, Rick huffed and then reached up to wipe Negan's mouth without a second thought. "Always so messy."
Negan quickly turned his eyes back to his plate to hide his blush, his bottom lip burning from where Rick brushed over it with his thumb. It had been so long since he had been touched by anyone besides Rick, and even then, Rick didn't touch him often. That little brush of contact was practically a kiss for Negan, and he was already rock hard beneath his food tray. He deliberately ate slower so that he could savor the closeness and give his erection time to go away. Luckily, Rick didn't seem to mind.
Between bites, though, Negan couldn't help but fill the air with mindless chatter, enjoying the company for what it was. "I didn't think you'd actually fucking sit next to me, but I'm glad you did. You make me feel like I'm in trouble at the goddamn principal's office when you stand over me like that, Rick."
"You are in trouble, Negan," Rick gently reminded him. He shifted on the mattress, bumping his shoulder against Negan as he did it. "I'm beginnin' to regret sittin' now, though. This mattress is shit."
"Tell me about it." Negan shoved more spaghetti in his mouth, reminded that he and Rick were not friends by choice. Rick was his warden, and anything Negan felt was definitely one-sided. His bitterness had overridden the taste of garlic, and he frowned around his fork.
"I'll have to get you a better mattress. Probably time to change your sheets to somethin' thicker for the winter. An extra blanket, too." Rick picked up Negan's nearly flat pillow, brushing his hand over the cover and smoothing out the wrinkles. Negan watched with covetous eyes, wishing he could give Rick something better to stroke instead. "Maybe a different pillow, too."
"Thank you, Rick." Negan was getting better at doing that: thanking Rick. "While you're fixing up the place, how about a paint job? Maybe I could just sleep outside for the night while the paint fumes air out, y'know? Fucking have a night under the stars and just smell the goddamn roses."
"Very funny, Negan," Rick deadpanned.
"Come on, Rick. You can't blame me for trying. I miss fucking dirt, if you can believe it." Negan stretched his long legs out, wiggling his cold toes. The action caused his knee to brush against Rick's and Negan throbbed in his pants. He sucked in a breath through his nose, and the smell of dirt and sweat was pungent from Rick. "I miss a lot of things."
Not rising to take the bait, Rick added, "You should have some socks. I'll get you some."
"Rick, what happened to Lucille?"
Abruptly, Rick stood and tried to stalk back to his former position of leaning his back against the bars, but his stiff leg made it look less intimidating and more pitiful.
"…Rick?"
"Don't ask me that again, Negan." Rick's voice was hard, unforgiving, and caused Negan to shrink back.
Staring hard at his tomato-sauce stained plate, Negan mumbled, "Okay." He picked up the honey biscuit, which he guessed must be his dessert, and took a small bite.
Then another.
And another.
"Is there anythin' else I can do for you that would make you more comfortable?" Rick slowly offered.
Immediately, Negan seized the proverbial olive branch. "I know you've noticed that the door fucking squeaks like a bitch."
"Think of it as your new doorbell, Negan."
"Pretty fucking shitty alarm system, Rick. Kinda half-assed, if you ask me."
"I'll oil the hinges. Anythin' else?"
Sucking the honey off of the side of his thumb, Negan considered. He doubted Rick would get him some lotion and tissues and a titty magazine, but there were other options. "Some books?"
"Any genre in particular?" Rick took Negan's tray and went about his business of locking up for the day.
Heart pounding as he realized he was about to be left alone again in the dark, Negan stood and crossed over to the bars, gripping them tightly. "I'll take whatever. Just, uh, no offense to Gabey, but I don't want a Bible."
"I didn't think you would. I'll see what we have." Rick turned away, hobbling up the stairs. "Goodnight, Negan."
Negan's grip on the bars was white-knuckled. "Sweet dreams, Rick."
Squeak.
Letting go of the bars, Negan climbed on his bed to peek out his little window. He barely caught sight of Rick's boots and canes stomping through the grass on his way to his house. In the low light of the rising moon, he could just make out Rick's funny little bowlegged swagger. Once he was out of sight, Negan let out a breath and allowed himself to inelegantly flop back in his bed. When he buried his face in his pillow, he could just barely make out the smell of dirt.
