When Carl was in third grade, Rick was invited to speak at career day. The invitation was given to him during the first few weeks of school, after a parent-teacher conference. Lori had lingered in the doorway, and Rick could feel her eyes burrow in the back of his head.
"Mr. Grimes, we're having a career day for the children this year. It's near April, so it's still quite a bit away, but I thought I'd tell you ahead of time. We always try and have a police officer come. The kids love it."
Rick smiled and managed a laugh. "I'll definitely try to come. If duty calls, though," he said, the sentence remaining unfinished. The teacher gave him an understanding look, and Lori pulled him out of the classroom, because they were late to dinner with her parents.
That night, as he tucked Carl into bed, Rick told him the plan. Carl seemed excited. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Really?"
Rick kissed his forehead. "If all goes well."
A month and six days later, Rick was shot. When he woke, it was snowing outside. He had missed Christmas.
The pain medicine they gave made him drowsy and confused most of the time, but he was awake, and that was all that mattered. He had Lori, Carl, and Shane at his side. Rick couldn't hold a decent conversation for the life of him, and Carl laughed at the things he said. Lori gave him a look. Shane rubbed his head.
They tiptoed around him, too scared to say anything. He didn't understand why they were so worried, though he wasn't in the right state of mind to do any critical thinking.
"Can I sit with you?" The voice jostled Rick, a quick shudder through his body, and pain seared in his abdomen. A laugh. "Why am I even asking? You're not gonna fucking answer. Probably too doped up."
Feet dragged across the floor, a chair sliding. A huff. "I've been here nearly as long as you have. Not a patient, of course, I'm always fucking fine. My curse." A sigh. "It's my… my… goddamn, what am I even doing?"
Rick's eyelids were too heavy to open. The voice rattling in his ears was unrecognizable. He couldn't put a face to the voice, not that he wanted to. He felt his fingers twitch, head tipping to the side, and then—
The heart monitor let out a long, single ring. The chair fell onto the floor. "Nurse! Get the fuck in here!"
April came, and Rick was a hit with the kids. Every one of them had heard of Carl Grimes' heroic father, taking a bullet on the job. They all wanted to see the wound. Who was Rick to disappoint?
Lori yelled at him that evening. "They're just kids, Rick. They shouldn't know about… that stuff. Not yet. Let their parents teach them. You're just supposed to be a friendly face in the neighborhood. Not some sideshow at a carnival."
Next time Carl had a career day, he was in ninth grade. Lori was dead, Judith was teething, and Rick didn't know how to explain he was an assassin. He didn't attend. To be fair, Carl just thought he was a stay at home dad, a retired officer who had been dangling onto the last threads of his job for years.
"It's fine, Dad. Judith needs someone watching her. Lots of kids have parents who stay home."
Not all kids have parents who were—Christ, he hated saying the word.
The doorbell rang, and Rick opened the door. He stood there, hand on the doorframe, and blinked. "I didn't order this." Rick glanced at the nametag on the man's shirt. "Glenn, there must be a mistake."
Glenn shook his head, lips pressed together. He glanced around and took a step forward. Rick narrowed his eyes. "No mistake." He sighed. "Look, I hate doing this. Just take the pizza." Glenn pushed the box to Rick's chest. "Compliments of the Hilltop."
"Excuse me?"
He was gone, and Rick was left with the pizza. He shut the door with a kick and walked into the kitchen. Rick sat the box on the counter and flipped it open. On the inside lid was a paper with a name and an address. Gregory. Rick narrowed his eyes and ripped off the note.
"I didn't know you ordered pizza," Carl said, walking down the hall, no doubt the smell attracting him.
Rick shoved the note in his back pocket. "Surprise."
It might not have been a good idea to bring Judith along to see this Gregory man, but Rick didn't know what else to do.
Gregory was charismatic and a bit of an ass. He also had these nervous tendencies and would talk quickly when things weren't going his way. Rick didn't like him.
Money, on the other hand, Rick did like.
"Now, I know this isn't the most ethical career, but dare I say, it's necessary."
"Necessary?"
"Why, yes, of course. The world has some awful people in it, and those people need to be gotten rid of."
Rick covered Judith's ears. "How exactly do you decide who these awful people are? Isn't that a bit… subjective?"
Gregory laughed. "I've never been wrong yet, Rick. If you agree to this job, you need to put your utmost faith in me. Disloyalty isn't something that's tolerated at the Hilltop."
"How did you find me?"
Gregory hesitated. "Got a tip, actually. One of your neighbors… Carol, I believe, recommended you."
Rick shut his eyes. "I didn't think you employed hitmen through word of mouth." He opened his eyes, looking at Gregory's troubled expression.
"Hm, you can always say no, Rick. Walk away, leave, I won't say anything."
He adjusted Judith in his arms. "I find that hard to believe."
Gregory narrowed his eyes. "That's because it isn't true. A test!" He pointed at Rick, who rolled his eyes. Gregory dropped his hand. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Rick. I was told you had a strong moral code, and you were a hell of a shot."
Rick curled his fingers as Judith gripped them. "Haven't done much shooting lately."
"That, my friend, will definitely change if you work for me." He glanced at Gregory, eyebrow raised. Gregory smiled and moved behind his desk. "First things first, you must understand this. If you botch a job, you absolutely must not come back."
Rick met Sasha, Rosita, and Maggie. They had been with Gregory for years now, though Rosita was originally from another company.
"Kingdom," she said. "Bit flashy, but things worked out."
Hilltop and Kingdom merged, and two competing hitman companies became one. Gregory ended up in charge of them both, the previous boss of the Kingdom disappearing from public eye.
"He's still alive," Sasha said. "Gregory isn't that stupid."
"How many companies are there? I find it a bit hard to believe something like this can be kept quiet."
Maggie laughed. "I keep telling Gregory not to have Glenn scouting out potential hires." She looked at Rick. "My husband can't lie worth a damn."
"There's one other," Rosita said, arms over her chest. "The Saviors. Bunch of self-righteous pricks. Gregory extended his hand, and they spat in it."
"So they're competition?"
"If you want to be bland about body counts, yeah. It's a competition." Sasha shook her head. "Gregory's still trying to work out a deal. Nothing."
