Sitting in his wife's flower shop – now his flower shop – Negan wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with it. Lucille was always the florist, the horticulturist with the green thumb. Not only did she run the shop, but she brought her work home, too. Their lawn was the envy of the neighborhood with rose bushes and azalea bushes. Even in their home, they never had plastic plants, always orchids that were meant to die after a year, but Lucille kept alive and watered with an ice cube. There were cacti and hanging ferns everywhere – a damn fucking jungle, Negan would bitch jovially.
Despite all his joking around, Negan didn't have the heart to tell Lucille no. Lucille was terribly allergic to pet fur, so they never have pets. They never had children either since Negan shot blanks – something he considered lucky in his younger days when he sewed his wild oats without having to worry about any accidents. Since he married Lucille, though, he hated not being able to give her what she wanted. The plants became Lucille's children instead, and Negan was not allowed to touch them since every time he did, a plant died.
He didn't mind, there were plenty of other chores for him around the house. But ever since Lucille got sick, they had let Olivia run the shop. Negan tried so hard to keep the plants at home alive as well, but he killed them all. And sometimes he wondered if it was because of him that Lucille died, too.
Did he neglect her? Not exactly, but he did cheat. Funny how soon after the one time he strayed from his wife, she ended up in the back of an ambulance not even a week later. God, he wanted to blame his infidelity on this flower shop so bad. They had been fighting, not unusual for them. Both he and Lucille were emotional and passionate people. That didn't just mean good sex or loving with all their hearts, but that meant fighting hard, too, and being quick to anger. Usually, they could forgive each other, but they needed time to themselves to do that. The flower shop had been Lucille's excuse to avoid him – it was prom season, and she had corsages and boutonnieres to make. Sulking, Negan went to the bar in the funk.
That was his first mistake. He shouldn't have been drinking that much, he knew he had a problem. Lucille hated when he drank. Then the next morning he realized his second mistake. He woke up in a bed that wasn't his with a woman who wasn't blonde and wasn't Lucille. Fuck, he couldn't even remember her name. Frankie? Tanya? Negan couldn't even remember if it was a good fuck either. A fuck he couldn't remember would ruin his marriage – Negan felt damned for that.
When he went home with his tail between him legs, he confessed everything – and Lucille cried and cried. For three days, she pulled long hours at the flower shop, and Negan didn't go anywhere besides work and his home. But after those three days, she came back and said she forgave him. Negan couldn't believe his luck or her grace – and he was right about his luck because when he got that call from the hospital, everything from there went to shit.
Stage four ovarian cancer. The doctor gave them their time: three to six months. Dr. Carson was too damn generous in his estimate. Lucille didn't even make it to two months. Well, Negan was a mess for six months after she was gone, but he never went back to that bar and he never saw anyone else.
He had handled everything at home, but all that was left was Lucille's business. Olivia had been kept busy, especially during wedding season, but now that it was closer to winter, Negan figured it was time to decide what to do with the shop.
So here he sat, staring at the bills and expenses and profits. Fuck, he was a baseball coach, not a damn accountant. He didn't know what these meant. Sighing, he looked up at the sign that had the store's name on it is cute, curly script that Lucille hand painted herself: Lucille's of the Valley. At the time, he hadn't understood the play on words, and Lucille teased him so much about it. But now when he stared of it, he thought of how many times he personally put lilies – Lucille's favorite flower – on her grave. Honestly, he wondered why she didn't have daisies already springing up. Negan doubted that she'd stop gardening even in death.
Fuck, he missed her. He couldn't stay here a moment longer, he was starving and just torturing himself as he drowned in memories of her. Negan left the shop in a whirlwind, snatching his black leather jacket up as he walked out the door, heading for his favorite Chinese buffet. It's a testament to his grief that he hadn't been there since before Lucille was diagnosed. It was one of their favorite places, less than a block away from her shop that he also avoided like the plague. Well, they had damn good food and Lucille's ghost couldn't keep him away from that.
Staring at his shoes, Negan had been so lost in thought that he didn't look up until after he had already pushed the door open – bell tinkling overhead in a familiar chime – and stepped inside. The smell was the first thing he noticed – not like the familiar cooking oil at all. Secondly, he didn't hear Chinese music softly playing, but – Kings of Leon?
