A/N: So...let's just all agree I suck for making you guys wait so long for this. I had planned to have this out way earlier, but the holidays kind of kept me from updating. I want to wish everyone a Happy New Year, and let's all get excited that there's only one more month until our favorite show returns for 7B! So because I suck, here's an extra long chapter (like, twice as long as my previous chapters) with a little fluffy Negan thrown in. Enjoy!
Chapter X
Olivia stood beneath the spray of the shower, her arm propped up against the tile with her head leaning against it. Her stomach was still rolling with nerves; they had fueled her feet to all but sprint down the hallway after she stepped out of Negan's office. Her skin was on fire, her hands tingled where she had pressed her palms and fingers into his strong back. That had not been part of her original plan—neither had her reaction, as a matter of fact—but when she felt him relax beneath her hands she went with it. If it would get her want she wanted, she'd do what she needed to. She'd hoped it would only take one more interaction like that for him to say yes. She'd just have to sow more seeds in his head, whisper more words of possible rebellion. It was a dangerous game, she knew. She knew that Negan was next to nothing without his kingdom, knew he kept his men in line with just a look. Most of their loyalties couldn't be bought—like that weasel Simon—but others she wasn't so sure.
Dwight, for example, obeyed Negan, but Olivia also had the feeling Dwight's loyalty to his leader, to the Saviors, was wavering. It hadn't taken a genius to see the connection when Sherry had opened the bedroom door, the way she'd looked right past Olivia and zeroed in on the man behind her, the emotions swimming in her eyes despite her best efforts to hide them. Dwight and Sherry were involved, though how deeply Olivia couldn't say for sure. More of Dwight's story started to make sense after she'd put two and two together.
Hot water trickled into her eyes, and she let them drift closed. She suddenly felt lightheaded and exhausted, her muscles sore from her work in the barn and from her meeting with Negan. She needed a nap and a stiff drink, not necessarily in that order. Determining she'd used enough hot water, she turned the knob and sighed as the water cut off. She stepped out to towel herself off, pulling on a clean set of clothes before her skin even dried. They clung to her as she ran the towel over her hair to sap any extra moisture before throwing it in a pile atop her head. She shoved her feet into her boots and left her room, but not before tucking her knife into its holster and strapping it to her belt. She'd found it in the commissary, just lying there, and she'd racked up enough points from her three jobs to buy it and the holster it came in.
She jogged down the steps, praying that someone somewhere had scavenged a bottle of alcohol she could hog by herself. The hall was nearly empty, save for a few Saviors who were poking through boxes. They glanced up as they noticed her and gave her cordial nods.
It felt odd to be so civil with these men, knowing what they've done to survive and thrive, but Olivia had chalked everything up to that alone—it was what they did to live. She didn't agree with their methods—particularly Negan's fondness for bashing in skulls—but she understood the need to survive, and had she been out there any longer, she couldn't deny that she may have devolved into something similar, something who knew it was kill or be killed.
She began to pick through the boxes, her fingers aching for the feel of glass. It was as she came to the last box that she coughed back a yelp of triumph and pulled the bottle of Canadian Club whiskey out of the box. The stuff was terrible, but she wasn't about to complain. It cost her three hundred points, another hundred for a set of tumblers, but again, she kept her mouth shut and held the bottle close to her chest and made for the exit.
Sherry appeared in the doorway, and an amused smirk settled on her pretty features as she took in the sight of Olivia cradling the bottle like it was a newborn.
"Gonna drink that all by yourself?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow. Olivia glanced down at the bottle and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
"I guess I can share. Girls night?"
Sherry groaned. "God I haven't had a girls' night in ages. I'll meet you in your room at seven. I've got…things to see to." With that, she scampered off and Olivia found herself smiling. Girls' night had always been one of her favorite things when she was younger. Sleepovers in high school with her friends, doing their nails and talking about the boys on the football team. And then they only got more fun when she'd hit the legal drinking age, still bitching about college boys over glasses of wine until they fell asleep on the couch.
She took the bottle and tumblers up to her room, and she let out an inhuman shriek when the door in the stairwell banged open and Negan's frame took up the doorway. He looked at her in amusement, his eyes dark, and she had the nerve to blush. Then his eyes dipped to the bottle in her arms and his smirk widened.
"Not drinking that whole thing by yourself, are you?" he asked her, letting his voice drop an octave, his invitation not missed. She scuffed the toe of her boot on the cement floor, ignoring the goosebumps rising on her arms.
"Um, no actually. I'm having a friend over." She didn't miss the way his face seemed to change, and all light left his eyes. The muscles in his jaw and temple bounced. She found herself backtracking. "Sherry wants a girls' night." He seemed to relax, but only slightly, and he now looked at the bottle in suspicion.
"Very well. Don't make it a late night," he told her before brushing past her, Lucille on his shoulder. He got halfway down the stairs and then turned back to her, a wicked grin on his face. "Let me know if you two need any company."
Olivia stayed quiet and fought back the indignant snort she would've otherwise responded with. She nodded meekly and spun on her heel, desperate to be away from the wolfish look he was giving her. She scurried to her room and slammed the door, resting her back against it and banging her head against the wood twice.
