In early November, Negan stops dragging his feet on moving in with Rick and begins the arduous process of packing his things. He has enlisted the Saviors to help him along, though for the first couple days they don't accomplish much beyond lounging around and talking. This mansion, despite the awful things that happened here, still holds some of Negan's best memories. The beginning of his life with Lucille. Their many attempts at conception in the bedroom and the shower stall, on the couches and the kitchen island. Writing songs while Lucille lounged alongside him on the basement couch. Helping her plant flowers in the back garden, a playful streak of dirt across her face. Moving out of this house will be like abandoning those memories, and Negan only has a few finite remnants of Lucille to cling to now.
And Emily…. How the fuck is he supposed to leave her here? She was never born, but they had consecrated a room to her, on the second floor next to their own bedroom. Negan doesn't want to step in there after such a long absence. It's as though his time spent away has weakened him, and setting foot in that unfinished baby blue nursery will wreck him anew.
So it's no wonder Negan and the rest the band spend most of their time playing darts and devouring the contents of his pantry.
Occasionally, he wonders if he's made a mistake, if Rick and the kids should move in with him instead. But beyond the impracticality of that option, it's incredibly selfish of Negan. For Christ's sake, he's already salted and burned Lucille's corpse; leaving the house where they built their marriage should be as easy as breathing in comparison.
Negan doesn't have half as much crap to sort through after Lucille's ghost smashed everything breakable, so packing isn't as daunting as it would be under any other circumstance. But Negan can't bring himself to fucking do it, and the lackadaisical work ethics of his bandmates aren't helping either.
"Can we please get this shit done so I don't have to step foot in this fuckin' place again?" Negan asks one afternoon while the five of them are snacking on chips and salsa.
Simon, Jesus, Eugene, and Dwight look at him as though he's sprouted a second head. "I thought you were hiring people to do all that shit for you," Simon points out. "You know that's a thing, right? Please tell me you know that."
Negan hadn't really considered it. "Doing it myself is supposed to be good for me."
"Is that why you haven't done jack?"
"Baby steps, asshole," Negan grouses, but there's no heat to it.
"You asked us to help, so that's what we'll do," Jesus says, pushing away from the table and getting to his feet.
Eugene rises in solidarity. "Consolidating your belongings is a mighty fine idea, and I'm willing to assist in any way possible."
Dwight and Simon both shrug and make "eh" noises, so Negan figures they're in too.
They start boxing up the kitchen. Most of the kitchenware belonged to Negan; Lucille's kitchen expertise never expanded beyond following the directions on a box of pasta. As he packs away cooking pots and serving utensils, he's reminded of the occasions he tried to teach Lucille how to cook, evenings spent laboring over the stove while Lucille sipped wine and watched him.
Negan has to brace himself against the sudden wave of sadness as the memories come flooding in. He crouches there, between the open doors of the lower cabinets, and remembers to breathe.
Come on, you fucking idiot, he tells himself.
The others do not notice his momentary lapse of composure. His eyes closed, Negan hears the metallic clatter of silverware and the bumble of Tupperware around him. He takes a deep breath and puts himself back together.
The remaining first-floor rooms are consolidated in much the same way. Negan has a good deal of the living room space set aside for donated items; most of the furniture and a few boxes of Lucille's things sit there waiting to be carried off. The whole process has Negan physically and emotionally drained. He's polishing off the Jim Beam white whiskey when there's a knock on the front door.
"You finally came to your senses and hired movers?" Simon wonders, taping up a box.
Curious, Negan strolls over to the door and opens it. Rick's standing there in black jeans and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. His half-smile is worthy of poetry.
"Thought you might want some help," Rick says. Negan's so happy to see Rick he could kiss him. So he does, yanking Rick in by the belt loops. Rick licks at Negan's mouth, as though trying to taste the alcohol on his tongue.
"Oh shit!" Simon says from inside the house. "This must be your new boy-toy!"
Negan bristles at the word, freeing a hand from Rick's jeans to flip Simon the bird. Rick doesn't seem to notice; his hands are grasped in the front of Negan's t-shirt, their mouths latched until Negan breaks away. He invites Rick inside and shuts the door.
"Listen up, you dicks!" Negan announces, guiding Rick into the living room where the others are working. "This is Rick. He tells you to do something? You do it. You give him the utmost respect, or you fuck off! Am I clear?"
Jesus smiles at him and shakes his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Rick." His warm expression says he's glad Negan has someone like Rick in his life.
"Indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Eugene says; he's not big on handshakes (or most physical contact). "I can assure you I will not be a hindrance or a naysayer regarding your relationship with Negan. I respect all forms of love, so long as they are safe and consensual—"
Negan holds up a hand to stop him. "We got it."
Rick looks bewildered and amused by the people Negan calls friends.
Dwight and Simon aren't ones for heartfelt expressions of emotion, so the shrugs and acknowledging head nods towards Rick let Negan know they're on his side.
Negan tells them he's going upstairs, and he guides Rick to the second floor, snagging the whiskey bottle off the countertop as he goes. He takes a long drink.
"I texted you I was coming," Rick tells him. "But you didn't answer."
Negan doesn't know where his phone is. That's going to be a problem later. "And you took a wild guess that I'd be here, huh?"
"I'm a sleuth, remember?"
"You're a private dick," Negan snickers as they climb the stairs.
"That one never stops bein' funny."
Negan leads him to the bedroom, because he has to work his way up to the nursery if he's going to make it through this. He stands amidst the room he once shared with Lucille and feels his heart sink. "You had to do this shit, too, right?" he asks after a moment, his voice soft in the quiet room. "How'd you get through it?"
