So, after the overwhelming response I got to introducing Negan into the last chapter of "Butterflies & Hurricanes", there was no way I was just going to leave it there, even though that was the perfect ending (by my reckoning, anyway). Anyone who is reading this now, that did not read the first story in the series, please go back and read the last chapter, at least. I'd throw in reading the first chapter as well just so you get an understanding of who Julie (my OC) is.
Just like with its predecessor, this story will deviate from show and comic cannon. This is my interpretation of the series, which I base more heavily on the series rather than the comic. I will try my damndest to stay true to the characters Kirkman created. I'm open to any and all feedback and I actually appreciate it a great deal. I'll try not to change anything major, but no promises. Also, it's really hard for me to write these characters. It's some of the most challenging writing I do, which is one of the main reasons I enjoy it, but it's so hard for me to figure out whether I get it down right or not.
Also, I'm putting up a poll for all the people who read the first one. Who should Julie end up with, Daryl or Negan? So make sure to vote.
Please read and review and enjoy. I really hope I did "The Walking Dead" justice with this.
1. Kismet
Julie's breath hitched and her throat went dry. The crunch of gravel under his boots echoed into the night loudly and she wanted to take a step back, maintain the space between them, but the look in his eyes had her frozen in place. He stopped just before her and slowly looked her over from head to toe. He looked absolutely fascinated, elated, and so much more.
"You got a name, Sweetheart," he asked. It took her a moment to open her mouth. "Julie," she managed breathlessly. He was still grinning that damn grin and somehow, it was even wider than before. "Julie," he repeated slowly, each syllable rolling off his tongue in a way that had her gulping nervously. It sounded absolutely sinful coming from him and she had no doubt in her mind that she was standing in front of the devil himself.
"Julie," he repeated to himself absently, and he leaned toward her. "It suits you."
Her heart beat painfully in her chest. Daryl. Daryl had told her that, too. She swallowed thickly as the moment broke and the agony of the past few days washed over her. Her legs shook and her knees gave out without warning as her stance wavered almost violently. But there was a leather clad arm around her waist and a hard chest pressed against her own. She blinked stupidly up at him. That smile of his, which had been so predatory before was now almost boyish in nature. "Fallin' for me already?"
Her hands were on his shoulders, clutching his jacket. "It's been a long day."
"Well, Sweetheart, Julie," he said, pulling his head back to look at her better, "I think maybe I should take you back to my place."
No.
Reacting purely on instinct, Julie shoved herself away from him and glared, clenching her jaw and tensing her muscles. She may have landed back in the gravel and the dust, but fight him she would. Several of Negan's men leveled their guns at her. Negan lifted his hands in the air, his bat still clutched in one hand. "Whoa, whoa, I didn't fucking mean it like that. Fuck, no, that's not at all what I meant. So just calm the fuck down and let's talk."
When she didn't make a move or speak, he motioned for his men to lower their weapons and then looked down at her again. The last of her adrenaline was beginning to wear off and she couldn't stop her arms from shaking. He tapped his baseball bat against his boots and ran his tongue over his teeth. "My name, which you know, is Negan. And I am in fucking charge around here. I'm in charge of a lot of people. A lot of fucking people. And I have a lot of fucking shit that I am more than willing to share with you if you decide to come back with me."
He crouched down in front of her and Julie didn't so much as lean away from him. She wasn't scared. She was just spent and he seemed to realize that. That ever handsome grin was back on his face. It was wolfish and boyish all at once and his dimples added another layer of charm that she hadn't thought possible. If she hadn't already been weak in the knees before, she surely would have been then. He leaned further into her space, tipping further onto his booted toes toward her and lowered his voice. "You are not afraid of me. I like that. I like it a lot." The grin almost became crazed for a moment. "You fascinate me, Sweetheart, and just this once, I am not above begging for you to come home with me."
Even behind the mania, she could hear the sincerity in his words and when she tilted a little bit too far, her arms as shaky and weak as her legs, he reached out one gloved hand to steady her. She lowered her eyes to where his hand was settled gently, but firmly on her arm and then looked up at him. "Come with me," he urged, his voice barely above the whisper of a lover. Their eyes ran over one another's faces, drunk on the appearance of one another.
