Hey, guys. So, so sorry for the delayed update. Part of the reason for it is that this chapter is super long, much longer than I was expecting, although it was fun to work on. The other reason is because life has been really hectic lately. I won't bore you with all the details but long story short I just started a new job and it's really stressful so I've been kinda slacking on basically everything else. But, I've finally got this chapter out, so yay! The title is "Greek Tragedy" by The Wombats and it's...just...perfect. Love this one. Also, just a short little note about the timing: this chapter spans the same month as the last chapter, so everything that happens in it is happening at the same time all that shit's going down with Alpha and Rosita. Anyway, thank you all so much for your support, you guys are honestly the best. Hope you enjoy this one, let me know what you think!
25. Greek Tragedy
Mason
She didn't sleep that first night. He fucked her three times before finally dozing off, but she could not bring herself to close her eyes.
Everything was wrong. The lush darkness of the room, the too-soft mattress, the smell of sex and cinnamon hanging in the air, all of it felt like an assault on her senses.
He had fucked her.
He had fucked her.
Stop thinking about it, she told herself, but how could she not? How the fuck could she stop thinking about it? Unconsciously she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered into a ball.
She wanted Eugene.
Tears ran down her face. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound.
She wanted Eugene.
Shut up! she thought, clenching her teeth. You won't ever see him again if you don't keep your shit together. Play the game.
And that was it.
That was the only thought that kept her from losing her mind completely.
~m~
Hours later, when morning arrived to find her bleary-eyed and sick to her stomach, Negan rolled over and sighed at the sight of her.
"Good morning, doll," he said with a sleepy smile.
She didn't respond. Her lungs felt like icebergs, heavy and frigid within her ribs.
He cocked his head, looking more amused than irritated. "You know, it is in fact both customary and encouraged for a husband and wife to exchange pleasantries."
She knew it probably wasn't wise, but she couldn't help muttering, "I don't remember saying 'I do'."
"Well, you'll forgive me if I've let the formalities slip a little since I now have seven of you. But if it'll make you feel better I'll get you a ring and a pretty little dress and everything. You can even wear white if you want, although after last night I'd say you're a far cry from pure."
His grin was vulpine. She tried not to cringe. Or vomit. Or whatever unpleasantness was flipping her stomach like a dying fish.
"So," he continued. "Ceremony? Or no?"
God, no. God fucking no.
She shook her head.
"Alright, then, just consider us officially unofficially husband and wife. And husbands and wives talk to each other. C'mon, doll. Get in the spirit of things. You just won the fucking lottery and you're looking at me like I pissed in your coffee."
What the fuck did he expect her to say? Good morning, you cunt nugget?
His eyes glittered as her silence persisted. "Wait a second. You're not still stuck on mudflap, are you? A woman like you and a lowlife piss-body like that? Come to your senses, doll, you have to know you can do leagues better."
The fury that boiled her blood was nearly irrepressible. Digging her nails into her thighs was the only way to keep from clawing his eyes out.
"Tell me it was pity," he drawled. "It was, right? You fucked him because you felt bad for him?"
He was trying to get a rise out of her. She knew it. But it still took everything in her not to take the bait.
"You did fuck him, right? That must have suck-"
"I don't think this is appropriate conversation for a husband and wife to have," she interrupted, her jaw so rigid that every word hurt.
play the game play the game play the game
His lips curled over his perfect teeth, like he could read her mind. "You're right, my lovely concubine. Certainly not before breakfast."
Not bothering with any sense of modesty- and why should he, they had...they had fucked- he hopped out of bed, utterly naked. She looked away, fighting back tears.
"I want you to know, Mason, that I really am sorry about your ear," he spoke while he dressed.
"Oh, you know... I just need it to hear," she replied.
"Well, then I guess you're lucky I didn't decide to take both. I didn't want to have to but you really didn't give me much choice. You know, this whole thing with your people and mine...it's a give and take."
"You mean we give and you take. Sounds more parasitic to me."
So quick she barely registered the movement, he whipped around and seized her chin. His eyes were cold.
"Better be careful or that pretty little mouth is gonna get you into trouble," he said. "You know, given the fact that I not only spared your life but Eugene's, I would have thought you'd have enough sense to feel hella fortunate. I could have killed him. I could have carved him up right in front of you. I didn't. So say thank you."