Maggie walked across the room, behind Gregory's desk, and pulled out a black notebook. "Here," she said, opening it to a particular page and holding it out. "First contract. Drug dealer. He's been in the news, if you want to double check Gregory's work." Maggie chewed on the inside of her cheek. "You need help, call one of us. We don't care to step in."
Rick read the details once, twice. He nodded and glanced at each of them, patting Judith's back. "Yeah, okay."
When he went home that evening, Carol was fixing up her flowerbed. She waved at Rick. While he waved back, he couldn't quite look at her the same.
Rick stayed up night after night, looking up articles about the drug dealer. The more he looked, Rick remembered dealing with him while he was still working as an officer. Real dickhead.
The next night, when Carl was sleeping, Judith tucked in, and he asked Carol to babysit, Rick went out. He had the address memorized in his head, and he went over it again and again as he drove. Rick parked several streets away, fixed his coat, and pulled on gloves. His gun, silencer attached to the end, was safely against his back as he walked.
There was no fight left in the man. Rick stood over him, watching as blood trickled down his nose. "What the hell are you—"
Rick squeezed the trigger.
He drove back home in silence, and it wasn't until he said goodbye to Carol and laid in bed, Judith on his chest, that Rick realized he enjoyed the rush, the risk, and the danger. It was almost like being a cop. Almost.
Rick was… pretty damn good at his job. It felt odd saying that, but it was good to have pride in what you did, right? Rick should probably stop putting too much thought into it.
He had only been with the Hilltop for five months when Gregory ushered him into his office and locked the door behind them. "Please sit, Rick. Uh, anywhere's fine."
Rick narrowed his eyes and planted himself in the chair in front of Gregory's desk. "What's this about, Gregory?" he asked, ankles crossing.
Gregory walked across the room, standing behind his desk. He leaned over it, staring at Rick. "Now, Rick, you've been with us for… well, it has certainly felt like a long time." He laughed. Rick didn't. Gregory cleared his throat. "You've impressed me and the others with how well you've acclimated to the environment."
"Thanks…"
"So, I think it's only befitting that you get this special contract. You're the most dedicated and hardworking out of the rest, so." Gregory set his hands on his hips, nodding.
Rick gestured loosely, scratching an eyebrow. "Okay? What is it?"
Gregory hesitated, fingers drumming against his waist. "Well, a bad man. Definitely." He rubbed the back of his head and sat down, scooting his chair over to a drawer.
"A bad man," Rick repeated. "Isn't that just like the rest?"
"He's different." Gregory took out his notebook and opened to a blank page. He grabbed a pen, glanced at Rick, and began to write. "He… might not look like much, but trust me. He's very dangerous. Not to be trusted." Gregory clicked his pen and ripped the paper out. He folded it and slid it over to Rick.
"Again, isn't that like the rest?" Rick leaned over and took the paper. He opened it, furrowing his brow. "Negan?" he read, the name coming off his tongue like a curse. "What's he done?" he asked, eyes scanning over the address, his occupation. The neighborhood was familiar. Rick remembered driving past it several times. His occupation just said "educator".
"Trust me on this, Rick." Gregory winked at Rick, patting the desk. "He delves in a similar business as us." He paused. "Not exactly, of course. If we had any stragglers trying to make a name for themselves, Rosita deals with them."
Rick folded the paper and rubbed his eyes. "Is that all you're going to tell me? Nothing else?"
"He's a nasty man, Rick. Tread lightly. We haven't been on the best of terms. At times, I think he has it out for me."
He lowered his hand. "So, you just want me to get rid of him before he makes a move?" Gregory was quiet, fingers nervously rapping against the arm of his chair. Rick laughed. "Okay. Paranoia, I get it." Rick stood up, slipping the paper into his pocket. "I'm gonna look into this," he said, "before I make my own move."
Gregory sat up, chair knocking back. "You must do this quickly." He stretched out a hand, pointing. He paused and lowered his hand, brushing off something from his shirt sleeve. "Very important, very secret job, Rick. No one can know what you're doing."
Rick pursed his lips and studied Gregory. He was hesitant to object. There was a reason Gregory was trusting him with this. The man must deserve it, he must. "Okay," he said. Rick turned away, head bowing.
"Uh, Rick?" Gregory rubbed his lips, looking down at the floor. "If anything goes wrong, don't come back."
Rick shut the door behind him. Maggie sat in a nearby chair, book in her lap. She looked up and caught Rick's eye. "Everything okay?"
He sighed. "Work."
Carl didn't ask Rick what he did in the evenings. Rick said he went to the park, took a walk. During those evenings, he only went to the park if his job took him there. Most of the time, he scouted out his contracts.
Gregory had said the contract was time-sensitive, well, said as much without actually saying it. Rick wondered what had happened, what had caused them to be on such bad terms, and why Gregory thought Negan had it out for him.
The neighborhood was simple, only one streetlight on the whole block. Rick parked his car in front of a house and killed the engine. He sat back, glancing at the paper on his dashboard. He scanned the address and then looked ahead, at the house. It was a one story, shabby looking thing. Rick wouldn't give it a second thought if he was just driving by. There was a light on in the front room, that Rick suspected was the living room. This part always made him nervous, but it was absolutely necessary. He had to know as much as he could before he acted.
It was getting darker outside, and when Rick glanced at his phone, he had to lower the brightness. Rick lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. The light in the front room was off. He leaned back, hands on his thighs. The house was still for a few seconds, and Rick waited with bated breath, sitting up straighter when the front door opened.
A man walked out, almost at a waltz. Despite it being chilly, he wore no jacket, just a white t-shirt with jeans. He looked like he didn't have any shoes on either. The man leaned, peering back into the house, and then the porch light switched on. The deck was bathed with a warm light, and Rick slid to the edge of his seat.
He almost looked… familiar. Rick couldn't explain it. He held his head in his hands as he watched the man, this Negan. Negan ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and scratched his cheek. He dug into his pocket, taking out a packet of cigarettes, and slid one out. Negan sat on the porch steps, smoking.
The scene was picture perfect. There was always that moment, the split-second doubt, Rick faced when he first saw his target. Sometimes, they would appear to be the complete opposite of what Gregory told him, but then something happened, and Rick would snap back to reality.