Julie couldn't find the words to respond and so she nodded minutely, but it wasn't enough for him to let out a gleeful hoot of triumph and she wondered if there had ever been a man who looked quite as happy as Negan did at that moment. It almost made her smile. He stood and held out a hand for her, which she did not hesitate in taking, and he hauled her up onto her unsteady feet and slowly guided her to his truck, grin still firmly in place. "Now, home isn't exactly the Goddamn Plaza Hotel, which," he paused and let his eyes travel over her dress pointedly, "you may be accustomed to, but it is home-fucking-sweet-as-tits-home and me and my boys making it fucking work! Don't we boys?"
He called the last bit over his shoulder and a few men hollered in agreement. Julie stayed silent, but didn't take her eyes off him. He glanced down at her and when she made no move to respond she watched as his expression became slightly less animated and more cautious. What ever spell had been woven between them before had broken and they were now regarding one another with much less rose colored glasses. He saw her as a threat, she realized and it was safer for him if he did. She didn't want to hurt him. Knowing that was disconcerting. Somehow, even though she sensed the danger emanating off him, she didn't want to bring him to any harm. He'd saved her life after all. But there was something else, something she couldn't quite pinpoint. The jovial expression on his face had slowly given way to a sense of lurking aggression that seemed to be just simmering beneath the surface. She'd seen it before in herself on quite a few occasions.
He had saved her. Just like Merle had saved her once. That meant something to her, whether Negan realized it or not. Maybe he expected her to repay him for it. It would only be fair. She would repay him. She would make sure he knew just what it meant to her. Maybe, one day, she'd end up saving his life.
She looked over at Negan as they tore out of the rest station parking lot, a procession of vehicles close behind. The atmosphere in the truck was stifling and it irked her that he seemed completely fine with it. She needed something to distract her from the worry that was finally creeping into her gut. She had no idea where she was being taken, what they had planned for her, or if she was even going to be alive for long. It irked her that it seemed she'd forgotten all about the idea of it being a ruse. She dropped her gaze to the bat in his lap, fresh blood still drying on the wiring wrapped around the end. "I like your bat." Her words were stilted, but it would have to do as a conversation starter. He afforded her a single look, unreadable and searching and she couldn't quite fathom what he was looking for.
"Lucille."
She turned her head toward him, brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"
His eyes flicked over in her direction for an instant before they returned to the road. "Her name. It's Lucille."
"Oh." She faced forward and shifted in her seat uncomfortably. The cab of the truck felt incredibly cramped and tense. "Well, she's pretty."
Julie cringed inwardly. She hadn't really meant that the way it sounded, but she couldn't think of a proper compliment. "Boy, I like the way she bashes people's heads in and makes grown men piss themselves," just didn't sound sincere enough. Her lips twitched at the thought of saying it out loud. He probably would have liked that.
"Thanks," he muttered out, leaning against his own window. She cleared her throat and stared out mindlessly on the road in front of them until her eyelids grew heavy and she rubbed them repeatedly in a vain attempt to stay conscious.
"Why were those shitheads so pissed at you?"
She blinked at him a few times as her tired mind tried to process his words. "Oh, I killed a bunch of people, left them to turn, blew up their armory, and essentially destroyed the community they did the most business with. I'm guessing there wasn't much left judging by how pissed they were."
"The fuck are you wearing that dress for anyway? I mean, it's a nice fucking dress, but what the fuck?"
She smooth her fingers over the velvet fabric covering her lap, fingering the folds. "The night I escaped, they were having a celebration to celebrate having survived the past three years. The man who bought me-"
"Bought you?"
Julie looked him over, her eyes searching. "Yeah, bought me. Those guys back there are the ones who sold me. They sold me for ammo."
"What, like some fucker offered them a couple bullets for you like some backwoods dowry or some shit?"
"No, like there was an auction and his bid was the highest."
"They fucking auctioned you off? How big was this place?!"
"I didn't take measurements, I was a little busy trying to plan my fuckin' escape, you know, priorities and shit."