"Oh, this is the night, it's a beautiful night. And we call it bella note."
"While there's life, there's hope."
– Cicero
The next day, Rick delivered the new bedding, and Negan spent the whole day rolling in the blankets because they smelled like Rick's home. A week later, Negan had a new and much thicker mattress that gave him the best sleep he's had since he was moved into the cell. Rick gave him a couple pairs of socks – all of them obviously having belonged to Rick, and Negan couldn't resist the temptation of using at least one pair for masturbation, hiding the evidence under his new mattress.
Rick also brought him books, one at a time, always a new one whenever he asked. Some were familiar to Negan like Lord of the Rings, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Great Gatsby. A few were ones he had never read before, but Negan still found himself reading them anyway. Whenever Negan would trade in a book, Rick would ask about it.
"Hope is sweet-minded and sweet-eyed. It draws, pictures; it weaves fancies; it fills the future with delight."
– Henry Ward Beecher
"You know, when I asked for some fucking reading materials I knew you wouldn't give me Playboy, but I wasn't expecting goddamn children's books. James and the Giant Peach, Holes, Charlotte's Web, The Trumpeter Swan, – are you kidding me, Rick?"
"Those are Judith's favorites and it's all I can spare right now. I promise the next time I'm on a run or Michonne, we'll find somethin' for you."
"Judith's favorite? She can read? How long have I been here?"
"Calm down. I try to read to her every night."
"Oh. God damn, Rick, that's sweet as fuck. You're a good dad. Would you read to me, Daddy?"
"Don't push your luck, Negan."
"Their Eyes Were Watching God? I thought I said I didn't want religious shit."
"This is Michonne's copy, and she's the one suggestin' it. Just give it a try, and please don't ruin it."
"Okay, okay, I'll be fucking careful, I promise."
"Thank you."
"What would you like to read next?"
"I dunno. A monster book? I know that sounds funny considering…well, fucking everything. I guess Dracula or Frankenstein. Those are books everyone should read, right?"
"Alright, Negan. I'll be sure to find them for you."
"Thank you, Rick. Have dinner with me?"
"That's almost as funny as the first five hundred times, Negan, but sure. I'll have dinner with you."
"What did you think?"
"1984 is fucking depressing. I don't want to read it again."
"Carl said the same thing. I'll see you later with dinner. We're having vegetable soup."
"Yum. Tell the fucker I said hello. Bye-bye, Rick."
"Jesus, Rick. You sure know how to pick 'em."
"I can't tell if that was a compliment."
"It depends on if you like making me fucking cry."
"Okay, now I know you're jokin'. Of Mice and Men isn't that sad."
"Bullshit it is, Rick! Although that part with Curly about the glove is kinda funny, y'know? Not why I wore one glove, more like a Michael Jackson thing, but whatever."
"Alright, I'll try to pick a better one next time. A happier one. How's Catcher in the Rye sound?"
"Never read it."
"Perfect."
"How do you feel aboutreadin' a classic?"
"Define classic."
"Shakespeare?"
"Don't give me Romeo and Juliet, please for the love of Christ."
"Actually, I was thinkin' Macbeth."
"I've read that one! Don't look so surprised, it was in college. It was one of the few I actually fucking read. I liked it better than Hamlet."
"Of course, you did. What about The Tempest?"
"Is that about a watch?"
"No."
"Sure, I fucking guess I'll give it the good old college try."
"After you finish that, you can read a comedy next. Maybe Midsummer Night's Dream or Twelfth Night."
"Will there be a fucking test, Professor Grimes?"
"Maybe."
"Ugh. New rule: No Brontë sisters or Jane fucking Austen."
"You didn't like it?"
"Fuck no. I didn't even like the goddamn Pride and Prejudice movie."
"That's a shame. I actually like this one."
