All In Good Time

Two months passed. In those two month's, Negan began to walk and eat and pummel roamers using his trusty Lucille. Turtle could tell that each movement still pained him, but he seemed in a much better mood now that he'd shoved Dwight from command.

He'd spent two months reorganizing Sanctuary and barking orders at his men and making supply runs - all the while weening himself off pain pills and medications that would keep him from collapsing in a heap of agony.

Turtle was his break. Not his wives, but her - in fact, Sherry had commented that, since Turtle's arrival at Sanctuary, he'd only slept with them twice. And it hadn't been a pleasant or particularly long experience.

He was currently nuzzling Turtle, his face pressed against her shoulder. She knew because she was the first to wake, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling of the treehouse. She wore Negan's white shirt - the rest of her clothes were in a pile off to the side, along with Negan's jacket, belt and pants. She had a slight headache - the empty, open bottles of alcohol rolling around next to the mattress confirmed Turtle's suspicion that Negan was passed out drunk off his ass. Of the two, Turtle was sober - barely.

She rolled over, gently shoving Negan's tattooed arm. He didn't stir, most likely due to her gentleness - his shoulder was still healing and still mangled.

"Hey, you big doof," Turtle whispered. She leaned over and gently nipped his ear - he opened his eyes, running a hand across his face as Turtle pressed gentle kisses against his neck.

"The fuck…holy shit my head hurts."

"You drank too much."
"No shit, Sherlock" Negan squeezed his eyes shut. "I have this wonderful memory of your ass, and your tits… did that actually happen or was I fucking hallucinating?"

"Oh, hush," Turtle gave him a gentle shove, sitting up and crossing her legs. She stared down at Negan and he met her gaze, still awaiting a legitimate answer. "Okay, yeah. You fucked me. And I enjoyed it."

"Cool."
"That's all you have to say? Cool?"

"What else do you want me to fucking say, babe?" Negan shrugged, gesturing for Turtle to move closer. She did, straddling his waist and staring down at him, head tilted to the side. His fingers began tracing light patterns against the soft skin of her hips. "I barely remember it. I know that I fucked you against the wall and you screamed-"

"Yep. Yep, that did happen."

Negan smiled. "I think…Miranda was the last person who enjoyed that rough shit."

Turtle's face fell. Her discomfort must have been obvious, for Negan sat up, keeping a firm hold on Turtle's waist.

"I should probably shut the fuck up about my wives."

"Miranda is jealous," Turtle explained quickly. "She and I talked a few months ago…when you were still really hurt."

"Ah, shit. That bitch is always onto something," Negan sighed, his fingers moving slowly up Turtle's waist. "She always sulks when I mess around, but she lightens up."

Messing around. Turtle winced, glad that Negan didn't notice.

That's all they were doing. That was the truth, her reality, and Turtle scolded herself for thinking it to be anything more.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against Negan's chest, kissing her way up until she reached his mouth. He smirked against her lips, cradling her face in his hands. Turtle scraped her teeth against his tongue and giggled when his hands finally slid beneath her shirt, grasping at her breasts.

"No," Turtle chuckled and roller her hips against his, edging him on. She stood before he could flip her over, walking over and tossing Negan his jacket. "No more. I don't have an endless sex drive like you. Plus, we have to be at the Outpost, remember? We're meeting Craig and Ethan and them. They're bringing us supplies."

"Shit," Negan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we not…"

"You set up the meeting. You're going," Turtle haphazardly threw Negan his pants. "Get up."

"Fuck," Negan rolled his eyes and stood, stretching. Turtle watched out of the corner of her eyes - he'd managed to gain a fraction of the weight he'd lost back. He was far thinner than before, but still possessed sat least some muscle. Enough to hold Turtle down and fuck her silly, like he'd done the previous night.

"I want Gregory fucking dead," Negan suddenly said. "Like, immediately. The little bastard is getting on my nerves."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't seem to care."

"Gregory isn't my problem. If you want him dead, you're gonna have to kill him somehow. Someway subtle, because I really don't want to waste these bombs on someone like him."

"How subtle?"

"I don't know. I'm not good at planning this stuff," Turtle pulled on her shirt. "That what you're for. You're the planner, so plan."
"Negan smiled. As Turtle walked by, he gave her rear a playful smack. She leaped, yelping.

"In that case, I have an idea. A fucking good idea."