He returned her scowl with one of his own and they face forward again, Julie crossing her arms. She rested her head against the window, letting the cold glass cool down her cheek and closed her eyes, falling asleep within moments.
And she dreamed. She dreamed of the soldiers who'd taken her and Gretchen and sold her. Only they didn't sell her to the man from Mountaincrest. They sold her to the men from the woods down in Georgia. The one whose nose she'd bitten off stood over her and watched while they held her down, and one of the men squeezed her neck so tightly she couldn't breathe. Someone ran their hand down her arm and she jerked away when she realized they were tracing the scar that ran the length of her upper arm. The hand moved into her hair, cupped the side of her jaw and pulled at her gently; it didn't tug at her hair forcefully like she expected. She felt warmth and the forest floor wasn't so hard and unyielding and the wind that danced through her hair felt suspiciously like fingers. But it was quiet there and the men were all gone and she was alone, but it felt safe and her world lulled into darkness finally.
When she awoke several hours later, she jolted upright and looked around frantically. She wasn't in her dress anymore, but a plain white tee-shirt and...clean cotton underwear. She pulled herself up against the headboard and almost sobbed in relief when very specific parts of her body didn't burn or ache. As her dream flashed through her memory she remembered the past few weeks and relief gave way to anger and loneliness.
"Do, you really fucking think I'd save you from being raped just so I could do it myself?" She jumped at the deep voice that emanated from the other side of the room. Negan was sitting on a couch with a lapful of paperwork and his gaze was equal parts reproachful and insulted.
"I don't really do well with people I don't know," she tried to excuse and he tilted his head to the side, that searching look of his penetrating and more invasive than expected. "And the people you do know?"
She hugged her arms around her middle and looked away while she shrugged. "Don't do so well with them either." As an afterthought, she added, "I'm kind of a bitch."
He laughed loudly at that, but didn't respond, and instead went back to the paperwork in his hands. Finally, Julie ventured forward and sat down on the other side of the bed, closest to the man still wearing the leather jacket and let her eyes trail over the room leisurely. Everything was done up in the same shade of grey. There were real plants over by the window, which all had actual matching curtains that weren't covered in dust and moth-eaten. The shelving on the other side of the room was covered in books and strangely minimalist vases and bottles that she wondered if he'd lifted from Pier 1 at some point. And there was a television. Was it ornamental or did it actually work. The bed she was sitting on looked like it was always made up with freshly laundered sheets and she pressed her hand atop the mattress firmly, raising an eyebrow when her suspicious that it had a pillow top on it were confirmed.
"So, what do you think of my not-so-fucking-humble abode?" He raised his arms outward and the words just tumbled from her lips without forethought. "Did you rescue Martha Stewart, too? Because it looks like she threw up in here."
He grinned at her, boyish and full of mirth. "Believe it or not, I did not have anything to do with decorating this place. I had someone else do it for me."
"Gotta keep up appearances, right?"
His toothy grin widened. "Exactly, Sweetheart, you get it. Boy, do you ever get it." The look on his face became thoughtful and he stood up then, slowly coming to stand in front of her.
"It's a little late to be giving you the Grand Tour. But you look like you could use some fucking food. Am I right?"
She nodded and his grin grew. He threw open the door to the room and yelled. "Someone getting me some fucking food. And none of that slop, shit you fuckers all eat. Get me something good or I'll fucking bash your faces in!" He slammed the door without a word and his grin had that crazed quality to it. "You'll like it here, I promise."
She eyed him warily. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's fucking true. Everyone likes it here."
"Really," she asked derisively. She drew herself up on her feet, scrunching her toes against the rug they landed upon and couldn't help the amused smirk that found its way to her face. Or the sudden giggle. It was just so plush and ridiculous to think that people still lived like this. This was now the second group she'd landed in that lived like they belonged on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous". Except this one hadn't tried to turn her into a sex slave, so this one was clearly an upgrade. She peeked at Negan from under her eyelashes. He was watching her, equally amused and she stopped wiggling her toes.
She cleared her throat and went to sit across from him in one of the cushy armchairs and pulled at the hem of the white shirt she was wearing as she seated herself. It was long on her, but not long enough for her to cross her legs, so she settled for locking her knees together and clasping her hands around them. "Well, since it's a bit late for a tour, how about you tell me about it."