He heard Negan laugh. Rick held onto the steering wheel, frowning. A cat was rubbing against Negan's legs, headbutting his shins. Negan scratched at the cat's shoulders, cigarette dangling from his lips.
Rick sat there for twenty minutes, watching as Negan played with that cat before going inside. The cat sat on the porch, licking its paws. Rick drove away.
Rick made it a habit to drive through Negan's neighborhood every day. Never at the same time. He didn't want to raise that much attention. Negan wasn't always outside, but when he was, he was usually smoking. Smoking or drinking. Occasionally, he'd leave a bowl out for the cat, or place a flower pot next to the steps.
By now, there should have been something that alerted Rick that this guy was bad business. There was nothing. He seemed like a guy who kept to himself, nothing more. Did he really have it in for Gregory?
What did educator even mean? Gregory shouldn't be intentionally vague on a job like this.
After watching Negan pace his porch and go inside, hopefully for the night, Rick went home. He checked on Judith, who was playing with some blocks in her room, and Carl, who was playing some game on his computer, before plopping down on the couch. He stretched out his legs and took out his phone. When you needed more information on someone, what do you do?
Rick clicked on Facebook.
He spent a few minutes scrolling before he found Negan. The profile picture was a bit old, about five years ago old. Still, the man was recognizable. Not much had changed in five years, it seemed. Rick went through Negan's page, not finding much in terms of information, as the whole thing hadn't been kept up to date. It did say he was single, and he worked at the high school. Interesting. He'd have to talk to Carl. Try and slip it into normal conversation.
While the Facebook profile might not have been updated, there was an Instagram account linked to it. That was the only recent posts to the page, pictures with no captions. Rick tapped the screen until he was on Instagram, staring at the profile of MRNEGAN. To his surprise, he had several thousand followers.
The most recent picture was several hours ago and of the cat. It was perched on the porch railing, orange fur radiating in the sun. There was a handful of likes and comments, but Negan didn't caption it. In fact, as Rick clicked on each picture, he didn't caption anything.
Most of the things he posted were landscapes, perhaps taken without a second thought. Occasionally, there was a picture of a plant, a cigarette, more of the cat, and even a book or two. Negan also posted selfies.
Those were the ones Rick lingered on most.
Negan was, quite frankly, a good-looking man. He had this rugged, messy look to him. It seemed his followers weren't blind to his looks either. Rick didn't read many of the comments.
He had one picture pulled up, a front-camera pic of Negan looking off to the side with a cigarette in between his lips. His head was tipped back, a piece of dark hair in his face. Rick's thumb hovered over the image, as he stared and stared.
"Dad." Rick dropped his phone on his chest and looked over, eyes on Carl standing in the doorway. Carl gave him a funny look. "What's up?"
"Nothing."
Carl nodded. "Okay. You got…" he trailed off. Carl turned, glancing into the kitchen. "Look, you don't have to tiptoe around me. I'm not a little kid anymore. You can date. I don't care."
Rick furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about? I'm not dating anyone."
Carl rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He turned away and went back down the hall. Rick picked up his phone from where it fell and closed out of Negan's Instagram. Too much, too much.
He stood up and walked into the kitchen. On the counter was a single red rose in a small vase. Rick stopped in front of it and looked down, breathing in, then out. Carl thought he was going behind his back and dating. And that he was lying to him. Great. Rick frowned and touched the card on the stem. He opened it, roughly swallowing.
You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?
Rick ripped off the note and held it, smashing it in his fist. He peered out the kitchen window, and when he saw no one, he pulled the curtain closed.
He was being watched, evidently, and by someone who knew what he was planning to do. But why would they care? Unless Negan had more enemies than he knew. Negan, a man who took mirror selfies and pictures of a stray cat.
He should have tossed the rose and the note. Instead, Rick took the vase into the bedroom and set it on the dresser. The note went in his nightstand.
In the morning, Rick made pancakes and indirectly asked Carl about Negan. "I haven't heard you talk about school much," Rick said, cutting up Judith's pancake. "Is everything going okay?"
"I guess."
"Your teachers not too hard on you?"
A second of hesitation. "No."
"Carl."
"They're not hard on us, exactly. They're just jerks." Carl picked at his food. "I take gym this year. My teacher takes it way too seriously sometimes."
"Really."
"Yeah. But he's cool, I guess. He has a lot of neat stories. We don't know if they're true or not most of the time but." Carl shrugged. He looked over at Rick. "He's been tutoring me."
"In gym?
"No, not in gym." Carl shook his head. "I suck at math, so sometimes during lunch, he helps me catch up."
"Why didn't you tell me you were struggling in math?"
Carl shrugged.
Rick picked up his glass of milk. "I'm not angry. I'm glad you're getting help." A pause. "What's his name?"
"He tells us to call him Negan."
Rick took a drink.
It was when Rick picked Carl up from school a couple days later, when he got too close.
He sat in the parking lot, radio on low and air conditioner on high. Rick tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel, mouthing along to the generic country song. Behind him, Judith sang along in her own way. Rick glanced toward the school's double doors as a rush of kids came out. Carl didn't stand out amongst them, but as the crowd began to disperse, Rick saw his son with Negan. They were walking, side by side, talking and laughing. Negan had his hands shoved in his pockets, leather jacket unzipped, the school mascot peeking out on his t-shirt. Hanging off his shirt collar was a pair of black-rimmed glasses.
Rick breathed in, eyes narrowing. His mouth still moved to the song lyrics, but his mind was elsewhere, miles ahead. Was Carl going to let Negan follow him to the car? Why would he do that? Negan couldn't see Rick. That wouldn't be good. Not at all. Rick leaned in, chin resting on his hand, hesitant to do something. What could he do? The best thing he could do was nothing at all.
A girl stopped Negan as Carl and he crossed the parking lot. She held out a notebook to Negan, her face creased with worry. Negan crouched, getting to her level, and pulled the glasses off his shirt. He slid them on and took the notebook from her. Carl glanced over his shoulder, eyeing Negan, but didn't wait for him. He continued to the car and opened the door, sliding into the passenger's seat.
Rick cleared his throat and turned down the radio. "How was school?" he asked, looking ahead. From his peripheral, he saw Carl buckle in, dig in his backpack.
"It was fine."