She refused to tremble, refused to blink. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome."
Roughly he let her go. Then he reached into his closet and tossed her one of his shirts.
"Throw that on and come with me. I'll show you to your apartment and send someone in with your breakfast."
She held up the shirt, too big for her, and blinked. "What about pants?"
"Nah, darlin'. Just the shirt and underwear. Trust me, you'll look damn sexy. Besides, it's not far."
Swallowing her rage, she obeyed and followed him out of his apartment. He led her down the hall and up two flights of stairs. They didn't pass many people but those they did she avoided looking at.
It was all to humiliate her, parading her through the halls in obvious post-sex attire, a cruel walk of shame. He was still trying to break her down. She wondered if he'd ever stop, if there would ever come a point when there was nothing else in her to break...
You won't get to that point. He won't break you.
Ignoring the fact that she was fractured in so many places.
Ignoring the fact that he had come so close.
She was just glad they didn't run into Eugene. She didn't think she could handle that. She didn't think Eugene could have, either.
Her apartment was much like his, though furnished only with a couch and a bed. After he led her inside he grabbed her hand, and wrong, it felt wrong, it wasn't his fingers that belonged with hers, but she didn't pull away.
"Make yourself comfortable. Someone'll be by with food and clothes and other essentials. Spend the day relaxing. You used up a lot of energy last night. Or you can get to know your surroundings if you prefer. I will unfortunately be busy all day but I intend on seeing you tonight."
She flinched. "You want...you want me wandering around?"
His eyes smoldered with dark amusement. "If you want," he said. "You're not a prisoner here, Mason. Not anymore."
She didn't dare tell him as he walked away that that was fucking bullshit.
~m~
AJ showed up fifteen minutes later with a tray of food and a laundry basket of clothes and various paraphernalia. She sat on the couch with her breakfast, but though it smelled delicious she didn't eat it.
Eugene, she knew, was likely not getting the same treatment. The thought made her stomach churn.
AJ leaned against the wall by the door, watching her through narrowed eyes. "You on a hunger strike?"
She eyed him coldly and said nothing.
"You shouldn't be. You'll need to keep your strength up."
She stiffened. "For what?"
Instead of answering, he said, "There's ibuprofen in the basket. For your ear. I imagine the doc'll want to take a look at you to check for infection." He held up his left hand, and for the first time she realized that he was missing a finger. "I have a little experience with that myself but the doc's a good guy. Scared shitless, but aren't we all."
"Did he do that to you?" she asked quietly. She didn't have to explain that she didn't mean the doctor.
"Simon did it," AJ said and she blanched. Remembering that name, remembering that night...
"Why?"
"Because I was like you."
He didn't give her a chance to ask what he meant. He exited the apartment, leaving her with one last parting command.
"Eat."
Eugene
They kept him in the cell for two days, blasting a perfectly puke-worthy song that, if he'd had access to a knife, a pen, fucking chopsticks, he would have impaled his own ear drums.
Daryl was in the cell next door, he knew that much, but the walls were too thick to talk. He couldn't even tap out Morse code, not that he was sure Daryl knew any.
Dwight came by twice each day with a meal of dog food and moldy bread, and glared at him as though he remembered each time he saw Eugene that his dick had nearly been bitten off.
So that was a bright spot.
But otherwise his time was spent in an endless cycle of guilt and rage and worry.
How long were they going to keep him in this cell? Days, weeks, months? Until he died?
Well, that just wouldn't do.
So he began to scheme how he might escape if the need arose. It would likely be easy enough- lure Dwight and whatever bodyguard came with him into the cell, take the bodyguard's weapon and shoot them both. The timing was the issue. He knew virtually nothing about the layout of the compound, about where Mason was, about where the keys were to Daryl's cell. Break out too soon and he risked not only capture, but more restrictions and possible punishments for Mason and Daryl.
But on the morning of the third day, instead of leaving him with his dubious meal, Dwight tossed some clothes and a pair of shoes into the cell and motioned for Eugene to get dressed.
"Negan wants to talk to you," he said.
Eugene said nothing as he pulled on the grungy sweatpants, the sweatshirt that smelled like someone else had worn it, suffered in it, despaired in it. He said nothing as he stepped out of his cell. He relished the tense silence, the loathing in Dwight's eyes.