"Get a fucking grip, girl," she scolded herself. The whole time he was standing there, all she could think about was the feeling of her hands on his body, the warmth spreading from him to her as she kneaded the muscles in his back. Even now she felt heat creep up her neck at the thought, before she shook her head and once again banged it against the door. She chalked it up to her body being deprived of basic human need, the need for contact with another person, and that was all. But the sounds he'd made in his throat as she touched him…
"For God's sake, cut the shit," she said aloud to herself as she stepped away from the door. She set the bottle and the tumblers on the table next to the bookshelf and stared at them, deciding. "Screw it."
She cracked the top on the whiskey and poured herself a hefty shot in one of the tumblers and threw it back with an expert flick of her wrist. She winced as it burned its way down her throat and warmed her belly. Momentarily she felt sick—after all, how long had it been since she had a good stiff drink? Her stomach calmed itself and she threw back a second shot and capped the bottle again. Girls' night would be no fun if she was already hammered by the time Sherry arrived.
To pass the time, Olivia brought a book into bed, kicking off her boots and settling in amongst the covers with her back against the pillows. The whiskey was settling in the way it should, warming her and forcing her to relax. She had the book open on her lap, but her eyes weren't focusing on the words. Instead, her mind was focusing on the source of her frustration.
She knew who Negan was, saw firsthand what he did to people who crossed him—Dwight, that poor young man at the other community. The logical side of her was telling her to steer clear, but the more basic, primal part of her was telling her to overlook his transgressions. But who could ever overlook something like that? That man hadn't needed to die that day, and yet Negan saw to it that he did. He was a force to be reckoned with, and Olivia had a hard time putting her finger on figuring him out. Their scouting trip had only further confused her as she replayed the shock of discovering how gentle Negan could be, but never was.
Subconsciously her hand reached up to rub her neck, where Negan had wrapped his hand around her throat and painted her skin purple with bruises. It had felt like so long ago, and though the bruises had faded, she still felt them, and it was a stark reminder of why she couldn't get involved with him. He'd hurt her, and she had no doubt that he would continue to hurt her until she was forced to bend to him, until he'd fully broken her.
At precisely seven Sherry knocked loudly on her door and Olivia all but rushed to let her in. She needed advice and another drink.
"Someone's happy to see me," Sherry quipped as she entered the room, taking in Olivia's frustrated appearance.
"I need advice." Sherry's eyebrows rose. "But first, a drink."
Olivia poured them both a glass and they settled on the chairs in the room. She pulled her legs up underneath her and twirled the glass in her hands, attempting to find a way to start.
"Okay, Liv, you're about to burn a hole in the carpet. What's up? Talk to me."
"I think I might be attracted to Negan." No sense in sugar-coating it. Sherry's eyebrows were in her hairline. "Not…emotionally, just physically. I think I just need to get laid." And then she dove in to what had occurred in Negan's office earlier that day.
"Well, he is an attractive man. That jawline, that physique…" Olivia pinned her with an unamused stare, and Sherry cleared her throat. "Sorry. But your attraction isn't misplaced. He's a good-looking man."
"He beat someone's skull in," Olivia countered, voicing her inner turmoil. "On the run weeks ago. He beat some poor boy's skull in right in front of me."
"And you're battling with yourself because he's supposed to be ugly and brutal and instead he's gorgeous and brutal?"
Olivia snapped her fingers. "Exactly. I've had nightmares about that day since it happened. I don't ever think I'll get that sound out of my head. Bone and brain and blood. And the smile on his face… I mean, who the hell does that and smiles?"
"Negan can be a bit…deranged." Olivia snorted derisively. "But, if it helps, he's good to the women."
"He wasn't to me. The first day on the job as Carson's assistant, one of his men died under my watch. He took me to the walker yard and nearly choked the life out of me. I had bruises around my neck and waist for days."
"But he knows you now. Before, he didn't, and don't take this the wrong way, but you weren't exactly a ray of sunshine when you rolled up in here," Sherry pointed out. "You made it a point to defy him wherever you could, and it nearly got you killed. Negan doesn't like hurting or killing women, but he's not above doing it if one of them steps out of line."
"That's just it. I don't want to fall in line behind him. But I don't want to end up dead either."
"I'm going to be frank—you get away with a lot more than anyone else does, except for me. First Lady privileges and all. Don't think it goes unnoticed. People avoided you when you first got here, when you had those bruises, because they thought you were trouble. Now, you chip in, do your job, and you have friends. Not to mention Negan's taken a definite liking to you."
Olivia grunted and drained her glass. "I'm not sure what to say to that. You don't mind? My physical attraction to him that is?"
Sherry shrugged and tipped her glass back, sipping slowly. "Why would I? I don't harbor any feelings for the man except for a mutual respect between us. Sure, we sleep together, but that's all it is."
"I know about Dwight," said Olivia suddenly. Sherry froze. "It was all over your face earlier today. I know bits and pieces, and I won't make you tell me, but you've listened to me bitch and moan over a man I shouldn't want so now it's my turn."