"You're kidding me, Rick. You've got to be fucking joking. What's to like about a fucking black-haired, handsome motherfucker who always manages to stick his goddamn boot in his mouth until he's shitting shoelaces? Rick? Rick! Why are you laughing?"
"Negan? Negan! Are you okay?"
"I'm just fucking fine, Rick, it's just, y'know. Seasonal shit."
"Why are you crying?"
"You gave me Where the Red Fern Grows, Rick! I fucking love dogs!"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"…"
"…"
"Your breakfast is getting cold, Negan. Why don't you eat a bite?"
"Okay, Rick. Thanks for breakfast."
"…"
"…"
"At least it wasn't Ol' Yeller."
"Shut the fuck up, Rick."
"Rick! You have to read this one. I'm gonna go fucking crazy if I can't talk about it with anyone."
"I didn't think you would enjoy this one."
"What? I'm disappointed in you, Rick. I used to be a fucking teacher, y'know."
"Really? An English teacher?"
"Basketball coach, technically. Whatever. I would sub for the English teacher sometimes, when she was sick. Anyway, please read Old Man and the Sea. It practically has you in the fucking title!"
"Oh ha-ha, Negan."
"Just give a try, please? Fucking please?"
"Alright, I'll see if I have the time."
"You want to try some poetry?"
"Fuck, Rick. You already made me read Shakespeare. Why do you like to torture me?"
"I didn't make you, and you said you liked Tempest and Twelfth Night!"
"Please, Rick. I don't want to read poetry."
"Fine. Heart of Darkness is it then."
"You finished Huckleberry Finn already? It took you at least three days to read Tom Sawyer."
"…"
"Negan…"
"Look, Rick, I'm in prison, not fucking hell. I'm not gonna read the same fucking plot twice or waste my time with shit I don't like."
"Alright, Negan. I'll try to find something better."
"Thank you, Rick."
"Gone with the Wind? Is that a little close to home for you, Georgia Peach?"
"Shut up and read it, Negan. I promise you, it's different from the movie."
"Mornin', Negan."
"Mm, yeah."
"Did you stay up readin' all night? Your worse than Carl, but at least he has a lantern or flashlight at least. It's terrible for your eyes to read in the dark, you know."
"There was a full moon. It's fucking fine."
"Hm. So I take it you like this one?"
"Yeah, it's actually fucking good. I like it."
"I'm glad I could find it for you."
"Thank you, Rick."
"…"
"…"
"Have you noticed yet that the reason Jewel curses so much is because he's actually intelligent, but struggles with words?"
"I have. Are you trying to say something, Rick?"
"What would I be tryin' to say, Negan?"
"Just shut up and have breakfast with me."
"How did you like this one, Negan?"
"Uh, I think you fucking lied to me, Rick. I thought this was like THE Invisible Man."
"Not the superhero you were expectin'?"
"Nope. Not at fucking all."
"Rick, don't ever give me fucking Dickens again."
"Noted."
"I'm serious. Even Christmas Carol was pushing it for me. And don't even think about Victor fucking Hugo. I remember hearing horror stories about that fucker from my students."
"You liked Vonnegut, though."
"Don't even compare him to shitheads like those British assholes."
"Alright, Negan, but Hugo was French."
"What-the-fuck-ever. Christ. Y'know, Rick, sometimes I think that you use me like some kind of… I dunno, fucking reviewer? If I don't like it, you won't read it. Is that it?"
"So what if I do? I thought you wanted to feel useful, Negan."
"Mm. What's fucking next then?"
"The Count of Monte Cristco."
"If I read that, will you give me a Stephen King book?"
"I'll see if I can find one the next time I go out."
"Thank you, Rick."
"So, was it as good as the movie?"
"Fuck, I didn't know Jurassic Park was a book. It was good, though! Really fucking good. Still would prefer the movie."
"If you liked this so much, you should read Jaws."
"Fuck yeah! I didn't know that was also a fucking book. I fucking love that movie. Bring that one to me next."
"Okay, Negan, I will."
"Thank you, Rick."
"You're welcome. Goodnight."
"Hey, these are comic books!"