Negan pointed at something on the notebook, looked at the girl, and gestured as he talked.
"That's good, yeah." Carl reached over and turned up the radio, wrinkled his nose, and switched the station. Rick shifted in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses and pushing them on. "School should be good."
"What are we sitting here for?"
The girl seemed to thank Negan, an expression of relief on her features. Negan laughed, grinning widely, as he stood up. She left him, and Negan turned his head, hands on his hips, and looked toward Rick, or in his general direction. Rick couldn't be certain. Negan took off his glasses and stepped forward.
Rick drove away.
He needed to do this soon. Gregory was depending on him. It was becoming increasingly evident Rick was putting his own life on the line each day he didn't kill Negan. Another rose was waiting for him with a message.
Is this your first time dragon hunting?
Rick was angry at first. Of course, this wasn't his first time. Who was this, and what did they know? Negan had shown no signs of being the devil Gregory was afraid of, but if he was receiving messages like this, then he must be on the right track. There was another company out there, the Saviors, who were competition. Negan must have another hit out on him. That was the only explanation Rick could think of.
It was two in the morning. Rick laid in bed, his lamp still on. He pressed his lips to his phone, cursed, and tapped in a number. Rick held the phone to his ear.
"Rick!"
He rubbed his face. "Gregory, the contract. Negan. I think someone's following me. He must have angered more people than you."
Gregory was quiet for a few minutes. "As much as I'd hate to see you die, Rick, this needs to be done. Push on. And if you can't do it—"
Rick hung up, phone dropping to his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair. Out of the corner of his eye, the roses mocked him. He huffed and picked up his phone. His thumbs seemed to have a mind of their own. Seconds later, Rick was on MRNEGAN's account, staring at his latest upload.
Negan, with his salt and pepper stubble and scrunched up face, was nose to nose with the cat. Unlike the other ones, this one had a caption. Friend.
He closed out of the page and rolled over, plugging his phone in to charge.
This was different from his previous contracts. None of them were intertwined in his life before. While Negan was only one of Carl's teachers and nothing more, it was still more of a connection than anyone else Rick was assigned to kill. That alone made him wonder how Carl would react when he found out his gym teacher was dead. That is, if Rick managed to kill the fucker.
It was a Thursday afternoon, Carl was in school, Maggie and Glenn had Judith, and Negan wasn't home. However, waiting on Negan's porch was the cat. Good thing cats couldn't talk.
Rick stood in front of the front door and tried his damnedest not to look suspicious as he picked at the lock. It was better to do these things at night, when the individual was out somewhere, and there was less chances of being caught, but Negan seemed to always stay in. Rick had limited options.
The lock clicked, and Rick let out a sigh of relief. He stuck the pick in his back pocket as he opened the door, sliding inside. The last thing he saw before he shut the door was the cat staring, eyes wide and paw raised.
He walked carefully throughout the house, mentally mapping the layout of Negan's house. Rick had done this far too many times. It was easier to already have the layout in your head, when you set out to finally do the deed. The most important rooms were the bedroom and bathroom. You absolutely needed to know where those were before leaving.
Negan's house was as simple as it looked on the outside. There wasn't much decorating the walls, the occasional picture or two. There was a blanket strewn across the couch, as if it was regularly slept on. Rick moved down the hall, stopping next to one of the pictures hanging. Despite the lack of lighting, Rick could tell Negan was in the picture, Negan and a woman. A wife? Girlfriend? The relationship must not have ended well, because the glass was cracked several times. Why was it still hanging up?
He found the bathroom and the bedroom soon after. There was an eerie sort of stillness in the air, especially in the bedroom. Rick couldn't explain it. He stood in the doorway and looked at the bed. The covers were pressed and not a crease was in them. It looked as if no one had slept in the bed for days. Rick frowned.
He couldn't poke around any longer than was necessary. Rick charted the house in his head as he walked through it several times. Nothing was out of the ordinary, besides Negan's odd sleeping arrangement, but that didn't warrant the man to be killed, though. Rick didn't know what he expected to find. Maybe some hard evidence that Negan was a demon, a disgusting man, a weapon, blackmail pictures, anything. There was nothing, and Rick didn't know how he felt about that.
But Gregory had said.
When he left the house, the cat was gone. Rick locked the door back, went to his car, and drove away.
The times where Rick actually went to the park, he liked to bring Judith. Even though she was too young to run with the other children on her own, she still had fun. Rick didn't mind to push her on a swing or go on the merry-go-round with her. Hearing her laugh was enough. Carl was at that age where he wouldn't be caught dead at the park with his father. His loss.
They didn't stay at the park for long, as Judith tended to tire quickly. Rick took his time going back to the car, cradling Judith to his chest as he walked. Trips to the park ensured Judith would sleep through the night.
Once home, Rick gave a grumpy Judith a bath before wrapping her up in bed. He checked on Carl, who was doing homework, and went into the kitchen. Rick had seen the rose when he came in, but he wasn't going to drop Judith just to see what his twisted admirer and stalker had to say.
Rick tried to remain calm, keep a casual composure, as he pulled the note off the flower.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
He froze, the letters on the paper running together until it was an unintelligible blur. Rick swallowed, lifted a hand, and rubbed at his eyes. This… this… Rick picked the rose up and ducked his head, walking down the hall and into the bedroom. He shut the door behind him and just… breathed.
A nursery rhyme. He had been sent a nursery rhyme. If he wasn't already sure he was being followed, he was pretty damn positive now. Someone had seen Rick and Judith together. At the park? Were they seen at the park?
Shit.
Rick dropped the note in the nightstand, the rose on the dresser, and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't think, he couldn't think, of anything else. Rick didn't care if he was being threatened, but his kids? That was another game.
He went to the dresser, crouching, and opened up a drawer. Rick shoved aside socks and underwear, knives and bullets, and pulled out his gun. He stood up, shoving it into his waistband, and moved toward the door.
No, this was irresponsible. Rick pulled his hand away, fingers inches away from the doorknob. He couldn't up and leave, go on a rampage and take his anger out on Negan.
Negan was the reason why he was being threatened, why it was known Rick had a daughter.
No, this wasn't the right thing to do. He had to have a clear head. Judith wasn't going to be harmed. It was just something to rile him up, and it was working.