Sherry glanced uneasily around the room before setting her glass down on the table. "Dwight and I…are married—were married before all this. I had a sister named Tina, and she had diabetes. Dwight and I didn't have enough points for her insulin, so one day we stole it and ran. The three of us. Eventually, we went back, and Negan threatened to kill Dwight for running off and stealing from him. So I made Negan a deal—I become his wife, and Dwight lives. He agreed, but he punished Dwight by ironing the side of his face."
A thought suddenly occurred to Olivia as she listened. "Is that where you were earlier? When you said you had "things" to take care of?" Sherry averted her eyes while Olivia widened hers. "Are you nuts? Sleeping with Dwight while Negan's in the compound? If he catches you, you're both dead."
Her friend grew defensive. "It's not as easy as it looks, Olivia. I still love Dwight, with all my heart, and I always will. I can't just…throw that away because of Negan. He and Tina were the only ones I had, and now, it's just him."
Olivia leaned forward, her eyes piercing as she rested her elbows on her knees. "You have me. But Jesus, Sherry, you should have really thought about that one. How long has this been going on?"
"Just…a couple months." Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "I've got it handled, all right? Just don't worry about me."
"You're making it hard not to."
"So," Sherry said perkily, sitting up straighter, "what are you going to do about your little Negan problem?"
"Ideally I'd like to just tamp the beast down until it goes away, but somehow, after seeing so many corny romantic comedies, that isn't going to be easy." Olivia took a pull straight out of the bottle.
"You ever think you should just sleep with him and get it over with? He wouldn't say no."
Olivia barked a laugh. "I don't worry about rejection. I worry about the before and the after. I think I just need to ignore it, let it fade on its own."
"And if it doesn't? Then what? You're right back at square one."
"Then I'll cross that fiery bridge when I come to it. Do you wanna dance? I feel like dancing. I think I saw some speakers and an ancient iPod in here somewhere." Olivia rummaged around, finally locating a small, but suitable, wireless speaker and an iPod. She picked a playlist and music poured out of the speakers.
The whiskey was loosening the tension and anxiety and relaxing her enough to move her feet. She danced to some 80's rock song, the bottle of Canadian Club in her hand, while Sherry watched on his mild amusement.
"Come on, Sher," she yelled over the volume. Her cheeks were flushed with drink and her mood was quickly lifting. "I know you know how to dance. Come on!"
With a roll of her eyes, Sherry eased herself off the chair and began moving next to her, laughing. They danced into the night, long after they finished the bottle of whiskey. Both women were feeling good and buzzed and relaxed, needing this night to let go of every worry they normally carried.
Olivia moved her hips in time with the music; she'd never been an expert dancer, but the whiskey made her movements fluid and nearly flawless. She held her arms above her head as some more recent pop song came on, and Sherry began singing loudly and drunkenly along with the words. In the middle of the second chorus, the music suddenly cut off. Sherry whined while Olivia picked up the iPod to see that they'd drained the battery.
"Party's over," she muttered, feeling tired and slightly nauseous as the alcohol swirled around in her stomach. "Probably for the better. Negan told me not to make it a late night."
"Oh did he now?" Sherry asked with eyebrows raised. Olivia shot her a look that she pointedly ignored. "Probably for the better. I'll see you, Liv."
Olivia nodded, and Sherry took her leave. Not long after, Olivia changed into her flannel sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt and climbed into bed, settling amongst the pillows.
Her talk with Sherry had done fuck all to help her figure out a solution to her Negan problem, but it did shed a little light on the less logical perspective. He was an attractive man, and Olivia reasoned that if she slept with him, it didn't have to mean anything. But even she wasn't that naïve to think it never would remain as nothing. She knew what happened with people who always claimed "no strings attached". In the end, they either ended up happy or they ended up burned, and in the new world, all Olivia would be was burned.
"Fuck," she groaned, rolling onto her side to shove her face into the pillow. She'd ignore it; it had to go away at some point. It was just her body telling her what she was clearly deprived of—nothing more, nothing less. If worse came to worst, she'd find another willing participant. There were other attractive men in the Sanctuary, and she was a pretty woman; it wouldn't be too hard to find someone.
Her head swam as she closed her eyes and groaned again. She hated the spins. She willed them to go away as she tried to relax into the mattress, and fortunately, a drunken sleep found her not long after.
She was woken roughly the next morning by pounding on her bedroom door. She came to slowly, her vision blurred and her head throbbing something awful. She was in the same position she'd passed out in the night before—face-down with her head shoved in the pillow. The comforter was tangled in her legs, and she was missing one sock. A wave of nostalgia passed through her, and then it quickly morphed into nausea.
"Oh god," she mumbled, disentangling herself and making a break for the bathroom. She just made it before she was bent over the toilet, heaving up both her dinner and the whiskey she'd drank last night. Absently she wondered if Sherry felt as bad as she did, but the thought was quickly dismissed with another hard knock on her door.
"I'm coming!" she wheezed, straightening after flushing the toilet. She looked down at herself—in her pajamas, her shirt twisted and one sock missing. Sighing, she straightened herself out and pulled off her one sock.
Simon, to her great displeasure, was behind the door when she pulled it open. He was leaning an arm against the doorframe, and when he took her in, he smirked.
