December 2014

Negan's fighting sleep when Rick finally comes home around 2 a.m. He rises from the couch, about to playfully scold Rick for making him wait, but what he sees makes the words back up in his throat. Rick's face is a ruin of slashes, blood leaking from each wound and onto his jacket. He shuts the door behind him as though it weighs a metric ton. Negan sees Rick's right hand, clutched weakly to his chest, is covered in gore. The flimsy gauze wrapped around the meat of his palm is soaked in glistening red blood. Negan hopes like hell there's still a hand under all that red mess.

One two three four and a thumb oh thank fuck all his fingers are still there.

"Jesus, Rick, you alright?" Negan rushes to his side. Rick throws an arm around Negan's neck and lets him shoulder some of his weight. "What the fuck happened?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Rick says. There are deep slices on both sides of his face, scratches on his brow, and a dark fork of blood leaking from his nose. Also, the hand. The hand is a serious issue right now.

"It looks pretty fucking horrible." Negan isn't squeamish, but the sight of someone he loves covered in so much blood terrifies him. He knows from the smell that it's not just corn syrup and food dye like in the movies. Panic and fear churn inside of him, causing a nuclear meltdown. "Fuck! Shit! Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

"'Cause it's not that bad," Rick insists again. His knees buckle, but Negan's got him. "Most of the blood's not even mine. Just get me upstairs."

"You sure?" Negan studies Rick's expression. He doesn't want to be smothering or overprotective, but Negan could never forgive himself if he didn't do enough. He has paid for that particular sin once before.

Rick nods, so Negan hauls him up the stairs and into their master bathroom. Negan runs a hot bath and sits on the edge of the tub while Rick sheds his clothes.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Negan asks.

"Not much to tell. Tussled with a werewolf."

"You didn't get bit, did you?"

"No," Rick says, peeling off his shirt with agonizing slowness. His arms move sluggishly, as though it hurts to raise them over his head. "You can see for yourself soon enough."

"Most people get shit-faced or party on New Year's. You? No, you gotta kill something."

Rick's shirt is off, and under the bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom, his wounds somehow look worse, their colors more visceral and striking. Negan catches sight of the symbol on Rick's chest, the tattoo he'd gotten last month after a particularly harrowing demon possession case. Rick had urged Negan to do the same, to ward off any chance of a demon wearing his skin; Negan didn't mind the extra ink.

"I hope you ganked it," Negan says when Rick doesn't answer.

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Rick strips down, and his bloodied clothes lie in a heap on the tile. On a normal day, Negan would savor the sight of Rick's naked body, but the fire alarm of panic rings loud in his head, blocking out all other thoughts. Dumbly, he shuts off the faucet.

"Alright, get in, you dick, and let me clean you up."

Rick settles into the tub. His battered hand dips in and taints the water with a coppery color. Negan removes Rick's right hand from the water and unravels the bandage. His palm bears a deep slice that must have been a pain in the ass on the drive home. Shit, the slightest movement must tear this fucker open anew. Negan feels faint, hears himself make a helpless noise in his throat.

"Sucks for you" says Rick. "That's my good hand."

"You ain't off the hook. Your mouth still works."

Rick chuckles.

Negan examines the cut. It's deeper than he's comfortable with. A wound like this probably needs stitches, or at least a doctor's trained eye. "You need to get this sewn up. Hands are full of tendons and shit. You don't wanna lose it, especially since it's your good hand."

"Damn." Rick sighs, sinking deeper into the water, as though he might be able to disappear beneath its depths and take his problems with him.

"Want me to drive you?"

"I'll be fine. I made it home."

"I'm more worried about you falling asleep on the drive there."

Rick shakes his head. "I won't be sleeping for a while. And somebody needs to stay with the kids. They alright?"

"Yeah. Fine and dandy." Negan pushes at Rick's shoulders; Rick takes the hint and submerges himself deep enough to get his hair wet. When he rises back to the top, Negan gets the shampoo going. "Judy wanted to stay up. We made hot cocoa while we waited."