Rick wasn't going to play their game. He stowed the gun back in the dresser and got ready for bed. Before he laid down, he checked on Carl again and gave Judith bristly, wet kisses.
In the morning, another rose was waiting.
Darling, don't try that. You know it won't work.
At the moment, Rick didn't know when he wasn't being watched. It was better to assume he was at all times, then not.
Soon, there were nine roses on Rick's bedroom dresser.
Hickory, dickory, dock. The mouse ran up the clock.
A wise old owl lived in an oak. The more he saw, the less he spoke. The less he spoke, the more he heard. Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing, oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
Three blind mice, three blind mice. See how they run, see how they run.
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn—will you wake him? No, not I—for if I do, he's sure to cry.
They were sticking with the nursery rhyme theme, because they knew it was working. Rick hated that it was getting to him. What could he do? He was perfectly fine with being overwhelmed with roses and snippets of nursery rhymes if it meant Judith and Carl would be safe. They could have Negan. He probably wasn't worth it.
But Rick couldn't leave the job unfinished. He couldn't. It wasn't like him, and he knew it'd eat away at him, from the back of his mind.
That night. That night he was going to do it. Rick had called Carol, asked her to watch Judith and keep an eye on Carl. He went to wait on the front porch for Carol, coat on, gloves in his pocket, and gun pressed to his back.
Rick opened the door, and two roses greeted him.
Atta boy.
How long has it been since you had a good night's sleep?
He put them away with the rest before Carol arrived.
Tonight was a good enough chance as any to commit a crime.
As Rick walked and he got closer to Negan's house, he noticed it was empty. There was no car parked out front, and all the lights were off. It was about nine, which struck Rick as odd. Each time he drove by Negan's house around this hour, the man was home. It didn't matter. Rick could wait for him.
The cat wasn't outside, perhaps returning to its usual sleeping place. Rick unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. The house stood still. The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Rick, wetting his lips, reached behind him and wrapped his fingers around his gun. He needed to be ready whenever Negan decided to come home. He would find a place and wait, maybe in the bedroom.
He walked down the hallway, heart pounding against his ribs. With his usual hits, it was a quick in and out. Just a squeeze of a trigger. This time, though, upon reflection, Rick might have waited too long before acting. He wanted to be sure. Was that so hard to understand? Even now, he wasn't as positive as he would have liked to be. His only evidence was Gregory's word and the roses he was receiving. A number of people wanted Negan dead, and it seemed to be a race to get to him first.
Rick stopped in the bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed. It looked like it hadn't been slept in since he last saw it. Negan must fix the covers really well. Or he didn't sleep in here. Rick frowned.
If someone else had a hit out on Negan, why were they wasting their time threatening Rick? They could have easily beat him to it. Why the game?
The closet door opened, just a smidge. Rick turned sharply toward it, holding his breath. For a second, there was nothing, until the cat poked its head around the corner of the door. Rick furrowed his brow at the orange feline. The cat sat next to the dresser, tail draped over its paws. It watched him.
Rick loosened his grip on his gun, and then the floor creaked.
"We haven't officially met yet." Rick widened his eyes and turned again. In the doorway, with his hair combed back, leather jacket zipped up, and a hint of a red scarf peeking out, was Negan. He smiled, nodding his head back. "Hi, I'm Negan."
Rick pulled out his gun, grip tightened and finger on the trigger. He aimed at Negan and was greeted with a gun himself. Rick paled, and in that moment's hesitation, Negan shot.
The next thing Rick felt was a searing pain in his left shoulder. He glanced over, seeing blood begin to collect. The pain was evident, but the bullet had just grazed him, slid right over the skin. Not through him, not through him. Rick bit back a gasp, any cry of pain, and looked back at Negan. He held the gun up, just as Negan tossed his aside and ran over, ramming his shoulder into Rick's chest. They fell to the ground, Rick losing his grip on his gun and dropping it some feet away.
"Shit, goddamn mess," Negan breathed out, punching Rick on the cheek. Rick allowed himself to grunt, hands reaching to slap, punch, scratch at Negan's face. He ignored the sharp pain in his chest, the ache in his shoulder, and kept at it. Rick squirmed underneath Negan, one hand on his chest as he bent his leg, jamming his knee into Negan's side until he fell off him.
Negan got to his hands and knees, catching his breath. He looked over, narrowing his eyes at the cat, now on top of the dresser. "Why the fuck are you watching?"
Rick stretched out a leg and kicked Negan in the side. He scrambled on the floor, scooting back and reaching out. His fingers brushed against the gun, almost there, and Negan yanked on one of Rick's legs, dragging him away. Rick twisted in Negan's grip, arms out and flailing. He dug his elbows into the carpet and tried to crawl away.
Negan laughed. "Look at this shit. Crawling like a child." He moved, hovering on top of Rick, and wrapped an arm around his neck. Negan squeezed. "If you're going to kill me, I believe you at least owe me the respect of doing a half-ass job of it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in Rick's ear.
His vision was getting blurry. Rick arched his back, trying to buck Negan off, but the man had a firm grip. He shut his eyes, knuckles bared on the floor, and threw his head back. Rick collided with something hard, and Negan shouted, his hold on Rick disappearing.
"Holy shit!"
Rick coughed, forehead to the floor, as he fought to catch his breath. He lifted his head and looked at Negan, on his back and hands to his nose. Negan lowered them, blood coating his nose, mouth, palms. It dripped down his fingers. "Son of a bitch," he spat out. Negan stretched an arm above his head, sliding under the bed. Rick snapped to it, leaping over and straddling Negan, hands to the man's throat. As his fingers pressed against that red scarf, Negan held a knife to Rick's neck.
"Harder."
Rick gave Negan a look. Negan laughed. He wrinkled his nose, brought his arm back, and punched Negan in the face. The knife dropped, and Rick stood up. He scooped his gun off the floor and turned, pressing a foot to Negan's chest before he could recover. Rick held the gun out, rolling his shoulders despite himself. "Any last words?"
Negan stared at the gun in Rick's hands, his eyes crossing. He cleared his throat and looked at him, bloodied lips pressing together for a moment. "Jokes on you," he said. "I like being stepped on."
Rick's grip faltered for a second, arm lowering. "Really?"