"Morning sunshine," he chirped, a toothpick hanging out the side of his mouth. Olivia sneered.
"Simon, to what do I not owe the pleasure?" She crossed her arms over her chest when she caught him eying her, levelling him with a glare. His smirk only widened at her question.
"We're going on a run—you and me."
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose impatiently. "What are you talking about?"
"I said, you and me are going on a run. Get the horses ready," he ordered. He shoved off the door frame with one more slow look at her, up and down. Her insides rolled, and not from the hangover. As he strode down the hall, she leaned her head out.
"Horses?" she called out.
"That's right, sweetheart." She grimaced and recoiled back into her room, shutting the door and leaning against it. A run, she thought, a run with Simon. Peachy.
The only positive outcome of this situation was being able to determine how the horses handled being out there. The thought of being in the saddle again seemed to diminish any negative thoughts she harbored for being paired up with Simon of all people. She dressed quickly in her jeans, boots, a long sleeve shirt and a leather vest. Her weapons were strapped to the belt she quickly buckled around her waist. She shoved her matted hair in a baseball cap and swept from the room.
She all but raced to the barn and had two horses—Daredevil and a small bay gelding that she thought would suit Simon perfectly—saddled by the time Simon met her by the front gate. He stared in boredom at the horse and groaned when Olivia shoved the reins into his hands. She swung gracefully into the saddle and Daredevil shifted under her weight. The new kid, David, stepped forward and handed her a pack that she swung onto her shoulder and a baseball bat—she inwardly cringed—that she shoved into her saddlebag; she thanked him with a smile and chuckled when he stepped back with a blush.
Simon was a lot clumsier climbing aboard his own mount, and the older horse didn't seem to take too kindly to being jerked on. He tossed his head impatiently as Simon settled himself in the saddle and picked up the reins, looking every bit a city-slicker trying to play cowboy. She smirked in his direction as he tried to get his mount under control, reaching down to grab the handgun and spare magazines being offered to him, as well as a red-handled machete. Finally, he roughly kicked his horse forward—Olivia rolled her eyes and nudged Daredevil with her calves and the two set off out of the gates.
They trotted down the road, their horses' hooves clip-clopping on the pavement. It was the only sound in the tense silence between them. Olivia risked a glance at him and sighed at the sight of him playing tug-of-war with his horse's mouth.
"Lower your hands," she told him, her voice carrying across the pavement. "He'll stop fighting if you give him his head."
"What makes you an expert?" he retorted smartly. However, it didn't go unnoticed when he did as she said, and immediately his horse softened.
"Used to do this before everything," she replied shortly. She let her eyes roam the tree line beside her, watching for movement. "Where are we going?"
"Saw a small town few days ago on a scout. Seemed pretty empty. Carson needs more medical supplies."
"How'd you get Negan to agree to taking me out on a run?" was her next question after a few beats of silence.
"I didn't. It was his idea." Olivia's head swiveled towards Simon, and one dark eyebrow quirked. Her response was a wide smirk. "Seems like the boss has taken a liking to you and your beasts of burden. Can't think of a reason why. You're clearly not putting out and these things smell terrible."
She rolled her eyes and leaned forward to give Daredevil an affectionate pat on the neck. "And what do you think you smell like? Because it sure as hell ain't roses. Plus, Negan's smart. He knows the benefits of traveling on horseback. That's why he leads the Saviors and you're merely a lieutenant."
She pointedly ignored the glower Simon aimed at her, and out of the corner of her eye she saw his face go beet red with anger. She fought off a triumphant smirk, not wanting to goad Simon into a bickering match. Instead she turned her attention to the tree line, watching for movement from both the living and the undead.
They rode in stiff silence a while, passing by abandoned houses, shutters hanging off the hinges. They trotted past a two-car wreck with the bodies still inside, and soon, yards ahead of them, the trees and road opened up to a four-way intersection. A rusted stop sign on a bent stake leered at them and Olivia huffed at the normalcy of stopping at it. But Simon pressed his horse right on through, reining his horse to the left. A few roamers lingered in the middle of the road, still oblivious to the arrival of the living.
"It's that way. Let's get rid of these guys quietly, huh?" With that, he dismounted and led his horse down the lane, Olivia following suit. They let their reins drop on the grass beside the road and unsheathed their melee weapons from their saddlebags. By now, the roamers had taken notice of them and moved towards the living bodies with renewed vigor, growling and snapping their ugly maws.
Olivia stepped forward, twirling her bat in her hands. She kicked out at the first roamer's shin, bringing it to its knees. With a deft and experienced swing, the aluminum bat made contact, the metal ringing as the roamer's skull caved in from impact. It fell backwards, still snarling, until Olivia brought the bat down again. Blood coated her bat and her hands; she shook both off as Simon dispatched two of the remaining roamers, leaving the last one for her. She danced away from its outstretched fingers, the nails long and cracked from abuse. The roamer staggered forward, and Olivia raised the bat and brought it down hard on the back of its head, knocking it face-first into the pavement. It made contact with a sickening crunch and splat. Her boot finished it off, crushing the softened skull to mush.