He tilted his head to the side. "Sort of a Negan's "How to"?"
She nodded. "You're the leader, who better to tell me how the system works."
"Are you trying to butter me up, Sweetheart," he asked, leaning halfway across the table. She raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure there are other ways to butter you up that would work much better. Last real group I was a part of was real vague on how to become a part of the team. I'm trying to keep that from happening again."
His grin faded the barest bit, but then returned immediately to full-force. "So you are staying?"
"If you'll have me."
"That a trick fucking question," he asked, laughing, "Oh, Darlin', you are just the thing for this place. I can feel it. Hell, if half the people around here acted like you, I'd either be up Shit Creek, or running the smoothest operation this side of the Appalachian. I mean, I probably am and I'm always looking to expand-"
"I'd think conquering is more your style."
He chuckled. "Hell, you're not wrong. People don't agree with my methods, but they fucking work. I make them work, I keep people alive. You'd think people would be grateful and want to get behind that, but there's always a few fuckers, who want to be absolute shits about it and try to ruin it for everyone."
There was a knock at the door and he called for them to enter. A girl with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes entered carrying a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and a couple slices of bread. Julie's eyes widened. "Holy shit, you have bacon and eggs? And bread?"
Negan looked positively gleeful, his hazel eyes dancing as he watched the girl waffle between the two of them. The happiness drained from his face in an instant. "Well, are you going to fucking feed her or stand there? Give her her food and get the fuck out."
"Seriously, I want that." Julie was too hungry to think about manners or anything close to them. "I'm not above murdering you for that plate."
The girl's eyes widened as she nearly dropped the plate on the table, hands shaking as she took a step back. Julie barely even spared her a look as she dug into the food ravenously, briefly looking at Negan as she shoved a strip of bacon in her mouth. "Look, I'm not exactly a joy to deal with on most days, but if this is the pay off I get every day, I'll do whatever you want. I'm not above getting my hands dirty."
"Honey, I watched you bite a man's nose off," he reminded her, his face full of curiosity. She shrugged and scooped a mouthful of eggs into her mouth. Neither noticed that the blonde was still standing beside the table, eyes bouncing between both of them like a scared rabbit.
Julie shrugged and shoved her own wild mane of blonde hair over her shoulder. "Needed to be done. Eye for an eye, I guess."
"More like a nose for a fuckin' pussy if you ask me."
Julie scoffed out a laugh at the crudeness of his words and downed half the glass of water that had been set down with her meal. "It was gonna happen if you hadn't been there. Might as well disfigure someone while I'm going down." When only the sound of her fork scrapping the plate met her ears she looked up to see he was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She set her silverware down and met his gaze with her own. He looked far less friendly than he had a moment ago. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth were in danger of shattering and his hands were balled into tight fists. Suddenly, he jerked his head to the side and pinned the scared blonde with a glower full of fire and brimstone. "I thought I told you to fucking leave?!"
The girl jumped and scurried to the door, fumbling with the knob while she let out a sob and yanked it open. It slammed shut behind her. He turned back to Julie and she watched as his hands slowly relaxed to settle in his lap before he moved one arm up and slung it over the back of the couch. "So, you've been through a lot then?"
"Before and after," she agreed and she felt very exposed in that moment. She thought over the past year and looked away, toward the window. She didn't like how attentive he was being, how interested he was in her; not if it meant she had to talk about how she'd been left for dead. How she'd lost everyone because she'd wanted to protect them. Because she was trying to help them and they threw it back in her face. She could see him regarding her out of the corner of her eye and refused to acknowledge him. How long would it be before he decided she was of no use to him? Like Daryl and Rick and everyone back at the prison had? How long before she was alone again?
"So, when shit hit the fan, where were you?"
"I was on my way to the next town I came across," she told him honestly, eyes still trained on the inky blackness of night. "I was on my own for awhile if that's what you're asking. I didn't really stick with any of the groups I came across. It was easy to tell which ones were going to make it and which ones weren't."
"How'd that work out for you?"