Then he finally saw that this wasn't the Hunan at all. Judging by the designs on the wall that replaced the gilded Chinese dragon, this was a damn tattoo parlor. Confused, Negan actually ducked back outside to check and see if he had gone too far, but no, the Hunan had been nestled between The Peletier Laundromat and Morgan's Cuts (a butcher shop) for forever.
Must have gone outta business without me and Lucille eating here, Negan thought to himself wryly. His mouth twisted, a cheap imitation of his old smile. Negan's next thought was a lot bleaker.
Nowhere is the same without you, Lucille.
"Excuse me, but did you have an appointment with us?"
Startled, Negan spun on his heel, caught off guard by the question. For some reason he didn't understand, his feet had carried him back inside of their own accord and now he was standing face to face with one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. Pretty pink mouth, facial hair lined with almost as much silver as Negan's was, brown curls clinging to the back of his neck. The bluest eyes he'd ever seen – cornflower blue, Lucille would say, but since Negan has been putting lilies on her tombstone, he would say Lily of the Nile blue. She'd probably get a kick outta that. With a guilty start, Negan immediately felt uncomfortable for wondering what his wife would think of Ol' Blue Eyes that he was eyeing up while she wasn't even cold yet.
"Sir?" The man repeated, and cocked his head at him.
Was he staring? Shit, he was staring. "Shit, sorry for loitering," Negan immediately tore his eyes away and started tapping his hands on the counter, feeling awkward. "I, uh, don't have an appointment, I just thought this place used to be a Chinese buffet."
"The Hunan?" Blue Eyes guessed.
Negan clicked his tongue and shot him some finger-guns, "That's the one. Best fucking egg drop soup and egg rolls in town."
Amused, Blue Eyes smiled a polite and small smile, barely there and yet just – fucking beautiful. "Yeah, I hear that a lot since we still get a lot of their old customers wanderin' in as if we still got some fried rice in the back. We don't by the way, before you ask."
Surprisingly, Negan wasn't all that disappointed for the lack of food – or that hungry anymore. Clicking his tongue, he joked, "Damn, and I was in the mood for some kung-pao chicken."
Blue Eyes batted his eyelashes at Negan's off-the-cuff cursing, but didn't seem all that affronted. "I'm more of a shrimp lo-mien guy myself."
"Gah, I can't fucking stand seafood. Whenever me and Lucille would go out, she'd get the lobster and I'd get the steak." Abruptly, Negan stopped realizing what he said. Though Lucille was always on his mind, he didn't make a habit talking about her. It felt good to say that, but dropping her name so easily while he was flirting – shit, was he flirting? Shit, shit, shit.
"Lucille?" Blue Eyes perked up, and Negan flinched when he used her name. "Is that your wife?" Blue Eyes' blue gaze pointed flicked down to his left hand where that golden band was still there around his finger. Negan hadn't had the heart to take it off yet.
"Yeah," Negan's voice was thick with emotion when he finally answered. He swallowed everything down before he continued, "She was."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Blue Eyes immediately apologized, "I still wear mine, too." He showed his own silver band, and Negan marveled at his beautiful hands before even glanced at the ring. "My wife Lori passed almost three years ago. It's still hard sometimes, but it gets better," Blue Eyes explains and then those blue eyes go wide. "Oh, I shouldn't have assumed, you could just be divorced."
"No, no, she's dead," Negan confirmed, confused on how he was feeling since he was feeling so much. "Fucking cancer."
"Childbirth." Blue Eyes nodded in understand, and Negan curiously didn't feel like he was being pitied for once. This man obviously understood the tremendous pain. "Do you have kids?" Blue Eyes asked, southern drawl so soft now, "Lori being gone is harder on my son Carl than it on me."
"No, we couldn't have kids," Negan answered easily enough. He had expected this to be hard, but it wasn't. It felt good, cathartic to talk about it – especially when Blue Eyes was as easy on the eyes as he was on the ears.