You are going to hate me so much more than you can imagine before this is over.
Without making it obvious, he took note of every turn, every doorway they passed on their way to Negan's apartment. He cataloged the people and the things they said, they way they interacted with each other. Anything could end up being useful.
Except Dwight didn't end up taking him to Negan's apartment. He led him past that, down several flights of stairs, and through a fire exit. The outside air was startlingly cold, and his worn clothes did little to protect him from it. He wrapped his arms around himself with a little shiver.
"Man up," Dwight sneered, looking far too pleased in his thick jacket. Eugene bit back a sharp retort and followed him, through the cluster of walkers guarding the compound, through the outer gate and out into the woods beyond.
He went still when he spotted Mason, standing next to Negan amid the trees. She said nothing and her expression never changed, but he saw the fear in her eyes.
"Man, every time I see you, I am just astounded at that damn hair!" Negan crowed by way of greeting. "I have gotta ask, what made you decide on that incomparable style? It couldn't have scored you any points with the ladies."
I don't know, Mason seems to like it.
The words very nearly left his mouth before his better sense reeled them in. "Because I like it," he said simply.
Negan shook his head in disbelief. "You are a card, ain't ya, Texas?"
"So I've been told on multiple occasions."
"I don't doubt that."
Negan unslung a roll of rope from his shoulder and tossed it to Dwight, who grabbed Eugene and began tying his wrists together.
Mason twitched. "What...what are you doing?"
"We're going hunting," Negan said cheerfully. "The deadwall's thinned a bit lately so we are going to replenish it."
"We're hunting walkers?"
"Huh. Walkers. I'mma start using that shit... Anyway, gorgeous, yes. You and I are hunting walkers."
Mason swallowed hard and pointed at Eugene. "So why is he here?"
"Well, you can't set a trap without a little bait."
Dwight yanked on the other end of the rope, leading Eugene forward. Mason shook her head, wide-eyed.
"No. They'll...they'll come to us anyway, you don't need him."
"Of course I don't need him," was Negan's only reply before he took out his knife and grabbed Eugene's bound hands. Eugene had long since re-wrapped his left hand, the bullet tucked safely inside it, but his heart kicked up a notch at Negan's sudden examination.
"Looks like you're gonna have to wrap this other hand, too," he said before slicing open Eugene's palm.
Eugene hissed through his teeth, but he held still as the blood trickled down his wrist.
"You didn't have to cut him," Mason growled. "You don't need to do any of this."
"But it's more fun this way."
Dwight handed the rope to Negan and walked away without a word, though he did throw Eugene a satisfied smirk that conveyed more than enough. Eugene nearly told him to go fuck himself before he remembered the role he was playing. Putting on his best terrified face, he appealed to Negan instead.
"Please. Sir. You- you don't need to do this. I...I-I will-"
"You will shut your damn pie hole unless you want Lucille to face fuck you. And she does not go gentle into that good night, let me tell you."
Obediently Eugene fell silent, although everything in him raged against it. He hunched in on himself to make it look as though he was scared and helpless.
"Come on, you two, don't look so glum!" Negan said. "Now, Eugene, buddy, I'm gonna need you to walk in front of me while I hold your leash. Just pretend you're a dog and I'm your master, it's not like it's far from the truth anyway."
Mason and Eugene shared the briefest, clandestine look, one of utter outrage, before Eugene took the lead.
Several minutes passed while they scoured the woods, Negan tugging occasionally on the rope to guide him in a different direction, but finally they came across a knot of walkers. Instantly alerted by the smell of Eugene's blood, they turned, snarling, and began to lumber toward them.
Against his will, his heart faltered in his chest. Would Negan have him executed like this, in front of Mason?
She wouldn't handle that. She couldn't handle that. He knew it. Not after everything...
He jerked against the rope, feeling it chafe, break the skin, scrape out new blood. The walkers closed in and Negan laughed.
"Better protect him, Mason. Don't want to have to waste the time it'll take to fetch new bait, right?"
"Give me a weapon!" she screamed but he just grinned cruelly.
With a snarl of frustration, she grabbed a rock off the ground and lunged at the walkers, and this time Eugene did not have to fake his terror. Desperately he pulled at his restraints, the instinct to fight at her side dizzying him.
