"You're not on the list," Fat Joey mumbles, barely making eye contact with you as the Sanctuary's forecourt bustles with Saviors, everyone but you loading themselves into the back of trucks for the monthly run to Hilltop.
"What do you mean 'I'm not on the list'?" you demand as nicely as you can while trying to catch a glimpse at the clipboard of names. Being on the list for these runs is how you earn the big points, the kind of points that pay for tampons and cigarettes, not that you need those things anymore. Now you need to think about diapers and breast pads and they don't come cheap if you're lucky enough to get hold of them at all.
"It's not up to me," Joey's gaze leads directly to Simon and suddenly everything makes perfect sense.
"Right," you huff, knocking Dwight out of the way as you make a beeline for your 'boss'.
Simon's crouching down checking the back tyre of his Jeep and he doesn't even look at you before saying, "I'm not putting you back on that list, sweetheart."
"This is exactly what I was talking about yesterday!"
Simon stands, his height towering over you, his lips curved into a wonky smile as he shrugs, "it's nothing personal." His smile gets a little bolder, it's the kind of smile that makes you think that 'personal' is exactly what it is.
"Bullshit, Simon! Telling me how to spend my points is bad enough, telling me I can't work is way out of line and you know it."
"I'm sorry about the points thing. You're right about that. But you're also exhausted, throwing up all over the place, a goddamn liability by all accounts. So, you're off the list just like anybody else." He hooks his thumb in his belt and you can tell he's trying not to gloat as he insists, "no special treatment. Even if I do happen to think you're a very special sort of lady."
The last part makes you blush enough that you turn your face away from him, but the first part has you clenching your jaw in frustration. He's right and he's being so fucking reasonable that you can't even think of a good reason to be annoyed and that alone is enough to annoy you. "So what list am I on?" you say, trying to suppress the frustration you feel filling you from top to toe.
Simon frowns, "come again?"
"I'm not going to Hilltop so where exactly am I working today, Boss?"
"Boss?" he smirks, "you know a man can get used to that."
You scoff, "you didn't answer my question."
He looks away from you, wiping his hand over his mustache. "I haven't given you another assignment," he says, making his way to the door of the Jeep and if he thinks he can make a quick getaway then he's wrong.
You move to stand in front of him, your palm pressed against his chest, "how am I supposed to earn points if I don't have a job?"
Simon cocks his head to the side, his eyes puppy dog soft as they gaze at you, "you really don't need to worry about points anymore." And as if that's the answer to all your concerns he tries to leave again.
You stop him for the second time, only this time your hand slams against his chest, your aggravation more palpable on your tongue. "You're telling me no special treatment but you're also telling me that I don't have to work to earn my keep. I'm not one of Negan's-" you glance over your shoulder to make sure no one's listening before hissing, "whores. I'm not going to spend my days waxing my vagina and waiting for you to crawl into bed with me."
Simon rests his hand on the hood of the Jeep with a heavy sigh as he considers your words. "I know who you are heaven help the man who doesn't. If it suits you then I'll find you a job when I get back and," he looks you up and down, his eyes filling with the sort of innuendo that needs no words, "I don't expect you to wax anything."
You shift awkwardly, "well... I'm glad we can agree."
He chuckles, smiling at you and having the power to make you feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush even if you're trying not to feel anything. "I have to admit," he begins before reconsidering what he's about to say then saying it anyway, "you've taken this better than I expected."
"I'm not entirely unreasonable." At least not all the time.
"Good," he says, his hands wrapping around your arms and pulling you closer to him. When his lips press against your cheek, his moustache tickling your skin in a way that makes you tingle you realise you're wishing his lips were on yours in a real kiss and it's enough to make your hands bunch into his shirt, your body pressing just that little bit further into his.
Only, Simon doesn't kiss your lips, he leaves you wanting more as he jumps into the Jeep, cranking down the window and deciding, "this is probably a good time to tell you, Negan has arranged the wedding for tomorrow night."
If it was at all possible, you'd forgotten about your upcoming nuptials or at least pushed them to the part of your brain where they didn't exist. "Tomorrow?" you exclaim, any thoughts of kisses now long gone, "I'm not that fucking reasonable, Simon!"
"I'll see you later then," he replies like you've taken the news well or at least as well as he could have expected and there's no time to say more before the engine is rumbling on, leaving you standing in the cloud of dust the wheels kick up as he finally makes his escape.
You've barely had a chance to gather your thoughts and decide what you're going to do next when you turn to see two of Negan's wives sashaying towards you, their tiny dresses leaving little to the imagination.
"We've been looking everywhere for you," Frankie says while Tanya hooks her arm around yours as if you were the best of friends. You weren't. You wouldn't say you hated Negan's wives or how they sold their bodies for an easy life. They were just the kind of people you'd never liked, entitled, lazy, manipulative and the end of civilisation hadn't softened your worldview so much as hardened it.
"We have something to show you," Tanya whispers sweetly and Frankie's overeager giggle is enough to make your stomach turn over.
"I'm busy," you say.
Frankie hooks herself around your other arm, "we know you're not."
