The room came into focus slowly as Adelia opened her eyes. Her body ached, her mind working at a pace much slower than normal. She stared at a little table next to the bed. On top of it sat a device that she only vaguely remembered. The name escaped her. It was something that was phased out several years before the apocalypse, but the name still escaped her.

Her gaze shifted to the man in the chair. His head rested back on the seat and the soft sound of a light snore escaped his lips. She stared at him instead now; his name still not coming to mind. Shifting in bed, she tried to push herself up to get a better look at him. Pain ran through her abdomen and up her neck and she let out a small yelp of pain, letting herself fall back into the bed.

The man sat up, a darkness taking over his already dangerous looking eyes. Negan. She let out a small sigh of relief, not just as her brain decided to remember him but also at his presence. The events prior also raced into her mind; she had killed two men, watched another woman die, and nearly died herself.

Negan had thrown a fit when he saw her. He shouted at the man that trailed out behind them who apologized over and over to Negan. Negan asked if he knew who she was, if they thought this was the right thing to do, if he thought that they would never be discovered. When the man failed to answer the questions correctly, Negan hit him upside the head with Lucille, seemingly without a second thought.

The men holding Adelia up let go of her. She had lost too much blood by that point to stay on her feet on her own and so crumpled to the floor like a limp sock puppet. All she could muster in pain was a groan, most of her senses dead from lack of oxygen and blood flow to really notice much. Her vision flickered in and out. The sudden drop of her body seemed to pull Negan out from whatever spurred on his anger. He dropped to his knees in front of her and picked her up.

"You're okay, baby doll. We got you. Just hold on," he told her. In the same breath, he ordered the rest of his men to round up "the fucking pricks" that thought it was okay to run an operation like this.

Returning to the present, Adelia's eyes stung and her vision blurred again.

The bed shifted as the blurry mass—Negan—took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, hey," he said softly. She'd never heard him speak with any real gentleness, even after the deaths of her friends. "It's okay now." She pulled her lips in toward her teeth and wiped at the wetness on her cheeks.

"I-I killed someone…" she muttered. He chuckled but quickly cleared his throat, knowing that it wasn't exactly an appropriate response.

"Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Shit ain't ever gonna get easier," he stated. She studied him before looking back to the table. It didn't surprise her that she didn't find the comfort she wanted in the man. He was a thug with a power in a world where that was the only way you got such a thing. "Don't suppose it'd help knowing those sons of bitches are all gonna fuckin' die, huh?" he asked.

She looked back up at him. Her mind went over the events that led to this moment. They had been nothing but vile men, preying on those they deemed weaker and getting some sick satisfaction out of their misery and using them for entertainment.

Negan looked forward. "Those pricks can't be fucking allowed to get away with the shit they did. I may not be a great fucking man but even I won't do that shit. I fucking trade my fucking services."

Adelia pushed herself up again, cringing instead of yelping in pain. She practically fell into the man, but managed to get her arms around him. He smirked some and carefully put his arms around her, afraid of irritating one of the wounds. "What do you know? She can warm up to someone."

"You're right," she muttered softly. He offered protection in exchange for goods. So he killed a few people. If he didn't enforce his power, no one would listen to him. Food and water were precious commodity, as were clothing and, luckily, protection. No one would willingly share what they found.

He had to do what he had to do.

"I'm sorry," she added.

"No need, baby doll," he purred. She was fairly certain he knew that she and her friends were a lost cause when they were caught. Maybe she just needed to see how bad the world really was out there. They had always been lucky.

"How are…?" she started.

"Your friends?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"They found out you were missing and ran the fuck off," he answered. She almost cringed. If she had listened to him in the first place and hadn't left, none of it would have happened. They had a debt to pay off. She shifted, pushing off of him some and staring him in the eyes. He arched a brow in question and she couldn't help but smile slightly.

"I didn't think I'd actually be happy to see you," she muttered.

"After all…" he started, his tone thick with annoyance. She put a finger up to his lips.

"But I can see now why you do what you do," she stated. "Thank you, for everything." She leaned forward again, giving him a soft peck on the lips and he smirked.

"Don't think me till you're better," he responded. "Still a chance you can get an infection." She nodded slightly and glanced back to the table. It was a radio-cassette player, and a shame it wouldn't work.

"Are we back at the compound?" she asked. He nodded. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Even if she didn't have to worry about those men anymore, she didn't want to deal with that place anymore either.