Luckily Negan seemed to mistake it for cowardice, because he laughed and flicked Eugene on the back of the head.
"I wouldn't try it, tophat. You're much safer here with us than you are on your own."
Mason heaved the rock up into the closest walker's jaw, sending it stumbling back, while a second one staggered into its place. She crushed this one's skull.
"I want them alive," Negan called lazily.
"Then get out here and do it yourself, asshole!"
She didn't stop, however. They were too close and she was already neck-deep among them.
So she began breaking their legs. She began breaking their arms. She impaled one of them to the forest floor with the bone of another.
But though she held her on, several of them slipped past her, fixated on Eugene's bleeding palm, his wrists.
Negan didn't make a move to stop them. Eugene gritted his teeth and kicked the first one away, then the second, then the third. One of them he was able to kick hard enough that its leg bone snapped. When it fell to the ground, he stomped the heel of his boot through its head.
But the others kept returning, and the odds of his luck eventually running out...
"Tick-tock, sweetheart," Negan caroled.
It was then that two of them fell on Eugene at once. He managed to kick one of them away but there was no time to do the same for the second. As it descended toward his bound hands he swung them up, bracing them against the walker's throat. It snarled and snapped, mere inches from him, pawing at his arms...
A furious roar announced Mason's arrival, and a heartbeat later there she was, bashing in the walker's skull with her rock. It fell away from Eugene, splashing his face with blood. She turned her attention on the other walker. She was so absorbed in beating its head into a pulp that she didn't notice the last one lurching toward her.
Coming up on her deaf side.
"Mason!" Eugene shouted.
She looked up, but there was not enough time for her to scramble to her feet. She raised her hands to catch the walker as it swooped in and held it up by its chest.
A moment later, its brains sprayed out of the side of its head.
Mason and Eugene froze, both of them breathing hard as if they'd just resurfaced from deep waters. She held the walker's slumped body while its blood gushed onto her chest.
Negan whistled and belted his gun. "That was quite a show," he said. "And look, you caught me...five, six, seven- seven walkers! Nice job, you two."
Slowly Mason turned to look at him, shock and fury storming in her eyes. Quickly, Eugene made the symbol for quiet.
Calm. She needed to stay calm.
She tempered her expression with a blink...
Only for it to return in full force when Negan continued, "Too bad I don't really need them."
"What?" Mason's voice was a blade cleaving through the winter air. Her eyes were twin sparks, promising violence. "You had us risking our lives out here for nothing?"
"Oh, no, doll," Negan replied. "Not for nothing."
~m~
"So that little display out there...I wouldn't really call it an eye opener so much as a confirmation."
Eugene stood alone before Negan in his apartment. His palm and his wrists had been patched up, and Mason escorted back to the apartment where she now apparently lived. The absence of her was excruciating. A wound left untreated.
But nothing showed on his face. It was a perfect mask, always.
"You know, I actually like you, hockey hair," Negan continued. "There's something about you that I find just as delightful as a cocaine squirrel...whatever the hell that means. My old man used to say shit like that and I guess I just kinda picked it up from him but that's neither here nor there because, unfortunately, no matter how much I like you, I am skeptical about the future of our relationship."
Eugene's lungs tightened just a bit, but his face remained impassive. "How's that?" he asked, like it wasn't obvious.
"Buddy. Come on. You don't strike me as an idiot, aside from your questionable fashion sense. Mason, my doll, my new little queen...for as much as she's trying, I know she's only trying for you. I saw the way she was with you today. And I get it, I really do. You and her had a thing before, and it's hard to move on."
Negan paused, and his eyes glittered. "But you will move on, both of you. In some form or another. Because her and I? I think we're going to get along famously. Once she gives me a chance, of course. I see a part of me in her, if you'll forgive the innuendo."
Rage sparked in Eugene's stomach but...
play the game play the game play the game
"You and her? I'm sorry, but how in the fuck did that ever happen? She is a badass and you...are just...there. Now I know that may sound cruel, but I call it how I see it. If you want to make yourself a future here, a real future, you're gonna need to accept what I'm telling you... And you're gonna need to tell me just how it is you made it this far. I want to know what you can do for me, if there's anything you can do for me. So far I am not impressed."