"Carl volunteered to loan you some. Please be careful with them."
"Aw, that's nice of the little future serial killer. Tell him I said thank you."
"I will, but don't call him that."
"Fucking, relax. I'm just teasing, Rick. But hey, Incredible Hulk was always my favorite. I remember reading some of these when I was a kid."
"Carl likes Batman. And Deadpool, if he can find him."
"What about you, Rick? Who's your favorite?"
"Hm? I was never into comics as much as my best friend was, but I always liked Captain America – what's so funny?"
"Of course, you'd like that guy. You're just fucking like him."
"Patriotic?"
"Bleeding heart. Bad-ass. Great fucking leader."
"Thank you?"
"You're fucking welcome, Rick."
"I guess you likin' the Hulk makes a lot of sense, too, then, by your logic."
"What? I'm a mean, green fighting-machine? Well, minus the green part. Makes me wonder what his dick looked like."
"I was goin' to say you have anger issues, actually."
"Ha-fucking-ha, Rick. Very fucking funny."
"Relax, I'm just teasin'."
"Yeah..."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Same time tomorrow for breakfast?"
"Yes. Eggs over-easy?"
"Please. Goodnight, Rick."
"Goodnight, Negan."
"Hope is the power to be cheerful in circumstances which we know to be desperate."
– G. K. Chesterton
After his breakfast of scrambled eggs and peach preserves on slightly burnt toast, Negan was already hungry again for lunch. Impatiently waiting, Negan was lying in bed, fingers laced together behind his head. Bored as he often is, he started to whistle. He was on his fourth round of It's A Small World After All, when Rick finally arrived with lunch, a chicken salad sandwich.
"You're tardy, Rick. I'm gonna have to give you detention for that. Go ahead and hop in the cell with me and bunker down for the night"
Deciding to humor Negan, Rick played along, "What's my punishment, Coach? Runnin' laps with my bum leg?" The key jangled against the cell door as he struggled to unlock it.
"Twenty tongue lashings on your asshole," Negan crowed, vibrating happily where he sat on the bed.
Rick made a face, but under his beard, he was blushing, just barely enough of a rose color for Negan to see in the dim lighting down here. "Christ, Negan, I don't know how you can talk about that before lunch." Finally managing to unlock the door, he stumbled inside to the bed where he plopped down next to Negan without any hesitation. He passed Negan his sandwich and water first before he took a bite of his own. "Wouldn't lashings make you a pirate, anyway?"
"I'm always after your booty, Rick, so I'd say so." Negan rested his head on Rick's shoulder, batting his eyelashes, but Rick just gently shoved him away with a hand on his face.
In companionable quiet, they ate their lunch together, a habit they have formed. Negan smiled around his sandwich as he listened to Rick's lips smack together. "Remind me to bring my toolbox down and look at your cell door," Rick hummed thoughtfully.
Sucking mayonnaise from his fingers, Negan dutifully nodded. "Mm. Is my bath tonight, Rick? I think it's time for you to give me a shave and a haircut, check your puppy dog for fleas and ticks." Glancing at Rick out of the corner of his eye, he wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully.
Still focused on his own half-eaten sandwich, Rick ignored Negan's flirting again. "Yeah, I'm gonna have Siddiq and Father Gabriel help me with your bathtub. Michonne's still on her fishin' trip, and Carl will be at the Hilltop with his apprenticeship."
"I don't mind the doc or Gabey. I'm sure the Samurai is doing just damn fine, too. And as for Carl," Negan started, knowing by now how protective Rick was and how much of a worrier he was on top of that, too, "I'm sure he's doing a good job over there with his little girlfriend. He's a good kid, Rick. You're a good dad."
Finished with his sandwich, Rick turned to Negan with a grateful half-smile, his eyes as soft and gentle as always, a light in the darkness of Negan's home. He reached out a hand and cradled Negan's cheek and Negan sucked in a breath, eyes going wide as he realized that this was it, this was when Rick would take a chance on him. But then Rick's thumb just brushed over the corner of his mouth and Negan felt a stickiness there.
