The next morning, Fiona woke with a killer headache. It was worse than the one she had the night before so she attributed it to a hangover rather than the concussion. It had been months since she last had a drink, and certainly not one of the whiskey
caliber. She cursed her stupidity but then realized she had slept without nightmares so maybe the hangover was worth it, after all.
No nightmares, but disturbingly real sexual dreams instead, the smug voice inside her head reminded her mercilessly.
Well who in their right mind wouldn't prefer the latter? she countered back sourly. As much as she was loathe to admit it, the dream had been incredibly real, and well, incredibly satisfying.
But nobody ever had to know that especially the man who starred in it.
She cursed under her breath when she saw there was no Ibuprofen in the bathroom's medicine cabinet. She would would just have to OD when she got to the Infirmary.
Grabbing her key from the dresser, she made her way downstairs, hoping Negan was already gone for the day. After last night's showdown, she wasn't in the mood to face him just yet. A part of her felt bad about prying into an obviously sensitive subject,
but another part of her was still hurt by his hypocrisy and the way he had shut down and shut her out so crudely. And of course after that crazy dream, she didnt know how she was going to look him in the eye ever again. Not only was she afraid that
he would see right through her like he always did, but also terrified about how her body would subconsciously react to his presence.
When she reached the front door and turned the lock to open it, he was on her in an instant, barring her exit.
He had been in the kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee and nursing one hell of a hangover when he heard her on the stairs. He was expecting her to join him for breakfast so when he heard her at the door he raced to stop her. "Where are you going?"
"To see my patient." Fiona tried to push past him but he was too solid a muscular wall to budge. "Get out of my way."
"What? Did your manners disappear overnight?" When she didn't respond he said in a more serious tone, "You're not going out there. Nobody knows about Zander and what he did to you. I'm going to talk to them in a few minutes. Until the community
meeting is over, you have to lay low."
"If they are all at the meeting, I can be in the Infirmary. Someone needs to watch over Bryson." She shoved at him again but he held her back.
"Carla has it covered. I was already there this morning and talked to her in private. She knows. She also said you should... Uh... Maybe take some antibiotics to cover for any...STDs..."
Fiona rolled her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."
"Look, you're obviously pissed at me and that's fine. I get it. But -"
She cut him off sharply. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not pissed. I honestly don't CARE. I just want to get the hell out of here and go home in two days. But until then, I need to take care of Bryson.
Her admission of not caring and her desire to return home hit him harder than he expected. And it made him angry, causing him to revert to the badass he was known for being. Backing her against the wall he towered over her and spoke in a hard voice.
"I'm gonna say it one more time so you better fucking listen. I cant have you walking around out there without my fucking protection. Not until I feel them out and do some fucking damage control. It's not safe. So you'll stay here till I get back
if you know what's good for you. And that's a fucking order. Got it?"
Fiona pushed his arms away which had boxed her in and stormed away from him, retreating into the living room. She grabbed his book from the table and plopped down on the couch like a petulant child. "Loud and clear," she muttered sourly.
Negan was well aware that during this whole interaction, she hadn't made eye contact with him once. He knew she was not only angry but also hurt, just from her reaction last night, but he had been hoping come morning things would be forgotten and they
would be able to move on.
He followed her into the living room and sat on the edge of the coffee table across from her. "Can you look at me, please?"
Fiona sighed impatiently and finally lifted her gaze to his face, avoiding his mouth. That mouth that had kissed her so tenderly yet thoroughly, not only on her lips but especially in the one place she had thought she'd never want to be touched again.
His eyes were bloodshot and ringed in dark circles, his skin was pale with a green tinge to it and he had the worst case of bedhead she had ever seen (yet somehow it still managed to look incredibly sexy on him). He was definitely hungover. She wondered
how much he had actually drank last night, because for a man his size to get drunk, it had to be a pretty decent amount.
"You look like shit," she commented dryly.
"I feel like shit."
"Now who's the one who can't hold their alcohol?"
"It's been a long time. Gotta rebuild a tolerance." He motioned with his head to the kitchen. "Were you actually going to leave without coffee?"
"Screw the coffee. I need Ibuprofen."
"So you're hungover too, then."
"No," she answered defiantly. "I have a concussion."
"Riiiight." He smirked knowingly and she looked away again. "I have some in my medicine chest. I'll run up and get it if you promise not to make a run for it."
She rolled her eyes again and didn't bother replying. Instead she turned her attention to the book. Grapes of Wrath? She groaned inwardly and threw it aside, then went over to the bookshelf to find something more interesting.
"Don't you have a baseball cap or something so I can just cover my face and run over there without anyone seeing my bruises?" She asked when he returned with some pills and a glass of water.
"Relax, I said. "One hour won't make any difference. Bryson will survive. Hell, he's going to have to once you're outta here. Thought doctors weren't supposed to abandon their patients, yet five minutes ago you said you can't wait to leave..."
His words rankled her because he wasn't wrong. She hadn't even thought about what would happen to Bryson when she left. "I'm going to check back in on him periodically."
"Oh really? How so? You'll just mosey back on over here? Rick will allow that?"
He was mocking her again. She hated his know-it-all sarcasm. "He doesn't control me."
"We'll see about that."
She chose Catcher in the Rye and returned to the couch. "Don't you have a meeting?" she asked impatiently, eager to have him gone. He was getting under her skin this morning and she didn't know if it was because the dream continued to haunt her or if
she was still offended by the way he dismissed her last night. Probably a combination of both. Either way, she just needed some quiet time alone to regroup and put everything past her before she said or did something she would probably regret.
Negan watched her for the longest time, but she continued to ignore him, all her attention focused on the book in her lap. He knew a simple apology would probably set things right but his pride wouldn't allow him to do it. At least not right now. He had
more important things on his mind.
He went back to the kitchen to finish his coffee and saw his hands were trembling slightly as he picked up his coffee mug. He was more nervous than he thought about the meeting. Carla had tried to reassure him that he had done the right thing. He had
acted in self defense because Zander would have certainly gone on to kill Fiona like he had threatened. He was a man who always made good on his word. Hearing that from Carla had made him feel better because honestly her reaction was the one he had
been most worried about, given her closeness with Zander and Lorraine.
Fighting back a wave of nausea he dumped the rest of his coffee down the sink and poured Fiona a fresh mug. He added milk and sugar the way he knew she liked it and then dropped it off in the living room on his way out.
"I'll be back in an hour," he told her, heading for the door.
Fiona looked at the mug of hot coffee on the table, caramel colored from the milk he added and she knew when she tasted it, it would be sweet enough. Whether this was his peace offering, she couldn't say, but she was touched by the gesture all the same.
"Hey," she called out to him.
He paused at the door and turned back to look at her.
"Good luck. It'll be fine. If anyone can convince and sweet talk a crowd, its you."
He flashed her that trademark grin, dimples and all. "That so, gorgeous?"
She nodded and allowed a half smile in return. Then she lifted her mug and toasted the air in a combination thank you/good luck motion.
He felt his smile widen and just like that, his nausea disappeared and he suddenly felt like he could conquer the world.