For just a second, one awful, illimitable second, he remembered that day he met Abraham. The day he'd come up with the Lie. He felt sick, he felt sick, but...
"I'm a scientist."
Negan stared at him. "...You're a scientist?"
"I was a biotechnology chemist down in Houston."
"Well, how long were you planning on keeping this shit from me? That is some shit I can work with!" Negan threw an arm around Eugene's shoulder just as easily as if they were old pals. "So that's why Mason ended up with you. She was just thirsty for a little scientist nookie. Well, I can understand that, that's kinky."
Eugene looked at the floor, feigning humiliation. "The others in my group only kept me alive as their problem-solver. They...they never would have accepted me otherwise."
The lie stung coming out, but it sounded effortless. Genuine.
Negan frowned. "Well, they're assholes, Eugene. I promise you, you're going to be happier here then you ever were with those sorry shits. All you have to do is play ball."
Eugene glanced at him. The wretched, pathetic veil he put up never wavered. "Yes, sir," he said. "I intend to."
Mason
AJ came by to see her later that night, bearing a bowl of fruits.
"I picked them myself, so they're fresh," he said earnestly.
Unimpressed, Mason stepped aside to let him in.
"Did Negan send you to keep tabs on me?"
AJ handed her the bowl and began drifting around the room, looking back and forth as if he expected to find someone hiding though there literally was no place to do so. "No," he answered. "But I will tell you now that everyone's watching anyway, and they will report back to Negan at the first sign of disloyalty."
"Thanks for the tip."
"You gonna eat those fruit?"
"Why the fuck... You poison them or something?"
"Yes, they're all poisoned. Girl, chill. I just think you would really enjoy them, particularly the ones at the bottom."
Mason narrowed her eyes. She reached into the bowl, and when her fingers brushed against a scrap of folded paper her heart stilled. AJ watched as she plucked it out and began to read.
If you have something important to say it's always best not to say it out loud in this place. Everybody here is a nosy fucker.
Negan will not trust you or Eugene completely until he thinks you have no loyalty to each other. That's what this morning was about.
Mason looked up and said, with all the cool mildness Eugene had taught her to adopt, "Do you have a pen? It's fucking boring in here with nothing to do."
With a smirk, AJ reached into his jacket and procured a pen. "I'll bring up some notebooks so you don't have to write on the walls."
"Okay, but how else did you think I was going to decorate?"
Quickly she scribbled out a reply under his handwriting.
Why are you telling me this?
"I can help you," he said, and she thought this was his answer until he added, "I'm only good at drawing dicks, though."
His written reply was short and sweet: I want out.
"Well, what else does one draw on the walls?" she said.
She wrote, How can you expect me to trust you? How do I know this isn't some convoluted trap?
It took longer for him to write out this reply, but when he did he slid the paper into her hand as though he were handing her something fragile and infinitely valuable.
You don't have to trust me. You can stay here forever if that's what you want. But I'm pretty sure it's not. I will try to get out with or without you, but why not work together?
She stared at it for a long time, weighing the words, weighing his vibe. What if it was a trick? What if he was just as good a liar as Eugene?
Her heart began to race.
What if everything he'd done since she'd gotten here had been some elaborate set-up- attacking Tyler, befriending her? Was anything real in this place? Could she trust anything in this place?
Stop.
She closed her eyes and breathed out.
You're being paranoid. You're panicking. Stop.
She flattened the paper against her palm and wrote, Why do you think you can trust me?
When AJ read this, he laughed. But there was no humor in his eyes. "I was like you," he answered. "I'll be back with those notebooks soon."
~m~
Two days passed before she was able to enact her plan. She spent her free time writing poetry in the notebooks AJ provided, roaming the compound as Negan had suggested, and drawing maps of the halls she explored. She'd thought before that Negan hadn't been concerned about her learning her surroundings because he knew she would never leave without Eugene and Daryl. But it wasn't just that. There were so many people. And they all watched her, like she was something to be cautious of, like they were deciding whether she was predator or prey.
She didn't see Eugene until the third day. She was on her way to the cafeteria, where she'd decided to eat for the first time in an attempt to escape from the monotony of her empty apartment. Her heart fluttered when she spotted him, standing in the hall with Negan and Simon. He was no longer wearing the drab white of the cell uniform but a pair of dark gray pants and a black button-up shirt.