They arrived at the Satellite Outpost during what would normally be lunchtime. Along with the regular group of guards, Paula was there, Donnie by her side. She greeted Turtle with a nod, gesturing to the six Hilltop residents standing next to the red pickup truck that they'd arrived in. Turtle couldn't see whether or not the back was stocked - even while craning her neck, she spotted nothing.

She recognized Ethan and Craig. Tim, Marsha, Andy and Crystal she knew by name, and that was it. She hadn't spoken to many of the Hilltop residents. Maybe that's why exploiting them didn't make Turtle feel as bad she should have. Had Jesus been with Ethan, she most likely wouldn't have been able to face him, much less look him in the eye.

They needed this. The Saviors needed this.

"How much shit did you bring?" Negan asked, propping Lucille against his shoulder. Turtle stood next to him, gun slung across her chest. Ethan was glaring daggers at her, his fingers tracing patterns against his shotgun.

"As much as we could," Craig answered. "Everything's accounted for - vegetables, fruits…we're a little short-"

"A little fucking short?" Negan snarled. "You guys have cattle and shit out the ass - how are you short on this shit?"
"Some of it went bad," Andy explained. "We had to dump some of it. It's enough to last you a few weeks, maybe even a month-"

"There are five barrels. How many did I ask for?"

"Eight," Andy answered. He backed up, his shoulder knocking against the side of the truck. "You said eight."

"Count how many fucking barrels are in there. Out loud," Negan twirled Lucille like a baton. "C'mon, out loud. Unless you're a fucking moron who can't count-"

"One, two, three, four, five-"

"That's it?"

Andy nodded. Turtle looked up and saw Ethan's fingers were around his gun, now, his eyes flitting from Turtle to Negan then to Paula, who'd demeanor had transformed from unassuming to hostile.

Shit was about to go down, quick.

Negan swung first. Tim's head erupted in a spray of blood. Ethan raised his gun and fired at Turtle, but she was already moving. The buckshot shattered the glass behind her head - Negan knocked the shotgun from his hand, last second.

One of the two women - Martha - raised her gun, a foot away from Negan. He was slower, the physical exertion causing his injuries to flair. Turtle raised her gun with one hand and sprayed Martha with half a dozen bullets.

Martha and Tim toppled. Paula had her gun trained on Ethan, Donnie on Andy, Negan on Crystal and Turtle shifted her gaze to Craig.

All of that, Turtle realized, had transpired in about three seconds.

Negan gestured to Ethan. "If you fucking shoot at her again - in fact, don't even look at her. Don't you dare fucking do it," Negan bared his teeth. "I will fucking kill you if you look at her."

Ethan stared at the ground having torn his gaze away from Turtle.

"Grab that one," Negan pointed towards Craig. Donnie obeyed, manhandling Craig, who stood no chance against Donnie's size and strength, towards the building. "You're going to do something for me, shitstains. Make up for the fact that you can't fucking do what I ask you to do."
"What do you want us to do?" Andy asked.

"Kill Gregory - and bring me his head. Like, his actual fucking head. Right on this spot. If you do that, Craig can go free. And I mean it - I'm not about pulling some double-crossing callback shit. You have my word."

Andy nodded. He had to tug Ethan back, keep him from doing something foolish. Tim was dead on the ground and Martha was breathing her last, courtesy of Turtle.

While the Hilltop residents departed, Turtle took it upon herself to draw her knife and drive it into Martha's head. She did the same to Tim, just for safe measures.

Negan watched her. Her hands were slick with blood when she stood.

"That went well," Paula commented. "Molly and Michelle are inside. They can help deal with Craig."

Turtle glanced over to where Donnie was forcing Craig through the double doors of the Outpost. She said, "Don't…don't go too hard on him."
"Why not?" Paula replied. "We're keeping him alive. That's all that should matter."

"Just don't give him to Primo," Negan waved a hand. "Dude's a straight fucking psycho."

"You leaving?" Turtle asked. Negan turned to her, nodding and staring down at her, gaze softening.

"Yeah. You wanna stay and help Paula? Just for a few hours. Until nightfall - then head back."

"You trust me enough?"

"I trust you enough to do what needs to be fucking done," Turtle nodded. She stared into Negan's eyes as he quietly added, "I'll talk to Miranda. I will. I promise. I'll tell her to step off."

"Thank you," Turtle smiled. Almost awkwardly, Negan leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. The action was new, even for him. For a moment Turtle briefly wondered if he'd really meant that their relationship was temporary, a fling. Maybe he really did feel something for her underneath that hard, superficial exterior of his.

Off to the side, Paula smirked.