He didn't know. It wasn't his fault that she could hear them again. It was always the laughing. It always got her when she got too far in her own thoughts or when it got too quiet. Even Daryl could never quite make it go away for long. A dreamless sleep was the most she could ever hope for. But now, there was no strong back to rest her ear upon, no heartbeat to keep her grounded. The smell of earth and sweat and the sound of his harsh yet soft voice was now a very distant memory that she would do well to forget as soon as possible. It shouldn't be hard for her, considering she didn't really have anything to remember him by besides the sting of abandonment.
But that laughing was there, echoing through her head and trying to crack open her skull. She could smell the dirt and the leaves again.
"Julie?"
She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned her head to look at him. Negan was watching her, his face was still an emotionless mask, but he didn't speak for quite awhile. She focused back on her food, plate almost empty as it was. Her eggs had gone cold, but that wouldn't stop her from eating them.
"When you're done, I'll show you where the bathroom is so you can get cleaned up," the gentleness of his voice caught her off-guard and she looked up at him with wide eyes, but he was staring at his baseball bat, Lucille, with a thoughtful expression on his face. "After that you can take the bed and I'll take the couch for the rest of the night."
She hadn't slept soundly, but it had been dreamless and for that, she was thankful. Negan opted to wait until she awoke on her own before he left the room for her to dress in private, waiting on the other of the door for her. She'd frowned at the clothing left for her to choose from. Nothing but dresses-and lacy short ones at that. Several of them were nearly backless and she cringed inwardly at the thought of ever wearing one of them. Thankfully, someone had had the presence of mind to leave her with a pair of ratty old jean shorts that had seen better days and she had to wonder if maybe someone was trying to remind her of her station in life. If they were, she wasn't bothered by it.
There were several pairs of strappy shoes and a single pair of dusty old black leather motorcycle boots. She'd bet money (if that were even possible anymore) on the fact that whoever had left the shorts had also left the boots, but she didn't even need to think twice before she threw both on. What gave her pause was the too small Hello Kitty shirt that had also been left for her. That had her scowling in annoyance. Clearly this shirt had come from the preteen section of whatever outlet mall it had been scavenged from and was meant as an insult. It would barely cover her stomach and while she had no problem showing off her legs, her midriff was another story. It would leave her lower back exposed as well and that would mean the bottom half of her scar would be on full display. Her cheeks burned with shame and she tugged at the end of the white shirt she was wearing unconsciously. It didn't quite smell like her yet. It smelled, clean, masculine. Safe. She would just wear that. And those lacy pushup bras weren't coming anywhere near her, either.
Satisfied with her attire, she thrust open the door and paused, blinking stupidly at all the scantily-clad women lounging on chaises. It had her on guard immediately, she let her eyes drift over them, ignoring their open stares as she curiously took in the room around her. It was painted a deep read, the upholstery was crushed velvet. There were even fresh cut flowers in most of the vases. Her wide eyes stopped on the bar nearby, where Negan was busy twirling Lucille in one hand while he drank from a tartan glass in the other. She raised a questioning eyebrow.
"These are my wives, in case you were wondering," he informed her, clearly enjoying her surprise and confusion. She frowned as she took a head-count. There seemed to be five in all. Her lip curled in open disgust. "Please tell me I did not get rescued by some Mormon Cult leader."
The women all stared at her, equally wide-eyed. But Negan threw back his head laughed long and hard. "Jules, you are my favorite person in this whole fuckin' place because of that right there." He pointed his bat at her and she didn't miss the way every woman in the room flinched. Except her. There were worse ways to die, in her opinion.
He swaggered over to her, shoving his glass into one of the women's hands, and propped Lucille up on his shoulder. Julie noticed for the first time that her barbed wire was cleaned and the wood shone in the dim light, but she didn't comment on it as she looked up at the man who approached her and seemed to make it his personal mission to get as far into her personal space as he could without reproach. He loomed over her, a predator attempting to terrorize its prey and snaked an arm around her waist, but she kept her face free of expression.
"You should feel fuckin' special, Jules," he told her as he hugged her to his side. "Not everyone gets a fuckin' tour from me. I have other people do that shit for me."