He was dressed like them.
The sight put a knot in her stomach, and it filled her with enough resolve to march toward them, fix him with her fiercest glare, and say, "Stop looking at me like that."
He blinked, taking in her fiery expression, her shadowed eyes, and her hand, which was frozen in a symbol at her side.
Fake them out.
His eyes narrowed. "Like what?"
"Like I betrayed you or something. Like I'm a slut."
Negan and Simon were watching now, eyebrows raised like they'd just reached the plot twist of a particularly entertaining movie.
Eugene's face was fixed in a cold mask. He was so good at playing the game.
"If you don't want me to look at you like that," he said, "then don't give me a reason to."
"Oh, fuck you and your beta male bullshit." A folded piece of paper slid down from the sleeve where she'd stashed it and into her palm. "I told you, from the beginning. I told you it wasn't going to mean anything."
"So, what, you just decided it would be fun to pretend that it did?"
"You wanted me to protect you. You were pathetic and and you needed a friend. Excuse me if I thought I deserved an easy fuck."
"Well, look at the pot calling the kettle black."
She lunged then, shoving him up against the wall. "You think you're a big man now with your new friends and your new clothes?" Her eyes drilled into his and she prayed he understood. "Fucking fight me then, asshole. Fucking fight me."
He always understood her. He always understood.
He grabbed her arm, pushing her away before wrenching it behind her in a move Abraham had taught him. She let out a snarl of outrage and fought back. It was easy enough to allow a trickle of tears to cut a path down her cheeks. She hated this, she hated it, but it was the only way...
At some point in the scuffle, she pressed the paper into his hand. He took it without a twitch of reaction.
"Alright, kiddos. As enjoyable as this is, let's break it up."
Negan and Simon pulled them apart, though it took a bit of wrestling to tear Mason away. Her face was contorted with anguish, her teeth bared like a feral animal, and she didn't let herself relax even when Negan whispered in her ear that he'd prefer not to clean blood off the floor.
Eugene stared back at her, frigid and tight-lipped, but she saw the love behind his eyes, the agony that matched her own.
"Hey, Simon, you wanna give me and Mason a minute here?" Negan said.
"I'm fine," Mason growled as Simon led Eugene away.
Negan held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, darlin', you're fine. Can't I just want a minute alone with you?"
So she followed him to his apartment, burning with what she had just done, hoping that it had been enough. She was unsurprised when he ushered her into the bedroom; it was habit now to sit on the bed and wait for him to do whatever he was going to do.
She could have stopped the tears, but she didn't let herself. It was too genuine. People didn't cry for no reason.
"So," Negan said, plopping down next to her. "What the fuck was that?"
She didn't say anything. She wanted him to believe she was swaying to his side but she couldn't do it too quickly or it wouldn't be believable.
"Come on, wifey, remember what I said? We're supposed to talk to each other."
"I don't particularly feel like talking about shit that doesn't matter," she ground out. "Especially not to you."
"Mason." He waited until she looked at him. "When are you going to trust me?"
She almost laughed. Almost punched him. Trust him? Fucking cocksucker.
Instead she looked him in the eyes and dredged up her training. She could hear, painfully distinct, Eugene's voice in her head: Mind your tells. Don't fidget. Eye contact.
Remember the character you're playing.
"Stop," she said. "Just...don't. Don't try and pretend you really give a shit."
He laid a hand on her knee, and it felt so obscene her stomach twisted. "Look, I know we didn't have the best start," he said. "I get it, I really do. I wish shit could've gone down differently. But, doll, you have to start seeing yourself properly. To get so bent out of shape over Eugene, I mean...the guy may be a scientist, but I wouldn't kill myself over him."
She almost jolted with surprise. So Eugene had resurrected the Lie. Sneaky son of a bitch.
"How do you know what I should do?" she snapped. "You barely know me. And he...he was my friend."
She let herself bleed when she said it. She let every ounce of pain from the past few weeks soak her words, and then she heaved a broken sigh.
"I don't want you to say anything. Please. Just this once. Don't say a fucking word."
She didn't give him a chance to respond before kissing him, rough and desperate, locking her disgust in a cage. One hand fisted in his hair, the other grabbed the front of his jeans. He jumped at her touch with a sharp gasp, which transformed quickly into a growl.