Both Olivia and Simon were breathing hard when they returned to the horses, the animals grazing beside the road. Olivia wiped the blood off her bat in the grass and shoved it back into her bag, climbed into the saddle. The pair broke into a light canter, keeping to the grass to avoid creating any unnecessary noise.
They rode for an hour in silence before any sign of the town appeared, and their sign was just that—an old, rickety wooden sign, the name of the town faded to nearly nothing. They slowed the horses to a brisk walk, wanting to get in as silently as possible. The trees soon gave way to open sky, and down a small slope stood the silhouette of the town.
"Maybe we should hide the horses in the trees. We can move faster and lower on our feet," Olivia muttered as they halted. They observed the quiet, and seemingly abandoned, town from afar, formulating a plan. Simon glanced at her, his moustache twitching over his lip, and he nodded. They made quick work of dismounting and leading the horses back into the trees, tying them to a pair of sturdy birch trees.
They withdrew their guns from their saddlebags and slid them into the waistbands of their jeans. Simon led the way, keeping as low to the ground as he could without tripping. Olivia followed along silently, her eyes scanning the open space of land between the town and the safety of the trees. As they entered the town, she kept one eye on the lone roamer staggering up the street in the opposite direction. Simon crept up to the side of a brick building, pressing himself against it to remain hidden from any person or roamer they hadn't seen yet. Olivia crouched in front of him and slowly angled her neck to peer around the corner of the building. The roamer at the end of the street stumbled lazily. Other than it, the street remained quiet. It unnerved her.
Simon indicated the pharmacy across the street with a jerk of his chin. "We'll check there first. You go, and I'll cover you." Olivia leered at him, briefly wondering if this was an attempt to get her killed for the shit she'd spouted at him earlier. "Don't give me that look. Go."
With another glare, Olivia remained low and ran across the street, sure to keep her steps as light and silent as possible. When she crouched behind an abandoned car in front of the town, she turned back to Simon, who was aiming his handgun down the street, his eyes vigilant for any movement. She waved him over, covering him like he did for her, until he knelt beside her. They each took an end of the car, continuing to watch the street. When all seemed clear, Simon ushered Olivia forward towards the entrance of the pharmacy. The glass in the door had been blown out and lay in pieces just inside the doorway.
Olivia hesitated outside. The pharmacy was dark inside, save for the one flickering fluorescent bulb at the back of the store. Sliding her gun from her pants, she raised it and banged the butt of the grip on the door frame, causing Simon to jump.
"The fuck you doing?" he hissed. She hushed him and waited. From the back of the store came an unmistakable groan. The walker was on the floor, sliding across the tile. The flickering light illuminated it as it crawled towards them, its legs for whatever reason unusable.
"Gotta know what kind of shit we're stepping into," she explained to Simon without a backwards glance. She lifted a boot and stepped into the darkened store, her boots crunching on the broken glass, keeping one eye on the walker on the floor and the other on the darkened parts of the store that remained unchecked.
As Olivia neared the walker, the reason for its mode of transportation became clear—its legs had been hacked off at the knees, and a trail of black blood was left in its wake. Olivia made quick work of it, choosing to ram a broken piece of shelving into its temple. It fell with a thud on the tile, the shelving embedded in its skull. Olivia stepped past it and heard Simon in the aisle on her left, shuffling through the shelves, which were unfortunately mostly bare.
She perused the shelves, shoving whatever she could into the shopping basket she'd grabbed. The counter to the pharmacy lay ahead, shadows playing on the shelves under the flickering light. Looking around, Olivia set her basket on the counter and hefted herself onto the countertop to hop down on the other side. Simon was still poking through whatever supplies he could find, leaving Olivia to tackle the darkened pharmacy counter on her own. Using the flickering light and the sunlight streaming through the door as her guides, she stepped carefully between the shelves, picking up bottles and prescription bags to read the medications listed on each one. She found a surprising number of antibiotics in this day and age and promptly tossed them into the basket. She also found some strong painkillers and some birth control pills. She stared long at the packet of pills, wondering what their shelf life might be, before shrugging and tossing those in, too. Perhaps Carson knew.
With the pharmacy nearly emptied, Olivia slid back over the counter to find Simon. Toting her collection, she walked by every aisle, but Simon was nowhere to be found.
"Simon," she called in a loud whisper. When he didn't answer, her voice reached its regular volume and she called again. A shuffling in the back of the store drew her attention and, with her gun at the ready, she moved towards the noise. A dirty restroom sign pointed her in the right direction, and she jumped when Simon suddenly exited the men's room, zipping up his jeans.
"Jesus," she hissed in annoyance.
"What? Man's gotta go when a man's gotta go."
Olivia rolled her eyes and gestured towards the exit. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
The duo left the store, shielded their eyes against the sunlight. They performed the same task with the other stores in the small town until each one had been cleared of any supplies left over. Olivia and Simon left the town as silently as they entered and split their loads between them, shoving everything into the meager saddlebags. Olivia gently placed her gun in the saddlebag, making sure that the safety was on, before swinging gracefully up into the saddle.