"I had the kids. I told myself we were moving to give them a better life."
"What'd you do with her stuff?"
"I kept the things that were important to her, to me. Donated the rest. She would've wanted that. She liked to help people."
Negan nods. "Lucille too."
Rick moves in closer, laying one hand on Negan's shoulder while the other grabs the bottle. "You can do this." He meets Negan's eye, then takes a drink. His face is scrunched in disgust when he lowers the bottle from his lips. "Oh God."
Negan laughs, and Rick hands back the bottle.
The bedroom takes a little longer to pack away than the other rooms, but Negan figures they're doing okay considering their moving crew has been cut down to two people. And even when the memories well up inside of him, Negan finds it's easier to deal with them when Rick's there. Because Rick has been through this too, so it's okay if Negan gets a little teary-eyed, if he gets stuck on a memory like a mouse in a bramble bush, and Rick has to nudge him to set him free.
The guys wouldn't understand. They've never experienced a loss like this, and they would stand around him in an awkward circle and wait for the tears to subside, maybe offering a couple useless platitudes. But Rick gets right in the trenches with him and shares his own bittersweet recollections.
They uncover Negan and Lucille's photo album inside a box in the closet. Negan flips through, spurred on both by the desire to share this part of his life with Rick and his own urge to reminisce.
Rick smiles at the wedding photos. "Look at you," he says with a teasing smile.
Negan looks younger in the pictures, a little fleshier, his smile optimistic and hopeful. Has Rick ever seen him smile like that? He doesn't think so.
"Look at her," Negan corrects, because Lucille was stunning in that white strapless dress.
Rick nods in an appraising sort of way. "I don't really feel comfortable ogling your wife."
Negan huffs a laugh and turns the page. The photos begin to thin out as digital photography becomes more mainstream, and the last few pictures in the album are from their vacation in the Caribbean. A particularly striking image shows Lucille on the beach in her swimsuit; she hated smiling for photos, but Negan could always get her to crack a grin. She's laughing at something he said, and the sun is just where it needs to be. Her dark hair catches the reflection of the azure ocean. Negan stares at the picture, as though trying travel into the photograph and back to that moment.
Rick says, "Wow," sounding impressed.
"You ogling my wife, Rick?"
Packing away Lucille's clothes for donation feels like Negan's tearing out his own veins, but Rick is gentle with him, a tenderness that comes from experience. By the time they make it to the nursery, Negan is drunk and confident enough to step inside.
The nursery itself is mostly unfinished, lacking a crib and a completed paint job, but there's enough there to punch a hole through Negan's heart. Cartoon animals decorate the soft blue walls. The ceiling has been painted over with half a cloudy sky, Lucille's own Sistine Chapel. The mural was never finished.
"Did you paint all this?" Rick asks in a soft voice.
"Nah, Lucille was way more of an artist than I am. I tried to help, but she wanted to do it herself."
Negan takes a deep breath, looking around at the beginnings of a life that could have been. Dismantling all of this will gut him, because it will tell him with finality that Emily and Lucille are truly gone. Negan has always known this, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but he can't hide from it now.
"You could use some of this stuff in Judy's room," Rick suggests. "If that's something you wanna do."
The plush child-size chair in the corner, the enormous stuffed frog, the fluffy white area rug, the small white bookcase filled with plush toys and children's books. All of it could be reused. Judith would love this sudden surge of gifts.
Negan smiles at the thought. "She'd think it's Christmas already."
Rick smiles, too. "Maybe we should hold off, save it 'til then."
"Fuck no. I'm making the conscious decision right now to spoil the hell out of your daughter, Rick."
"You're just makin' my job harder."
So that's what they do.
"She's gonna love this stuff," Rick says, examining each item as they're packed away. "She still plays with all the toys you gave her for her birthday. I guess it's more special when it's from you."
"Don't worry, my novelty will wear off eventually. You'll be top dog again before you know it."
Rick sits on the hardwood floor beside Negan. "I'm glad she likes you. And Carl, too. Makes what we're doing a lot easier when they're not fighting it."
"You wouldn't be here if they didn't like me."
Rick half-nods, because it's true, but he won't admit it. He finishes filling up another box and says, "You don't have a crib." It's a question more than just a statement.
"Lucille didn't like any of the ones we saw, so she decided to hold off for a while. She was a bit of a perfectionist."
"Lori was that way too," Rick says. "Had to have everything just so. We spent ages tracking down a crib for Judy. She hated the rectangle ones, which made it harder, since that's just about the most common shape for a crib. But she finally picked out an oval one with white ruffles on top and pink on bottom. When Lori saw it, she didn't even wanna look at the rest of the store. She just knew that was it." His smile is equal parts sad and joyous, as though recalling the memory has allowed him to live in it momentarily.
Negan runs a hand over Rick's own. "She sounds like a kick-ass lady."
"You would've liked her. She was passionate, opinionated. Fierce. But she had a soft heart."
"A lot like Lucille."
Rick rises to his feet, taking in the progress they've made. The room is bare, save for the furniture and boxes of items soon to be Judith's. He offers Negan a hand, and Negan takes it. He doesn't let go, even after he's on his feet.
"You did it," Rick says in quiet congratulations, squeezing Negan's fingers with his own.
Negan feels like crying. It isn't grief that grips him now, but love. Rick came here today because he knew how difficult this would be for Negan. He knew the lack of progress over the last few days stemmed from Negan's fear of facing these rooms, so he came to help.
Rick's love and patience, it seems, are bottomless.