"Really really." Negan bent a leg, the heel of a boot digging into the floor, and arched, his other leg to his chest as he twisted, squirmed, and kicked Rick's leg, and then hooked his ankle around it. Rick's knee buckled, and he fell. Negan turned them over, pressing Rick to the floor. He knocked the gun out of his hands and grabbed Rick's wrists, squeezing them together. Negan loomed over Rick, like a succubus with a bleeding nose. He laughed. "Didn't anticipate this, did ya? Putting up more of a fight than you thought?"
Rick kneed Negan in the side again and again, but the man didn't waver. Negan slid down, holding Rick's wrists in one hand, as he grabbed Rick's ankle. Rick hissed and struggled underneath him. "Shut up," he managed, as Negan moved in between his legs, the hand on his ankle a vice grip. Negan jerked, Rick's leg bending at an awkward angle to rest on Negan's shoulder.
"You're Rick, right?"
"Excuse me?"
Negan shook his head. "It doesn't fucking matter if you kill me, Rick. You'll have a target on your back for the rest of your days." He leaned in, sweat or blood dripping from his face and landing on Rick's cheek. Rick couldn't tell the difference. "You see, Rick, I have fucking people. Good people. Dependable people. Who do you have? Fucking Gregory."
Rick yanked at his hands in Negan's grip, leg gaining a dull cramp. If he shifted, Negan pressed closer, making his leg bend further. Best if he stayed still. Negan had people, he said. Maybe that's who was threatening him. Warning him not to get Negan, unless he'd die, too. It wasn't competition, but protection. "I've already met your people," he said, voice raspy.
Negan raised his brows. "Have you?"
Rick tipped his head back. He swallowed. "The roses."
Negan was quiet for a moment, looking down at Rick's face. His eyes scanned his features, and Rick couldn't read his expression. "I sent you those, Rick," he whispered. "No one knows about you except me and good ol' Gregory."
Rick froze.
"See, Gregory wanted me to fucking work for him, and he kept giving me a shitty deal. I wanted to be equal partners, but he did not want anything to do with me or my guys."
"You're... Christ."
Negan laughed. "Not quite, but I do lead the Saviors." Rick squeezed his eyes closed. He felt Negan's breath on his lips. "Gregory didn't tell you that, did he?"
"No."
Negan let go of Rick's wrists, moving to set a hand on either side of Rick's head. He looked down at him. "What did he tell you?"
"That you were a bad guy. Dangerous. Might have it out for him."
He laughed again. "That asshole is so fucking twitchy." Negan sniffed, leaning on one hand to pat Rick's cheek with the other. It stung. "You've seen what I fucking do every day." Rick narrowed his eyes. Negan nodded. "Yeah, I saw you outside all those days. Fucking watching me. You get off on that, you pervert? Peeping on me, going through my house when I'm not here?"
Rick shook his head. "Only once."
Negan grabbed Rick's chin. "What?"
"I've only been in your house once. Once before this."
Negan stared at him, fingers digging. He pulled his hand away, sitting back on his heels. Rick lowered his leg from Negan's shoulder, letting it fall. "Get the hell out of my house."
Rick pushed back, dragging away from Negan. He scrambled to his feet and looked around. Gun, where was his—Negan extended his arm, holding out the weapon for him. Rick stared at him and took it, eyes narrowing. He tucked it behind him. "I… I can't." Rick frowned. "Gregory said—"
"—fuck what Gregory said." Negan stood up and walked over to Rick. He narrowed his eyes. "Go. And let the cat out. He's not supposed to be in here anyway."
Rick stayed there, matching Negan's expression. Then, he turned away and found the cat still on the dresser. Rick scooped up the cat and carried him out.
The cat safely on the porch, Rick sat in his car to catch his breath. He had only spent twenty minutes in Negan's house, and yet it felt like hours. Rick leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. He screwed his eyes shut, allowing himself to shake and shudder and revel in his fucking pain. His head hurt, there was blood on his face—he could feel it—and to top it all off, he had a bullet wound in his shoulder. Luckily, it didn't amount to anything, as bullet wounds go. Rick was in a coma once, because of a goddamn bullet, so he was thankful this time he wasn't bedridden again.
He reached up, turning on the overhead light. Rick stared at his shoulder, twisting to get the light properly shining on it. There was blood on his shoulder, coating his jacket and no doubt staining it. Shit, he had been lucky enough not to run into this sort of mess. How was he supposed to get the blood out?
Rick slowly lifted his arm, immediately regretting it as a sharp pain shot through him and brought tears to his eyes. He leaned his head back, pressing fingers to the injury. In the heat of the moment, as he fought Negan, he wasn't concerned with the pain, but now, when he had a few minutes to think, he let it envelope him.
None of this made any sense. Why would Gregory do this to him? He had set him up. Did Gregory really think he was that stupid? He must have, because Rick fell for it. If he messed up a job, he wasn't supposed to come back. Fuck that.
"Rick!" He jolted, turning in his seat and looking toward the house. On the porch was Negan, gun in one hand, and arms outstretched. "Rick!" he repeated, voice hoarse. "What the hell are you still doing here?" He took a step forward.
Rick bit the inside of his cheek and threw his arm up, smashing the button to the overhead light. He switched on the car and drove, tires squeaking and tracks no doubt being left behind. In the rearview mirror, he watched as Negan stopped in the middle of the road, arms at his sides.
Gregory owed him. He fucking did.
The door flew open, and Rick stumbled inside. "Gregory!" he yelled. He kept his hand pressed to his shoulder, glancing around the office. "Where's Gregory?"
Maggie rushed over, eyes wide as she grabbed a hold of Rick's arms. "Jesus Christ, Rick, what the hell happened?" She helped him stand upright, studying him. "Gregory's… not here. It's late, Rick, and—"
"—don't fucking cover for him, Maggie," Rick said, shaking his head. "I need to talk to him. It's important." He hung his head, breathing in. "It's important."
Maggie frowned and pulled her hands back. "Rick, what—" she stopped, her question dropping off. Maggie wrapped her fingers around Rick's wrist and pulled his hand away. "Were you shot?" she asked.
Rick glanced at her. "Yeah. By Negan."
She let go of his hand. "Negan?"