"Let's head back to that intersection. I wanna check out something else in another direction. We still got plenty of daylight left," Simon told her as they turned their horses around.
"You sure that's a good idea?" she replied hesitantly. She eyed the sun in the sky warily, wondering just how long they had left before night fell. She didn't quite fancy being outside the Sanctuary at night, and as an afterthought, she didn't think Negan would either.
The brief thought of the leader of the Saviors sent an uncomfortable shiver up her spine. Her drunken mind the night before had plagued her with thoughts of him, played out scenes that, had she been sober, would have had her blushing. Since she hadn't been sober, she allowed herself to indulge in the scenarios her creative mind had come up with. She'd done well to keep her thoughts from Negan throughout the day, but as the day wore on and her tiredness creeped in, her resolve was slipping.
The horses' hooves on the pavement was the only sound between them after Olivia had given Simon a brief rundown of what she'd gathered. He seemed impressed, especially after finding out she'd been pre-med before the turn and knew what she was grabbing.
"What exactly needs checking out that can't wait another week?" Olivia asked as they neared the intersection. Simon had his attention focused on the street going to the left of their current position, but Olivia was unsure of what he was actually focused on.
He didn't answer her as he turned the little bay horse to walk on the grass and into the trees that flanked the empty road. Apprehension settled in Olivia's gut, but she nudged Daredevil to follow, refusing to leave Simon alone even if he was an asshole. The horses picked their way through the trees, weaving in and out of birches, maples, and oaks and stepping over fallen trunks. She heard Simon curse as his skin got snagged on a hanging vine riddled with thorns, which Olivia made sure to avoid.
When they came to a stream in the middle of the trees, Olivia kept her eyes peeled for movement around them. Since they started this little side trip, they'd come across no roamers, and that, to her, was suspicious enough to have her on alert. She allowed Daredevil to drink momentarily from the stream before she was pulling his head up and backing away from the shore.
"Simon, we need to go back. There's nothing out here." She then voiced her concern over the lack of roamers, but Simon seemed adamant to ignore her. He pushed them forward to cross the stream and Olivia cursed under her breath as she and Daredevil followed, the water drenching her boots and the hems of her jeans. Apprehension turned to fear in her gut, rolling in a typhoon that made her nauseous.
Ahead of them, the trees opened to a clearing; it was the length of a football field, and the trees seemed even thicker on the other side, shrouding anything else in shadows. Sunlight illuminated the field, turning the grass almost yellow-gold. The horses remained within the cover of the trees, and still, there were no roamers. In fact, there was no noise at all as Simon and Olivia squinted across the clearing—no birds, no forest critters. It made Olivia nervous.
"Simon, I don't like this," she murmured firmly, turning a pointed look in the man's direction. Beneath her, Daredevil shifted nervously, prancing in place. Likewise, Simon's mount began tossing his head, his ears swiveling around his head, on alert. "Simon, we need to leave. Now."
The urgency in her voice appeared to get through to him, and she saw him nod and turn his horse around. As she was doing the same, the unexpected sound of gunfire split the silence. Simon's mount whinnied in fright, and Daredevil crow-hopped to the side. Simon yelled out for them to move, Olivia cursed as another bullet found home in a tree trunk five feet from her head, and that was all it took for her to spin her horse around and spur him into a gallop.
Adrenaline coursed through her as the horses tore through the trees and each second was punctuated with a gunshot. The stream was near, and as Olivia prepared Daredevil for the leap, her back suddenly exploded in a white-hot burst of pain, right beneath her shoulder blade, that radiated from the source outwards. The horses jumped the stream as they approached it, and Simon nearly lost his seat as his mount soared over the four-foot distance. The landing jostled Olivia, and she hissed a curse as her back throbbed. Fear gripped her as she pushed Daredevil faster, and she withheld a sigh of relief as they broke through the trees and closed in on the intersection. Simon surprised her, however, when instead of slowing to a walk, he pushed his horse faster, anxious to return to the Sanctuary.
Olivia's breathing was ragged as she fought to keep herself in the saddle, her back numbing from the adrenaline. Her legs gripped Daredevil's sides as she pressed him on with her seat and her voice. The stale and humid air provided little relief from the heat, and sweat drenched her baseball cap and plastered her shirt and vest to her body, seeping into the bullet wound, causing it to sting in irritation. Still, they kept the breakneck pace until the Sanctuary's gates loomed over them.
Suddenly the gates were opening, and the horses came to a skidding halt on the dirt. Saviors and citizens alike approached the pair, eyes wide with curiosity and fear of their sudden arrival. Beneath her, Daredevil was breathing hard and she felt his muscles twitching. As the shock wore off, she was reminded of her gunshot wound when the sweat dripping down her back touched it. Her hands were shaking as she dropped the reins and moved to dismount, crying out when her back protested the twisting movement. The pain was paralyzing as it stretched up her back and down the back of her right leg, right to the knee.
She fell from the saddle, landing on her backside that caused her to inhale sharply as she was blinded by the pain in her back. Saviors crowded her as she lay back in the dirt, her vision blurring and faded at the edges. She squeezed her eyes shut as the pain became almost unbearable, and she was vaguely aware that she was being lifted into someone's arms. When her back protested again, sending another jolt through her back, she lost consciousness.