"You got mayo on your cheek," Rick explained.
Unable to help himself, Negan licked at the spot, just barely tasting the pad of Rick's thumb through the spot of mayonnaise. "Thanks, Rick."
With a small shudder, Rick pulled his hand back to his lap and grasped the head of his cane until his grip went white-knuckled. Clearing his throat, Rick asked, "So, how is your book?"
"The Picture of Dorian Gray? It's pretty fucking good. A little gay, but I like that." Negan dared to press a little closer, still hoping against hope for that kiss. He purred, his voice like velvet in the dark, "I'm more than fine with a little man on man action, for your information, Rick."
Rick didn't pull back, but he didn't push forward like Negan so wanted him to. They held the moment, Negan burning with desire, but still holding himself back because something was keeping him there. Then Rick stood, and Negan looked away, the flame of desire dying down to a simmer enough just to keep him warm for when Rick was gone.
"I'll be back later with your dinner and your bath. And you're right, you do need a little trim." Rick exited the cell and locked the door, checking it, and then started up the stairs without a backward glance. "Enjoy your book, Negan."
"See you later, Rick." Negan licked his lips, tasting the ghost of Rick's touch. Anticipation held him in her fists, and he waited in the lowlight for bath time.
"Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey towards it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us…It lends promise to the future and purpose to the past. It turns discouragement into determination."
– Samuel Smiles
As it turned out, Negan's own eagerness couldn't wait for bath time, and those socks were fished out from under his mattress by Negan's shaking hands. Bracing himself on the bed with one hand, Negan furiously worked the other one over his cock, eyes closed against the shadows as he pictured a kissable cupid's bow, hard features softened by a bush of hair going white like crisp snow, and jewel eyes shining at him with kindness.
Every day Negan jerked off at least once, but he's always been a man with a large carnal appetite. When he was imprisoned, he went from a man who had six wives to sate his needs to only his fist.
But it was about more than getting his dick wet. Negan had always been a touching kind of guy. Jostling shoulders roughly with Simon, flashing feral smiles and challenging eyes at his right-hand man while they tossed around dick euphemisms. Patting Arat's back when she executed his orders without a second-guess, unwavering and loyal and the perfect solider. Ruffling Laura's hair because she was still a young woman, barely college-aged, who could've once been his student. Bumping his forehead against Dwight's, not minding the scar-tissue, barely tapping his nose against his just to get the affection of another man when he had nothing but pussy.
And then there was Rick. Throwing his arm over the man's tense shoulders, rubbing elbows, offering a steady hand on the days where his leg hurt the most and the cane was just in the way. Negan always got excited for bath time because he was a vain man and he missed having a daily hygiene. He didn't mind if people looked at his dick – especially if he could get Rick to look at it for more than just a second. Also, it didn't help that all of Rick's friends were really fucking hot. Michonne choked him once and Negan would've game if he wasn't doped up so much. But now knowing that Gabey and Siddiq were gonna be there? Damn. That doctor had nice, soft hands and the creepy-collar-priest thing had faded with time from Gabey. The attention of those two and Rick? Negan was going to ruin these sheets before laundry day tomorrow.
With Rick, it was always more about wanting to fuck him. A tumble in the sheets would be great, but Negan wanted more than that. He wanted to wake up next to Rick in his house, and sneak into the kitchen first to make them all breakfast. He wanted to see Judith, the girl he heard so much about, and help Rick raise her because he knew that it was so much for the man to do on his own. He missed Carl, even if Carl still didn't like him much. He wanted to help Rick with the chores because his leg that Negan broke prevented him from being able to do what he wanted. He wanted to be there when Rick gave order so that he could make sure those orders were carried out and enforce it for Rick. He knew Rick was a good leader, and he wouldn't want to take that away from Rick, but he wanted to still offer him some advice just because he believed in Rick that much. Still, it's too much for one man alone. Negan wanted Rick to need him as much as Negan needed him, too.
He had just started to reach his peak and thrust into the sock at the memory of Rick cradling his jaw when all of a sudden – "Negan! Put that thing away!"