Rick tilts his head a little to peek at Negan, one eye squinted shut to prevent any suds from dripping in. "You didn't spike hers with Kahlúa, did you?"

"I had to get her to sleep somehow," Negan jokes, and Rick knows it, because he's laughing with him.

The hot water does its job of relaxing Rick, and Negan takes his time washing Rick's hair. He's still a little punch-drunk from the blow of seeing Rick all bloodied, and he's having a hell of a time processing the last thirty minutes.

This is what he's always feared, that the job would take Rick away in pieces before eventually taking him whole. He's always worried about Rick, but he has ignored the dangerous reality of the job, too confident in Rick's capabilities. Tonight has cut through Negan's wall of denial and shown him the gruesome reality. He is devastated that this day has come, but relieved it's not as bad as it could have been.

At least Rick is alive.

Negan's fingers work over Rick's scalp. "Maybe it's time you start thinkin' about hiring a partner. You can't tell me the buddy system wouldn't have helped here."

Rick exhales in that way of his when he thinks Negan's idea is stupid but doesn't want to outright say so. "Negan…"

"C'mon, what's it gonna take for you to realize this lone wolf shit is gonna get you killed? Is that what you want for your kids? For both of their parents to die to these fuckers?"

"I don't trust a stranger to have my best interests at heart."

Negan spreads his arms like he's trying to fly, which is a wasted gesture since Rick's not even facing him. "Hello? What about me, asshole?"

Rick turns in the bathtub to get a better look at him, like he doesn't understand. "What about you?"

"I could be your partner."

Rick makes a face that isn't reassuring at all.

"That'd solve your stranger-danger problem. And nobody else would look out for you the way I will."

Rick's breathing is lighter now but still carries an edge of judgment. Negan rinses Rick's hair while he thinks.

"You don't know what's out there," Rick finally says.

"I read your diary. I can study it. I taught myself how to play guitar when I was a dumbfuck teenager; I think I can teach myself some lore."

"It's not safe." Rick's voice lacks most of its usual conviction for this argument, enough to indicate he's just reading from the script.

Negan lifts Rick's lacerated hand out of the water. "Exhibit fuckin' A."

"What if something happens to both of us? If it's just me out there, then the kids still have you."

"Rick, if shit goes that far south, I want you to forget about me and get your sweet ass home safe. I'd do the same for you."

"You'd leave me to die? Mr. Romantic," Rick laughs, skimming his undamaged hand along the length of Negan's arm. Negan feels chills prickle over his skin.

"If it means your kids don't end up as orphans, fuck yeah. Sorry, honey."

"They're not just mine. They're yours too."

Negan's heart swells in a way he's only experienced once before when Lucille told him she was pregnant. "You're doing a damn fine job of avoiding the question."

"I'll think about it," Rick says, which means he will not, in fact, think about it at all.

"You say that every time. Somethin' tells me not a lot of thinking goes on in here." Negan pokes Rick's head like he's making a point.

"It's late, and I'm tired. Can I sleep on it?"

"I guess you've earned it."


Negan stirs when the mattress dips under Rick's weight. It's six a.m., and Rick has returned from the hospital, his hand neatly stitched and wrapped.

Negan rolls onto his back, and Rick slides beside him into the warm cocoon of blankets. "Everything okay?"

"Can't use it for a couple weeks." Rick lifts his bandaged hand. "But you're in luck: my mouth still works."

Negan laughs and curls an arm around Rick. "And you got a whole 'nother hand."

"So we got options."

Rick's injured hand lies on Negan's stomach; Negan lifts it to his mouth and kisses Rick's fingers. "Doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

"I got painkillers. I'm good," Rick murmurs. His head's lying on Negan's shoulder, and Negan knows that arm will go numb later, but right now he's content to have Rick so close. "Can I sleep in? I'm beat."

"Fuck yeah, I got it covered. Sleep all day if you need to. I'm just glad you're alright." Negan's fingers play in Rick's hair. "I'd go out of my fuckin' mind if I lost you, Rick."

"I know," Rick mumbles. He's fading fast, his words slurring as his consciousness dims. "Love you too."

Rick's asleep before Negan can get the last word.