"I'm honored," she sneered back, shooting him a challenging look when he finally took in what she was wearing. His brow furrowed. "Is that my shirt?"
"The one they left me was not an option, too small."
"Worried about your tits popping out, huh, Sweetheart?"
She didn't bother to answer as he guided her out of the room, eyes trailing after them.
The rest of "Sanctuary" as Negan called it, wasn't as well maintained as the parts of the factory he occupied and it was clear that being leader didn't come without massive perks. The pecking order was quite clear to make out and while she didn't really approve of his methods, he was the first leader of any group she'd encountered that had managed to create order and keep it. She didn't understand what logic there was in having everyone bow in his presence, but she doubted it would do her any good to question it. The "points" system he explained to her made sense and kept things fair as far as she could see and there didn't seem to be a lack of supplies in any way. He showed her where the commissary was, the kitchen, the makeshift cafeteria, the sleeping quarters on each floor along with bathrooms and even took her outside to the small vegetable garden that had been started up and expanded not too long ago.
He showed her the fence, where he kept a slue of Roamers chained and spike outside and pointed out the exit, where several trucks were parked. There were a lot of them. He watched her as she twirled around on the spot, eying a row of motorcycles. She looked up at him. "How often do you go on supply runs?"
"A few times a week," he answered honestly, watching her as she walked the line of bikes before looking up at the buildings surrounding them. "I have a few outposts that do their own supply runs and uphold the agreements we've made with a couple other communities nearby."
"Outposts," she repeated thoughtfully, and then shook her head as she grinned wryly. "Got yourself a pretty sweet set-up here, huh?"
He smiled at her. "You have no idea, Jules, no idea."
Julie pursed her lips and turned her eyes back to the bikes, arms crossed. "All right, you've been pretty open and honest, so let's talk business."
Something shifted in his demeanor and she could see how he withdrew into himself, ready to strike if necessary. "Let's talk business."
Her eyes shifted to the man standing not far off, watching them. He was very overweight, but he looked friendly enough. He was one of the "Saviors" the group of men and women who were part of the elite. They went on runs and did a lot of the dirty work that Negan required. She shifted her eyes back to Negan. "Everyone clearly has to pull their weight around here. That's the way it should be. I'm sure I'll be placed somewhere as soon as possible, right? I thought I might give you a run down of what I can do and can't do."
"That'd make the whole process easier," he agreed. She nodded. "I'm not the best shot in the world, but I'm decent. I'm better at up-close combat. I'm good on guard duty, I can hold my own in a fight, and I'm used to going on runs. I'm definitely not the best cook, I'm more prone to ruining a load of laundry than cleaning it, and I haven't ever tried my hand at gardening so there's no telling if I have a green-thumb or not. I may not know a lot, but I'm a quick learner, so I can handle whatever you want to throw at me."
"Are you saying you expect me to give you a gun-"
"No, not at all. That would be stupid and you're not stupid. I fully expect to be put somewhere else first. I'm fine with working my way up." She shrugged her shoulders up at him. "I'm not the most open person, but I do want you to understand that I appreciate everything you've done for me so far. I mean, even if you decided to kick me out and send me on my way unarmed, that's more than most would do." She dropped her eyes to his boots. She could feel her eyes begin to tear up and that was a weakness she didn't want to show. "You're not the first person to save my life by far, but I don't want you to think I'm not willing to show some gratitude for it. And you may think I'm not worth much or you may think I am, but I'm willing to work to show you that I am. From this point on, my loyalties lie with you."
Negan breathed out his nose and tipped her chin up with one gloved hand. "Oh, Sweetheart, you are worth way more than a few shitty cases of ammo."
Julie's heart thundered in response, as she watched his smoldering eyes run over her face repeatedly, as if committing it to memory. The electricity that had sizzled through the atmosphere the night before was back again. He moved his hand to cup her cheek and brought his thumb up to run over the single freckle she had that sat just below her left eye on the apple of her cheekbones. The contact was surprisingly soft and intimate and it should have been off-putting and it should have made her skin crawl to be touched with such familiarity. But it didn't. If anything, she felt a calming sense of acceptance.
"Fat Joseph," He hollered loudly, his voice booming, "We are going to the armory. Get your fat ass in gear and follow us."