"Yeah. Leader of the Saviors. Do you know him? Gregory wanted me to kill him. Didn't even tell me that's who I was killing."
Maggie pressed her lips together, eyes narrowing. "Gregory!" She spun around and walked out of the room, marching up the stairs. Rick didn't hesitate to follow her. Maggie shoved open a door and stepped inside. "Get up," she said, moving toward the bed in the center of the room. "Gregory, damn it. I know you're not sleeping."
Gregory sat up, hands lifting and seeming to shield his head. "What's all this about?" he asked, pushing the covers aside and sliding out of bed. "Marsha, you're supposed to be on watch. What's Rick doing here, without an appointment?" He set his hands on his hips and gave Maggie a wide-eye, expectant look.
She clenched her jaw and pointed at Rick. "You told him to kill Negan?" Maggie took a step forward, Gregory lifting his hands again. "That was a suicide mission! What the hell were you thinking?"
"Now, Marsha, calm down. Rick is a competent hitman. He knew what he was getting into when he accepted the contract."
Maggie opened her mouth, but Rick stepped forward. "Excuse me?" he spat. "I knew what I was getting into? How was I supposed to know what you were throwing at me? You didn't give me anything except his name, address, and job! You didn't think it would be a good idea to mention that he was the head of the Saviors?" Rick gestured at his shoulder. "The asshole shot me!"
Gregory glanced between Rick and Maggie. He narrowed his eyes. "It sounds like you didn't kill him," he said, walking around the bed. Gregory shook his head. "That's ruined! We can't try that again." He rubbed his face, his temples. "Rick, you know the rules. If you botch a job, you can't come—"
Maggie stepped forward, arm back, and punched Gregory in the jaw. As he stumbled against the bedframe, Maggie dropped her arm and moved to be level with him. "My name is Maggie, and I have been working with you for years. Get my fucking name right." She pointed at Rick over her shoulder with her other hand, the one she used to punch Gregory with still balled up at her side. "You are not allowed to send Rick or any of our employees out on suicide missions. Ignoring the rest of the ethical issues with our career, that is a shitty thing to do." Maggie straightened up, crossing her arms over her chest, hands stuffed underneath her arms. "You're a coward. Were you fed up with negotiating with Negan that you decided to just kill him off?"
Rick grimaced. "Negan told me he wanted to be equal partners, but you said no."
Gregory, a hand still on his jaw, looked at Maggie and then at Rick. "Ezekiel backed off. Willingly. I thought, given enough time—"
"—that I'd roll over and let you pet my soft, little tummy?" The three of them turned, eyes landing on Negan, who was leaning against the open doorway. Negan laughed. "I am no fucking pussy cat, Gregory. First mistake!"
Gregory moved around the bed post, trying to hide behind it. Rick reached behind him, grabbing a hold of his gun, and Maggie pushed the sleeve of her shirt up, removing the dagger strapped to her forearm. She brandished it at Negan. "What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"
Negan took his gun out of his jacket pocket and aimed it at Maggie. He raised an eyebrow. "Lower it, sweetheart. We can talk like civilized people." Maggie frowned, but lowered the dagger, thumb tracing along the edge. Negan smiled. "Good!" He looked at Rick, pointing the gun at him, then. "You too, darling. Lower it." Rick bit back a retort and dropped his arm. "This is good! Now, we can have a nice chat."
Rick pursed his lips and stuck his gun back in the waistband of his jeans. "Got a little something," he started, lifting a hand and gesturing at his face, the bloody lower half. Negan didn't have time to clean up, it seemed. Neither did Rick. What a sight the both of them were. Negan narrowed his eyes for a moment and then smiled.
"I guess I was so damn preoccupied, I forgot to make myself presentable." Negan lifted his arm, rubbing his nose with the back of a hand. He winced, lowering his hand and rolling his shoulders. "Damn, that hurt." Negan laughed. "Got me good, Rick. You got me good."
Maggie frowned and slid the dagger back in the holster. "Why are you here? What do you want to talk about?" She crossed her arms again. "Get to the point."
Negan moved his eyes away from Rick and stared at Maggie. He wet his lips and scratched the back of his head with the gun. "Got anywhere we can sit? We should make ourselves comfortable."
"We can go to the office," Maggie said.
"My office," Gregory added, stepping forward. Negan looked at him, pointing his gun back at Gregory, who immediately recoiled, hands providing a weak form of protection.
"No. As far as I'm fucking concerned, I'm not dealing with you anymore. I'm going to talk to… Maggie, was it?" Negan glanced at Maggie, eyebrows raising. Maggie nodded, standing a little straighter. "I'm going to talk to Maggie and Rick, because I'm pretty damn positive we can work out a better deal than that piece of shit you threw at me." Negan lowered his gun and stuck it in his pocket. He held out an arm, gesturing grandly. "Lead the way."
Maggie glanced at Rick, not bothering to look at Gregory. Rick didn't blame her. He gave her a short nod, she smiled for a moment, and faced front. Maggie moved out of the room, stepping aside Negan as she walked into the hall. Rick followed after her, Negan behind him. He closed the door, leaving Gregory in the dark. Rick heard Negan chuckle.
The three of them went down the stairs and walked right into Gregory's office. Maggie, without a second's hesitation, moved to sit behind the desk. She sat at the edge of her seat, hands folding on the desk's surface. Rick dragged two chairs to the desk, one for him, one for Negan. He sat down, sighing. Negan dropped in his own chair, slouching, legs stretched out.
He lifted his hand, rubbing at the dried blood underneath his nose. "Alright. We're here." Negan sniffed, nose wrinkling, and let his hand fall. He looked at Maggie, tipping his head to the side. "Is Maggie short for Margaret?"
"Just call me Maggie."
"Huh." Negan watched her, looked over at Rick, and then back at her. "Are you married, Maggie? I see that pretty ring on your finger."
Maggie frowned. "I get enough inappropriate comments from Gregory. I don't need them from you."
Negan raised his hands. "It was a simple question. I've only been able to talk to Gregory, and that man's as boring as a textbook." He propped his head up with a hand. "So?"
"So what."
"Are you married?"
Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Yes. Happily."
Negan sighed, shaking his head. "All the best ones are." He looked over at Rick. "What about you?"
Rick furrowed his brow. "You didn't find that out with your peeping?"