"Oh," Blue Eyes blinked, apologetic and unsure.
"No, it's okay," Negan rushed to assure him and then laughed. "We had fucking plants instead. Helluva lotta flowers. Lucille ran a flower shop."
"Lucille's of the Valley?" Blue Eyes exclaimed in seeming disbelief, "I go there regularly. I've been wonderin' why I only ever see Olivia now."
A little in shock, Negan's brain processed this slowly. First it was how Blue Eye's said Olivia's name with 'uh' rather than an 'o' sound – it was damn cute in his thick country accent. Then there was the fact that Blue Eyes knew Lucille – and Negan had to wonder if Lucille was playing a trick on him in heaven or something. This was too perfect. Was this a test?
After the moment stretched out a tad too long, Blue Eyes apologized again, "Lucille was a wonderful woman. I doubt she'd ever tell you about me, but I'm Rick Grimes."
Instantly, it clicked in Negan's head. Rick, Rick, Rick, he remembers that name, of course he does. Lucille would babble about how some cowboy would ride in and ask for advice on his carrots. At the time, Negan would get jealous at her gushing about another man, and they'd always end up having sex after Lucille dropped his name. Damn. What kind of luck is this? Is it even luck? "Rick Grimes," Negan licks his lips, his mouth tingling after saying the man's name. "Lucille fucking loved you. I thought you were a farmer, not a, uh, tattoo artist?"
Blue Eyes – Rick Grimes – blushed a pretty pink, like a carnation. Were carnations pink? Fuck. Why is he getting all poetic and shit. Negan's thoughts were interrupted when Rick drawled, "Well, I was never a farmer. Sheriff's deputy. Got injured on the job, couldn't afford the risk anymore as a single dad. Got a job here. The owner Daryl and I went to art school together."
"Injured? Shy-eet. There's a fucking story in there somewhere, Rick." Negan bowed over, propping his elbows on the counter with his fingers curled underneath his chin, brushing his knuckles through his small beard he'd been growing since Lucille's funeral. "Also, I thought you cops had to go to some academy or some shit, not fucking art school."
Rick shifted from foot to foot, blue eyes glimmering at Negan like damn sapphires. "I'm not sure there's much of a story, um, I'm sorry, I can't remember your name. I know I heard it before, but I'm terrible with names."
"Negan," he introduced himself with a wide smile, and his cheeks actually hurt, he hadn't smiled this big in too long.
"Negan," Rick repeated sweetly, and Negan swore that something in his stomach fluttered. What the hell was that?
This was too much, too soon, and Negan really should be heading back to work and get some lunch. A little regretfully, Negan sat back up and listed to one side. "Well, Rick, this was nice, but I really gotta go find some fucking food and head back to the shop."
Surprisingly, Rick looked a little regretful, too. "Oh, okay. Well, tell Olivia I said hello. I'll probably swing by some time for some advice on my lettuce."
Something old and instinctive reared its ugly head in Negan and he barely held back from spouting off that piss-poor excuse for a pick-up line that made Lucille laugh every time: Lettuce fuck. Lame. "Yeah?" Negan said instead, "I hope I'll see you around the shop then, Rick."
"What, you don't want to come back and let me work on ya?"
Honestly, Negan can't tell if Rick's flirting until he remembers that Rick is actually a tattoo artist. He wants to believe it is flirting. "Maybe I'll schedule an appointment for a damn tattoo when I go through my fucking midlife crisis."
"Can't be too far away then," and Rick smiles, eyes crinkling in the corners.
Negan is as astounded as he is delighted by Rick's behavior. "Fuck you, Rick," Negan quips good-naturedly, "You've got just as much silver in your beard as I do, damn it."
"Mine are from kids," Rick smirks, "Doesn't count."
Like a shark, Negan grins, and it hasn't escaped his notice that he's lingering around. "Uh-huh, and I coach kids, Rick. Another reason I can't get a tattoo."
"Not anywhere visible anyway," Rick countered smoothly, and Negan's shit-eating grin flashes dangerously. That has to be flirting.
"Uh-huh, I'll see you around, Rick," Negan promises.
And Negan keeps his promise frequently and often.