Negan pulled his hand from her cheek and settled his arm across her shoulders. The leather of his jacket creaked as she was folded into his side and she could feel her face heat up as she wondered how often he did this with new residents and realized that the answer was probably "never".
Joseph followed along behind them and she let Negan dominate any attempts at conversation. There were a lot of people milling about and they just kept staring whenever he told them to stand up after kneeling whenever he passed. She didn't want that attention and she liked to imagine that Negan took note of her discomfort by the way he kept calling out people who blatantly stared at her by asking them why they weren't working like they should be. When he squeezed her shoulder as he did so, she knew then that that was exactly what he was doing and for the first time in months, things seemed to be looking up.
The armory had been something else. It was amazingly organized like the rest of Sanctuary. Every gun, every knife, every single bullet had been catalogued and was kept under heavy guard. But Negan strolled in with her under his arm, ordered to pick out anything she wanted and then began to bitch when she chose yet another machete with the excuse of "It's what I'm used to."
He'd tried to convince her to take a revolver she'd argued against it, telling him she wanted something with a small clip of ammunition because if she was in a tight enough spot to have to shoot, it was going to take more than six shots and he reluctantly agreed. She'd checked out with her proffered weapons and Negan had escorted her to the Cafeteria. He'd woken her up at the crack of dawn to complete the tour he'd promised to take her on and been very clear that he had things to do for the majority of the day.
He pushed her to the front of the line, where she was given another hearty helping of bacon, eggs, and toast instead of the greyish slop everyone else was consuming and Negan told her to go sit down at a table when he spot one of his men waving at him with a stern expression on his face. Negan's lip curled in annoyance and he grumbled to himself for a moment before patting her on the back and assuring her he would join her in a moment.
She watched the pair-she thought the other man's name was Steven-as they disappeared through a door way on the far side of the room and then she let her eyes sweep the place before she chose a table nearest to the door he'd gone through. It had been a few weeks since she'd been around such a large group of people and it was a massive sensory overload, but it was a nice change from the static buzz of silence. The people murmured quietly between themselves and she let her eyes drift over the different tables until she stopped at one not far away. Three of its occupants-one man and two women-were staring at her openly; the youngest woman, who had one of the worst bowl cuts she'd ever seen was glaring at her openly while the man and woman on her right side just watched her curiously. She didn't miss the way their eyes slid down to her plate of food several times. But the blonde, with the bad haircut was the one she took issues with and she scooped some eggs into her mouth and raised an eyebrow challengingly. She didn't know what the girl's problem was, but she was not going to be putting up with any bullshit from anyone.
The air around her shifted as someone settled on the bench beside her and the three pairs of eyes trained on her shifted to her right and they all looked...concerned. Instead of looking, she nibbled on a piece of bacon, trying hard not to let the smell of overwhelming body odor and sweat sour her stomach to only the second meal or actualy cooked food she'd had in a long time.
"You're new." It was meant to sound seductive. It was anything but and served to make her skin crawl, but she kept her features schooled and she ignored the way they leaned too far into her peripheral. He hadn't actually touched her yet. He reached across her plate and took the longest, fattest piece of bacon she had. Her shoulders tensed as she listened to him chomp on it like the fat slob he was. "Name's Davey, Sweetheart. You got a name?"
Her entire body stiffened in disgust and rage at the use of the very same pet name that Negan had been using on her and she pushed her plate and herself to the other side of the bench and as far away as possible, picking up her fork once again as she continued to focus on her food despite the now four pairs of eyes on her face. She went back to her food. All she needed to do was finish her food and wait for Negan to get back. Staying out of trouble was something she could do for him. He hadn't asked, but she didn't think he would appreciate her getting into an altercation the moment he left her alone.
But he would expect her to defend herself from unwanted advances, right? He'd saved her from being brutally gang-raped, given her clean clothes, delicious food, and the promise of a real home. He seemed like the kind of guy who would want her to take care of herself and wanted to take care of her even if he hadn't really said as much. But would she get in trouble for it? Was there a zero-tolerance policy? Things were different now. She didn't really know who he was, not really. She could only guess at what he would think of her.
