"Negan, I can make dinner. I'm fine. A little weak, but fine."
"No, baby, you just rest and I'll do the cooking."
Lucille huffed at his husband stubbornness. Ever since the diagnosis, he had been disturbingly careful and attentive. Tiptoeing around her every minute of the day, as he was afraid that she was going to break like glass if he didn't handle her with kid gloves.
"Come on, baby, go back to bed and get some sleep." Negan urged rubbing circles on her lower back.
"Fine." Lucille pouted at him in defeat. "Still, if you need any help..."
"I can manage, baby. But if I burn the fucking kitchen down, you'll be the first to know." Negan replied with a playful smirk at the corner of his lips.
Lucille rolled her eyes at the remark and gave her husband a kiss on the temple before going upstairs. She changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and lied down. After tossing and turning in bed for a good half an hour, she let out a frustrated sigh. Chemotherapy has messed up her sleep cycle completely.
The sweet scent of spices from the kitchen made her sit up on her elbows. It was surprising how strong she could feel it. Her sense of smell and taste has been different, fading mostly or occasionally disappearing even since she started receiving treatment. But the rich aroma of cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and nutmeg was so heavy that it made her mouth water.
Gingerbread.
It has always been her favorite cookie. Closing her eyes she could see the little figures – Christmas trees, gingerbread men, stars, snowflakes, candy canes – fresh out of the oven, waiting to be decorated with icing. Her stomach let out a loud growl, making her eyes snap open and a wide smile to appear on her lips. A plan was forming in her head and she was going to set it in motion right away.
She carefully got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. Her husband was standing with his back to the kitchen door wearing a red apron. He was stirring something on the stove while whistling a merry little tune under his breath to the song playing on the radio. The cookies were laid out on a cooling rack on the kitchen counter. Keeping her eyes on the back of his husband, Lucille carefully held out her hand and took a gingerbread Rudolph from the rack. It was still warm and its surface had not hardened yet. Slowly backing out of the kitchen before Negan could see her she made her way back up the stairs and jumped back into bed. She strained her ears for any noise but couldn't hear anything.
After a few moments, she allowed herself to lie back on the pillows and indulge in the simple pleasure of the cookie, taking a small bite out of the reindeer's antler to make it last longer. It immediately melted in her mouth and tasted just like she had imagined earlier, sweet like honey. After devouring her prize happily she licked her fingers clean and once again listened for any sound or movement coming from downstairs but heard nothing.
With her stomach and currently fully functional taste buds craving more, Lucille got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen again. The radio was playing a classic Christmas pop song from the 90s.
She slowly peeked in through the kitchen door but much to her surprise couldn't see her husband anywhere. Thinking that he was probably in the pantry looking for ingredients for the gravy, she quickly grabbed another gingerbread from the cooling rack – this time in the shape of a baseball bat, Negan's favorite - and made a beeline for the stairs before her husband could catch her.
Once she was back in the safety of the bedroom, she slipped back under the covers, glad that they still retained some of her body heat. She was just about to bite into the cookie when she felt a hand graze her left thigh under the duvet.
Screaming out loud in surprise Lucille tried to yank her body away but felt strong fingers close around her hip. Pulling the duvet down from his head Negan emerged lying on the other side of the bed with a devilish smirk playing on his lips.
"Got you, baby." he husked his voice sending shivers down his wife's spine. "You think I didn't notice you stealing the first gingerbread already?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Lucille deadpanned while trying to hide the cookie in the palm of her right hand.
"What are you hiding there, baby?" Negan inquired knowing the answer already.
"Nothing," Lucille replied trying to keep her poker face on but failing as soon as Negan's fingers went up from her hip to her stomach tickling her like crazy.
"You have been a very naughty girl, baby. Santa Negan can't have that," he growled hoarsely in her ear. His breath was warm on her skin.
Giggling and begging for him to stop Lucille tried to keep her hand still holding the gingerbread hidden from her husband, but lost eventually as he reached it and lifted it to his mouth unceremoniously biting the tip of the little baseball bat off.
She gave him a frown and took a bite out of it herself. They shared the rest of the cookie in comfortable silence until every morsel was gone.
"Hmmm...this is delicious, babe. You're an awesome cook." Lucille murmured licking her sticky lips.
"And you haven't even tasted dinner yet." Negan replied wiggling his brow.
"I know it's going to be fantastic already." she chuckled. "I've got something for you." Lucille bent down to retrieve something from under the bed. Her husband eyed her movements curiously. "I know we are supposed to do this only after dinner but I can't wait." She held a long, sleek box in her hand and handed it to him.
Negan grinned happily at his present. He ripped off the shiny silver wrapping paper in one swift motion like an impatient child. Lucille watched him with a scolding smile.
Opening the package Negan took out the contents and realizing what it was, gave his wife a loving look.
"You always say that your neck is cold," Lucille commented holding his gaze. "It's made of the finest Egyptian cotton."
It was a scarf in a deep shade of red, and soft as butter.
"I thought it would go well with your leather jacket," Lucille added with a shrug.
Negan wrapped the scarf around his neck immediately, enjoying the velvety touch of the fabric on his skin.
"It's perfect. I love it, thank you," His voice cracked slightly with emotion. Leaning in, he cupped his wife's cheek gently and kissed her deeply.
When they parted for a moment to catch their breath, Lucille whispered against his lips:
"Merry Christmas, Negan."
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
Negan jolted awake from his reverie with a jerk. He was still in the same position on the couch where he sat down an hour ago upon returning to his room after dinner.
"Come in!" he gruffed in a tone that promised anything but a warm welcome.
Simon entered the room wearing a Santa hat with tiny red lights flashing around the white rim.
"Sorry to disturb, boss. We are having a little Christmas celebration in the rec room and thought maybe you wanted to join us for a drink."
Negan offered him a weak smile but shook his head.
"Thanks, Simon, but I'm not in the mood for company tonight."
Negan preferred to spend Christmas night alone. Just like he did every year since Lucille had passed. There was a not a day going by that he didn't remember her, but on Christmas, everything reminded him of her. He could taste her in the special meal served for dinner, smell her in the sugary aroma of cookies the kitchen staff baked for the workers and hear her in the merry Christmas song seeping in from the corridor.
"Sure, boss. Should you change your mind, you know where to find us." Simon replied with a grin.
"It would be hard to miss with all that fucking noise." Negan grumbled referring to the silly song somebody was belting out at the top of their lungs in a presumably highly liquored state, mixing up the lyrics.
Simon gave him an apologetic look.
"Sorry, boss. I felt like rewarding your Saviors with a bit of booze on this very special evening. I will tell them to keep it down."
"It's fine, Simon." Negan replied with a whisk of his hand looking out the window. He was seemingly back to his own little world again.
Simon nodded and left the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Negan stood up and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He stepped to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked outside into the front yard of the Sanctuary. It had been snowing since early morning and the surroundings of the Sanctuary were covered in a thick, white blanket of snow. Even the walkers on the fence looked as someone had sifted sugar on them.
Swirling the ice cubes in the glass he lifted his other hand to his scarf, his thumb grazing the soft fabric tenderly.
He closed his eyes and found himself back in the comforts of their bed, Lucille's arms around his neck. Looking into her eyes with affection he whispered in her ear.
"Merry Christmas, Baby."