Negan was shaking with rage by the time he'd heard what had happened to Olivia. Simon, the slimy weasel, was nowhere to be found when the leader of the Saviors barreled out of his bedroom after Dwight had come to fetch him. The younger man had barely gotten the words "gunshot" and "Olivia" out of his mouth before his boss was propelling from the chair and sweeping from the room so fast it nearly gave Dwight whiplash. Not only was Negan enraged that someone was shooting at his people, but he was downright furious that Olivia had actually gotten hurt. Rage drove him to shove open the stairwell door with the force of a bull, causing the door to slam against the wall so hard it chipped the paint.
Down in Carson's exam room, Negan slowed his pace and for the first time, fear clenched in his gut as he peered in through the window. The blinds made it difficult to see, but he could surely make out the still form of Olivia laying face-down on the bed. Carson stood at her hip and was taking a pair of scissors to her long-sleeved shirt. Negan stepped into the doorway, his gaze locked onto the unconscious woman on the mattress. Carson glanced at him warily, apprehension pausing his movements as he watched his boss warily.
"I just got her," he started, resuming his snipping, "I haven't seen what the damage is yet. I can send for you when I'm finished?"
Negan silenced him with a look and he stepped closer to the bed. Olivia was passed out, sweating coating her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, and he released a quiet breath. Slowly he let his gaze travel down her back, where Carson was cutting away her shirt. The doctor pulled the two ends open, revealing her bare back to them both. Negan's muscles clenched at the ugly bullet hole in her skin, just below her shoulder blade. He didn't miss Carson's sigh, and he cut his eyes to the doctor.
"What?" he barked. Carson jumped, glancing fearfully at Negan, before bending over the wound. It was oozing blood slowly, which was a good sign. What wasn't as good a sign was that there was no exit wound. He'd have to dig the bullet out, and the process would be far from painless.
"I have to retrieve the bullet before her body heals itself around it. But I don't have any anesthesia, and it's going to be very painful for her," Carson explained remorsefully. Negan chewed on the inside of his cheek before his hands moved to the belt around his waist. Carson, picking up on what his boss was doing, began to do the same, and the men bound her wrists to the metal headboard.
As Carson prepared his utensils, setting them on a tray and washing and disinfecting his hands, Negan pulled a chair up beside the bed by Olivia's head. Carson rolled his cart over to his patient, sliding rubber gloves onto his hands. He picked up a long, needlelike instrument and glanced at Negan.
"I need to see how far the bullet it before I go digging around."
With a deep breath, Carson leaned over and inserted the tool into the bullet wound. Almost immediately, the scorching pain woke Olivia from unconsciousness and her body jerked off the mattress. Carson quickly removed the tool before she impaled herself and created a bigger problem. Olivia's dark head whipped around, eyes wild with fright and confusion. Negan was out of his chair, kneeling beside her head with his hands in her hair.
"Hey," he murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Olivia whirled to face him, recognition in her eyes, and it seemed just that fact alone calmed her. She laid her head back on the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut.
"What happened?" she whispered. As if in answer, her back throbbed painfully and she winced. She was aware of Negan's hand on her head, his thumb running across her hair gently.
"You were shot," he told her, a twinge of anger in his tone. He clenched his jaw as Olivia deflated, and he frowned at the lone tear that escaped from her eye, rolled down her cheek, and disappeared into the fabric of the pillowcase.
"How bad is it?" was her next question. Her eyes were still shut, as if she almost didn't want to know.
"I was just about to find out," Carson replied before sighing. "It's going to hurt, I'm not going to lie."
Olivia blew out a breath, rustling the hair that fell in front of her face and nodded. "Let's get it over with."
The pain that came next ripped a shout from her throat. At the site of the wound, she could feel Carson's tool digging around for the bullet still lodged inside her. She screwed her eyes shut as her fingers curled over the bars on the metal headboard; Negan's hand was still in her hair and he'd placed his free hand on her arm, trying to rub calm circles into her skin. She felt like a cheap game of Operation; every jostle of the tool sent white-hot pain to every nerve ending, searing them. She felt the tool make contact with the bullet, and then the offending instrument was gone. But she knew it wasn't over.
"Okay, I've located the bullet," Carson said.
"Yeah, I felt it," Olivia responded through clenched teeth. She knew what was coming next, and fear gripped her.
"Now comes the hard part."
Olivia opened her eyes and met Negan's. His dark eyes were clouded over with worry—for her, she realized. But she also saw anger—also perhaps for her—as well as…was that fear? He was afraid for her? Just knowing that alone made her eyes sting, and she felt the overwhelming need to hold his hand. She tugged with her left hand against her restraints until Negan picked up on what she was asking. She saw the hesitation and then the resignation as he reached over to unwind the belt from her wrist. Her arm shot out and the grip she had on his hand was nearly painful. But he scooted the chair closer to her and gave her a comforting nod. Returning it, Olivia closed her eyes as she heard Carson moving around on his cart.
"Try not to move, sweetheart," Carson's smooth voice carried over to her. Feeling another onslaught of tears, Olivia shut her eyes again, blocking Negan out, but her fingers tightened around his.