The sweaty palm that landed on her inner thigh, index finger brushing against the crotch of her shorts snapped her out of her inner-conflict and settled it for her in one fell swoop. "I'm a big deal around here, baby. A real big deal." It took everything in her not to look at him as she kept her eyes trained on her food. Her fingers tightened around her fork when she felt his fingers begin to try to slip under the edge of her shorts. "Yeah, that's a good girl. Let Davey take care of you."
Without even flinching, she flipped the fork around in her own hand and brought it down hard on the offending appendage, stabbing the metal eating utensil into the back of his hand with enough force that she felt the tips of the metal prongs graze her skin.
"Davey" let out a roar of pain as he reeled back from her and the everyone in the cafeteria went silent and turned to watch Davey as her turned in all directions, frantic and screaming. Several pairs of footsteps stomped toward him and still, she didn't look up from her food. She shoved another slice of bacon into her mouth and sipped on her milk. They had actual milk. She'd stab a million Daveys if it meant she'd get more milk.
"That bitch stabbed me with a fucking fork."
Julie licked her upper lip to rid herself of her milk moustache and continued to eat as if she were completely oblivious to the chaos surrounding her. She didn't even look up when Negan and Steven stormed back in and over to where Davey was hunched against a wall, screaming and yelling like an enraged bulldog.
"What the fuck?!"
"She stabbed me with a fork!"
There was a loud squelching sound and another howl of pain and Julie felt herself smile a little bit. A gloved hand came down forcefully on her shoulder and she was wrenched around to stare up into the infuriated face of Negan, his eyes flashing dangerously as he snarled at her like a feral animal. "Why the fuck would you fucking think you could do that to one of my fucking men?!"
Julie frowned for only a moment, her eyes flitting over to Davey who was staring at her hatefully, though he still somehow managed to look pleased with her predicament. Julie moved her eyes back up to the man standing over her. "He touched me in a way I didn't like."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Didn't think I had to tell him anything when I moved away the first time he tried to come onto me."
"Really," he asked, his expression becoming even darker by the second. "Where did he fucking touch you?"
"A place I don't let anyone touch unless they buy me dinner first," she replied, tilting her head to the side, letting her eyes run the length of his face. The change in his demeanor her words incited was terrifying, even to her. If the world hadn't ended already she was sure he would have attempted to do so right then and there.
"Sir, she's fucking lying!"
"Davey, you dumb fucking sack of shit, shut your fucking mouth," Negan bellowed, turning his back on Julie to face the man still clutching his injured hand. Davey jumped and all the color drained from his face. "No means no and as many times as you've had that word thrown at your ugly-as-fuck face, I'd think you'd got that by now! You should be the foremost fucking expert on when a woman doesn't want to fuck you! I should iron your entire fucking face off for this shit and then bash your fucking head in, but I don't think Lucille wants to touch your creepy fucking ass anymore than any other person in fucking Sanctuary, you fucking stupid fucking fuck!"
He pointed at one of the people surrounding Davey. "Get him to Dr. Carson." And then he pointed at Julie. "And stay the fuck away from her or I will fucking stick your ass on the fence!"
He turned back toward her and Julie had the good sense to lower her eyes to the floor. He was still angry and it was clear he was the kind of man that wasn't above taking it out on those around him. "I shouldn't have stabbed him with a fork. I'm sorry." An apology was far from what anyone deserved in this situation, but she was new and she didn't want to jeopardize her well-being anymore than she already had. And she really didn't want Negan deciding she was more trouble than she was worth.
"Next time, aim for his fucking dick."
Julie felt herself smile as she turned back to face her food, allowing Negan to shove her over so that he could sit down next to her on the bench. She didn't say anything as he stole the remainder of her bacon, jaw working to chew furiously as his anger began to recede at an agonizingly slow pace. Clearly, he was unstable, as unstable as her or even more so. But months of being around an emotional hothead like Daryl had afforded her the ability to know when it was best to let sleeping dogs lie and this was one of those situations. She picked at her eggs with her fingers, and tried not to blush when Negan asked with an over-confident grin. "I got you breakfast. Does that count as buying you dinner?"
"Nice try."
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