A wave of pleasure at Rick's voice snapping out commands crashed over Negan, and his eyes snapped open as he spurted into the sock. Rick was scandalized and staring, but not at his dick, but at Negan's face, and he spurted again, balls drawing up tight as he milked his dick for another.
"Negan, stop it!"
With a groan, Negan tried to collect himself, sloppily wiping away the come on his hand with the used sock. "Fuck, Rick, that was good. Thanks for that, darlin'."
"Jesus, Negan," Rick whispered tightly and he snatched up the key as he finally approached the cell door. "What if Gabriel got here first? Or Siddiq?"
"What, don't be jealous, Rick. Come on, I think we have time for another round. Wanna give me a hand?" Negan playfully teased, not joking at all.
"Put it away, Negan, or you won't get dinner or your bath."
"Fuck, you're such a killjoy. And a tight-ass, but I could take care of that if you like."
Pointing his finger at Negan, Rick hissed, "That's it. You're getting your bath in the morning and I'm not even gonna heat up the water for you."
Negan didn't believe Rick until he saw him turn around and hang the key back up again, taking Negan's dinner – which smelled like a casserole – with him. "Rick, wait! Come on, I need a fucking bath after this. Please, come on, please. I'm sorry, okay, if that's what you wanna fucking hear?"
Rick's shoulders lifted and dropped as he heaved a deep sigh. Then he turned around again, expression one of caution. "You gonna keep this shit up when the others come?"
Biting back his joke about how he knew how to keep someone coming, Negan promised, "No, Rick, I'll be good for you. Fucking swear, I will, babe."
Eyes narrowed, Rick worked his jaw and then muttered, "Fine."
For the rest of the night, Negan tried to reign in his boisterous nature and tried not to make Rick, Siddiq, or Gabey too uncomfortable, though Gabey was naturally very uncomfortable with his nudity anyway. After the others left with the tub, Rick stayed behind.
"You behaved better than I expected, but I still don't wanna catch that shit again."
"Look, I'm sorry, but this is my place and you didn't even fucking knock first!"
"I shouldn't have to knock."
"Well, you took away my squeaky door so what do you fucking expect from me?"
Pressing his lips together, Rick considered for a moment and then admitted, "Fine. I'll knock next time. But I don't understand why you didn't stop after you saw I was there."
"Well, maybe because I liked to be fucking watched, Rick. You ever think of that?"
Making a strangled sound in his throat, Rick barked, "No, I haven't."
Creeping closer to the bars that between the two of them, Negan reached out and grabbed ahold, knowing better than to try and reach out for Rick when he stood just out of his reach, as always, a cautionary distance when he was out of the cell. "I'm sorry, Rick, that you saw that." Negan meant the apology, but he also knew that though Rick might deny it, he definitely liked what he saw. Even with all the blustering, he was blushing, and Negan might have been able to see a little hardness, too. "But maybe you could give me that helping hand next time, huh, Rick? I'll even settle for a sad, eye-contactless hand job."
"No, Negan." Rick stared Negan down, but for once, Negan didn't look away first. The change was subtle, but Rick was a perceptive guy. He knew the signs, picked up every clue Negan dropped for him, and just like always, he gently – but firmly – turned him down.
Used to Rick's rejection by now, Negan tried not to let it bother him, but it did hurt. "See you tomorrow for breakfast, Rick? Have breakfast with me?"
Rick shuffled his cane, but didn't look away from Negan's pleading, hopeful puppy-dog eyes. "Alright, Negan. See you then." He turned away. "Have a good night, Negan."
"You, too, Rick," Negan called, pressing his face against the bars, his eyes glued to Rick until he was gone. To his empty cell, Negan knew that tomorrow was another day, and that eventually he wouldn't be kept in here anymore. Rick had said as much to him, that he would be let out on good behavior. Negan clung to the promise tightly with both hands and refused to let go, because after this long, no matter what, he won't let Rick go.
"A very small degree of hope is sufficient enough to cause the birth of love."
– Stendhal