"Hey, you peeped first." Negan pointed at Rick. "And no, I didn't."
"I'm not married," Rick answered, voice low. He looked ahead, at Maggie, but he could feel Negan's eyes still on him.
"That is fucking interesting."
Maggie cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ear. "Let's talk business. That's why you're here. I'm willing to make the Hilltop and Saviors equal partners, providing your group knows how to cooperate."
Negan leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankles and pressing his palms together, fingers underneath his chin. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Maggie."
"Good. I would also like to suggest something else. This move won't be made permanent until a month has passed. Until then, everything will be a test run. If it doesn't work out, we can adjust the deal. If it does, everything will be the same as it had throughout the month, except the deal would be made permanent." Maggie smiled.
"Careful, cautious, smart." Negan clapped and sat up, perching on the edge of his seat. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I like the way you think, Maggie. I can assure you, though, my group definitely knows how to cooperate."
Maggie lifted a hand. "Another thing. The base of operations will be the Hilltop. Right here, in this office."
Negan frowned. "What the hell's wrong with the factory?"
"It's a factory." Maggie shrugged. "That's my offer. You all will be reporting to me, not Gregory. Gregory will pass jobs along to me, which I'll distribute to them. They will not be going on jobs by themselves. Each team will have a member from the Hilltop with them. They will not be communicating with Gregory at all."
"Why the hell not?"
"Call it a hunch, but I think they're going to rile him up. On purpose. To start something. I will not let that happen." Maggie leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "That's my offer," she repeated. "Take it or leave it. In my opinion, it's a hell of a lot better than what Gregory gave you."
Negan rubbed his hands together, fingers curling and uncurling. He cocked his head back. "You think you can handle my guys?"
"I know I can."
He wet his lips, smiling. "Damn, Maggie. You sure know how to sway a guy." Negan stood up, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. He extended a hand. "You have a deal."
Maggie stood, too, and took Negan's hand. "A month. One toe out of line, and we'll definitely be reconsidering."
"You have my word, and I'll pass it along, ma'am." After releasing Maggie's hand, Negan gave a salute. "Scout's honor."
"Leave." Maggie sat back down, leaning in her chair. "We're done here."
Negan gave an amused sort of expression and nodded. He glanced at Rick, shrugged, and walked toward the door. He slipped out without another word.
Maggie bowed her head, face in her hands. She sighed. "Did I do the right thing?" she asked.
Rick got out of his chair, nodding. "Yes, I think you did. It was reasonable. Had precautions, safety measures." Rick rubbed his chin. "They'll be equal partners with us." He frowned. "Do you know what Gregory had given them?"
She let out a laugh. "I think it was a thirty-seventy type thing. He's an idiot. He wore down Ezekiel with his number crunching until he decided to give Gregory all of the Kingdom. I think it was a mistake, but Gregory didn't want any help with negotiating." Maggie curled her fingers along the arms of the chair. "Turns out Gregory would rather commit murder than negotiate with Negan anymore."
"Negan isn't like Ezekiel. He said so himself."
Maggie hummed. She turned in the chair. "I'm sorry he put you up to that. It was an awful thing to do."
"Yeah… Negan found out what had happened. He ended up following me. Sent me a few threatening messages. I didn't know it was Negan until I," Rick stopped, shaking his head.
She looked at him, a small frown on her lips. "Why didn't you ask me for help?"
"Gregory told me it was a secret mission. I couldn't tell anyone. And I suppose… my pride got in the way, too."
Maggie nodded. "Do you want me to look at your shoulder?"
"No, bullet just grazed me."
"Then go home, Rick. Get some rest." She paused. "Don't let your kids see you like this."
Rick managed a laugh. "Yeah, I'll just stop at the gas station and clean up in the bathroom."
"That's not funny," Maggie said, fighting back a smile. "Go home. If you need anything, you can call me. Either I'll pick up or Glenn." She scrunched up her face. "Let's hope it's me."
"Let's hope it's you." Rick turned away, waving a hand behind him. "Goodnight, Maggie."
"Goodnight, Rick."
Scratching at a spot of blood on his face, Rick walked out of the office, glanced up the stairs to Gregory's bedroom, door still closed, and continued his walk out of the Hilltop. Despite laughing about it, Rick was really considering stopping at a gas station to clean up. Carol was watching Carl and Judith, and while she would understand what had gone on, he didn't want them to see him like this. Judith would be in bed, but Carl might still be awake. It was nearing ten, and Rick was nervous to go home.
He slid into his car and shut the door, allowing himself a moment to settle back and breathe. Again, he was too focused on Gregory, on Maggie and Negan, that he didn't allow any consideration as to what he was feeling. If he kept ignoring the pain, it would only grow worse whenever he went to acknowledge it. Rick cursed underneath his breath when he rolled his shoulder and found it still hurt. Of course, it still hurt, he told himself. You got fucking shot.
There was a tap on the window. Rick turned his head, eyes narrowing. Negan smiled back at him, waving his fingers. He tapped on the window again, and Rick rolled it down. "Hi," Negan said, hands in his pockets.
Rick swallowed. "What do you want?"
"I need a ride home."
Rick touched the steering wheel. He furrowed his brow and looked around. "Didn't you drive here?"
Negan let out an exasperated sigh, removing his hand from his pocket. He had his gun out, pointing it at Rick's head. Negan pursed his lips, leaning to the side. "Drive me home, Rick. It doesn't matter if I drove here. My car will get back home eventually." He waved the gun. "Unlock the door, and let me in."
Rick took a deep breath, his attention moving from Negan to his gun and back to Negan. He clenched his jaw and pushed the button, the passenger's side door unlocking. "Get in."
"Oh, goody." Negan walked around the car and hopped inside, shutting the door with a smile. He pulled on his seatbelt, making sure to keep the gun out and ready at all times. He leaned back, lifting a leg to prop a foot on the dashboard. "Cool. You know where my house is." Negan looked at Rick, the smile still on his face. "How about an apology, Rick? 'Sorry for trying to kill you, Negan! I hope there isn't any hard feelings!'" Negan laughed and reached over, patting Rick's thigh. "No hard feelings, Rick. Don't you worry about a thing." He gave Rick's thigh a rub.
Rick drove.