"And I fucking insist," Negan's voice booms across the forecourt and you look up to see him overseeing you and his wives, Lucille sitting on his shoulder, his leather jacket missing in the heat.
You want to say something snappy but you're saving all your snap for Simon so you sigh and do as you're told.
You follow Negan and his wives all the way to his private chambers where they sit you on a plush velvet sofa before scurrying off to gather whatever it is you're here to see. Only Negan remains, he sits Lucille down and takes a seat in the chair opposite you, his lips pressed into a hard line.
You've been in his room before so the opulence doesn't surprise you and you've spent your fair share of time with Negan so the way he's watching you only makes you slightly uncomfortable.
He leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, "I recall you telling me that you were, in fact, a fucking lesbian. Now correct me if i'm wrong here sweetheart but I do believe that my man Simon is, in fact, a fucking man." His eyes fall to you stomach and a smirk snakes across his face, "I mean, he must be with what you have cooking. Now, how do you explain that? Did you slip and fall? Did you change your mind about dicks? Or was it the hungry caterpillar he has crawling across his face?"
You can't tell if he's playing with you or being serious but you do know that Negan doesn't like losing. "You're right. The mustache changed my mind," you say, trying to make a joke and regretting your words as the smile falls from his face.
He kneels before you, a frown creasing his brow, his eyes scanning your face as your heart pounds for what feels like hours. When you'd told Negan you were interested in women you'd decided it was the easiest way to get him to lose interest in you. Since you hadn't planned on being in a relationship with anybody you hadn't expected your white lie to cause any problems. The problem was, if Negan hated one thing it was lie.
"You could have just told me 'no'," he says eventually, scoffing out a dismissive laugh.
You don't say anything and you don't dare to breathe a sigh of relief. You know you could have said 'no' but you didn't want to risk the chance that he might try to pursue you anyway.
When Negan moves to stand behind you, a chill runs along your spine, your eyes focusing forward. His fingers are gentle as they wrap around your hair, tugging your head back so you're looking at him, "at least if I'd put my dick in you, I would have known when to pull the fucking thing out."
Your hand cups your belly and suddenly you want to defend Simon, "maybe we wanted to tempt fate."
"You wanted a screaming baby?" Negan mocks, he's known you long enough to know that's not true.
"Why do you care what I wanted?"
"I don't," he says, walking until his falling back into his chair. "You were fresh pussy, I tried to fuck you but it ended there. Simon on the other hand happens to be the best fucking friend I have in this godforsaken place and I'm hearing all kinds of stories about you and my right hand man..."
Frankie and Tanya return so you don't have time to answer Negan or do anything but laugh quietly at the way he's trying to question your intentions towards his grown man friend.
"Surprise!" Tanya beams standing directly in front of you, her arms bundled with dresses and strappy shoes.
"I had Dwighty boy pick these up for you," Negan announces. "A wedding is good for morale around here and lucky for you we're going to be sparing no fucking expense for Simon's special day."
Maybe it's all this wedding talk but you feel the all too familiar swirl of nausea and the dizziness that accompanies it. A pitcher of water sits on the bar behind Negan and you focus on it, asking nobody in particular, "could you get me a drink?"
You squeeze your eyes closed to the tune of heels clattering against the floor and when a glass of water is pressed into you hand you sip it, biting back the need to vomit and reconsidering the way you defended Simon. Having a baby is overwhelming enough without the added marriage or the added Negan.
"I like this one!" Tanya declares holding up a cream sheath dress that would have hugged your body awkwardly even before you were carrying around a little extra bloat.
"I hate it," you blurt and Frankie doesn't miss a beat, presenting an A lined alternative that makes you wonder what fresh hell you've gotten yourself into.
"You should try it on," Frankie encourages, laying the dress across the back of the chair and taking your hand to pull you up.
You glance at Negan and he holds up his hands, "I'll give you ladies some privacy," he brushes his thumb down Frankie's cheek, "but not for long, these dresses are giving me all kinds of fucking ideas."
When the door closes behind Negan, Frankie whispers, "is there anything that doesn't turn him on?"
"Urgh, forget Negan," Tanya pulls you into the centre of the room with a smirk, "I wanna hear about Simon and what he packing in those cargo pants..."
"Tanya," Frankie half scolds, the delight in her eyes betraying the horror she's trying to convey.
You laugh nervously, focusing your attention of unbuttoning your shirt. Hopefully once you start trying on the dresses it will distract from questions you don't want to answer and more importantly questions you don't have the answer to.
You slip the dress over your head without bothering to remove your jeans. It skims the floor and fits better that you'd expected not that you can see what you look like without a mirror.
"Sooo… aren't you gonna share any details?" Tanya pries as the girls begin to pull the strings that lace up the back of the dress.
You press the back of your hand to your forehead, glancing over your shoulder for you glass of water.
"What's he like?" Tanya encourages again, the smell of her perfume overwhelming as she hovers far too close to you.
"I don't know," you mumble, the room blurring, everything swaying like you've had one too many tequilas. Your head feels so heavy that you can barely keep it upright and as you step towards the sofa you can't keep it upright at all. You have the vague feeling of hands grabbing your arm, the sting of pain as your head connects with… something and then nothing.