Negan felt his heart stop at the scream that came from Olivia's mouth, a shrill, shrieking sound that would have been better served in a horror movie. Her hand tightened on his, and he felt his fingers cramping, but he ignored it. He closed his eyes as Olivia screamed again, wanting nothing more than to pummel Carson into the ground for causing her so much pain. He bent his head over the edge of the mattress, his face close to her head. Suddenly, it was silent as Olivia's scream cut short and her hand went limp around his. His eyes snapped open and a fear unlike anything he'd ever known took him over. He looked over Olivia, thinking she'd died, but the jumping pulse point in her throat proved him wrong. He heaved a heavy breath; she'd passed out again. He kept her hand enclosed in his own as Carson continued working, struggling to extract the bullet.
Time seemed to slow down as he worked, and Negan glanced up when the sound of a little ping signified that the bullet had been successfully removed. Olivia was still out, but her breathing was even. Carson then disinfected the wound with hydrogen peroxide and he had Negan sit her up so that he could wrap her wound in gauze. Negan, for once, kept his eyes north of her chest as her shirt was fully removed, and he wondered when he'd gone soft—figuratively, because it sure as hell wasn't literally.
When Carson had finished and he had cleaned up, he left Negan alone with his patient, but not before casting a curious glance over his shoulder. Negan sat stiffly in his chair, his hand still entwined with hers, as he refused to let her go. The fear he'd felt moments ago, and still felt even now, took him by surprise. He hadn't felt like that since, well, ever, if his memory served him right. Not even when his wife was diagnosed with cancer was he afraid. Even when she died, and she turned, forcing him to put her down for good, and leaving him to face the end of the world, he wasn't afraid. Confused as all hell, but not afraid. At this moment, his fear seemed unjustified to him. Olivia was tough as nails, but when he heard she'd been shot, he was suddenly on the warpath. He knew he needed to find out who did this to her, but first, he would wait for her to rouse, wait for her to heal for a few days before asking her what happened.
He ground his teeth angrily. The object of his anger was clear across the compound, hiding out with his tail between his legs, but Negan found he was also angry with himself. Angry for creating a sudden weakness to himself—Olivia. Fear made him weak, and Negan was sure as fuck not weak. He didn't feel fear, he didn't feel pain. But he'd felt both of those emotions today, and all over one woman.
Christ, he was so going soft.
He was roused from his thoughts when Olivia's hand shifted beneath his sometime later. He sat straighter in the chair as Olivia came to. Her other wrist had been released from the headboard, and she used that hand to rub the haziness from her vision. The pain in her back and shoulder made her groan, and the feeling of her left hand being weighted down made her freeze. Her eyes blinked slowly and slid from the pillow to the arm attached to the hand that was entwined with hers. Negan met her stare, relief evident on his features.
"Morning sunshine," he greeted with his signature grin. His eyes lacked their usual brightness however, and Olivia instantly recognized the worry that he tried to hide.
"How long have I been out?" she asked gruffly, finally pulling her hand free. Negan flexed his fingers and folded his arms across his chest.
"About an hour. How's the pain?" Olivia winced as she lifted her head, the movement bending her spine and aggravating her wound.
"About an eight going on nine," she replied, her voice tight. Negan sharply nodded and shot up from the chair. Carson was standing just outside the door, opting to give his leader and his patient some privacy.
"She's awake. Could use some painkillers."
The doctor swept into the room and over to the medicine cabinet, pulling an orange pill bottle out and unscrewing the top. He handed her an oblong white pill and a cup of water, both of which she threw back quickly before laying her head back down.
"Do we know who shot me?" she asked, clearing her throat. Now that she was awake, her memory was piecing together what had happened. Cleaning out the pharmacy, heading back to the intersection, Simon diverting them. She stilled, and Negan watched her eyes harden as they met his. "Where's Simon?"
Negan wouldn't lie, the menacing tone in her voice made him nervous. She hadn't gotten around to using it with him, but he was thankful that today wasn't going to be the first.
"Little weasel slinked off who the fuck knows where," he growled, mirroring her anger. "He'll be appropriately punished. Why did he lead you out there?"
"Fuck if I know." Goddamn she makes dirty words sound pretty. "He said there was something else he wanted to check out, whatever that's supposed to mean."
"Do you remember exactly where you were when you got shot?" He hadn't anticipated questioning her so soon, but if she was awake and willing, he wasn't going to complain.
"Absolutely." Her eyelids fluttered, and suddenly she felt dizzy. "Holy shit, Doc, those are some kickass painkillers." The pain in her back had gone completely numb, and with the pain not there to keep her awake, she felt her eyes getting heavy.
"Sleep, Olivia," Negan ordered quietly, rising from the chair. He jerked a nod at Carson and made to move, but, to his surprise, her arm shot out and her hand curled around his forearm.
"Don't leave," she mumbled, voice heavy with sleep. Negan allowed a small, genuine smile curl his lips as he sat back down, and her hand slid into his.
"I'll be right here," he murmured back. Olivia sighed heavily, and within moments she was deeply asleep.