And she knew she had won, she knew she had played her part impeccably, when he laid down beneath her and didn't say a word while she fucked him.
Eugene
He knew it had been necessary. He was unbelievably proud of her for such a convincing show. Still, it took hours for his stomach to stop rolling with guilt. All that saved him as he roamed the compound with Simon was the paper up his sleeve, and the effort it took not to break down and read it then and there was nearly overwhelming. Only when he returned to his new apartment that night did he dare take it out, his heart racing as he opened it.
Mason's handwriting broke his heart. He wanted her. He wanted to sleep next to her, listen to her iPod while she read poetry, drink tea with her on a dawn-lit rooftop...
Blinking back tears, he began to read.
Hey, Gene Bean,
I'm sorry. If you're reading this, then that means I probably just got done pretending to kick your ass. Of course I guess it wouldn't take much pretending, huh?
He laughed, the first he'd done since the day Maggie had fallen ill.
If I know you, then you've already figured this out, but the less attached to each other we seem the safer we'll be here. AJ told me that's what that morning with the walkers was about.
I know we want to escape, but while we're here, we need to learn everything we can about these people. For Alexandria. We're spies now.
I've drawn out a map on the back. The X's are the places where I think the armory might be kept, but I don't know for sure. AJ says that only certain people are allowed to know, just like only certain people are allowed keys to the cells.
He also said that anything worth saying around here is best not said out loud.
If you find anything out, find a way to tell me and I'll do the same.
I love you. Stay safe. We are going to get out of this.
- May
He examined the map scrawled on the back, looked it over and over again until his head hurt, because at the bottom she had written two words in all caps.
BURN THIS.
When he had memorized all of it, not just the map but every flourish of her handwriting, he burned the note in his bathroom sink.
Mason
And so life became a room of familiar windows.
Through one were the mornings she spent drawing maps from memory and then burning them.
Through another were the lunches she took in the cafeteria, enduring the jealous, suspicious gazes of the other wives.
Most of her time was spent either with Negan or with AJ. She hardly ever saw Eugene, and when she did it was from a distance. She never sought him out- too dangerous- and checking on Daryl was a risk she couldn't take, much as it frustrated her.
Negan took her out some days to patrol in the woods, though it was mostly to ply her with questions and watch her kill walkers. "I'm keeping you separate from the other women. If my men do something particularly awesome, I let them...spend some quality time with a wife of their choosing," he told her, and it had been a struggle not to look horrified. "But I'm not ready to share you just yet. You're my war-wife."
Nights when he chose her to warm his bed, she was flawless. She did everything he wanted, and never once did he doubt her sincerity. She wasn't dumb enough to pretend that she was suddenly magically in love with him, but physically? He thought she was addicted. He thought she fucked him so passionately because of the rift between her and Eugene.
Other nights, her thoughts were madness. Other nights she expected her thoughts to eat her alive. And on those nights when she thought she was going to lose it, when she thought her mind might dissolve into a hurricane, AJ sent a spark of sunshine through those windows.
He kept her updated on Daryl, though he wasn't able to see him often. He told her about the Saviors that he knew, their personalities and things to watch out for. Though she wasn't surprised, a good majority of what he told her horrified her. But the rest of their time together they spent sitting on the floor of her apartment, bullshitting and drawing dicks on the walls, just as they'd promised. For her sanity. For some semblance of normalcy, however fragile. She began to think of him as a friend.
It was AJ who showed her to the exercise room. After she mentioned how much she loved running, how much she missed it, he took her there the next day. It was like being thrown a life preserver in the middle of an endless ocean.
She saw herself through all these windows, different facets of herself, and none of them were true. Not one. Everything she had become in this place were layers of a lie.
Except when she was running.
It galled her that she had to ask Negan to use her own iPod, but it was a small sacrifice for one or two hours of escape. When she ran, she gave herself over completely to her body, her muscles and the music, her blood and sweat. She utilized the weights and punching bags as well, though not as often. She didn't want anyone to get ideas about her true intentions.
Eugene
He gained the trust of some of Negan's top men surprisingly quickly. They led him around like tour guides, revealing to him the inner workings of the compound, oblivious to the fact that he was silently analyzing the best ways to murder them. He was to be the Saviors' handyman and their own personal chemist, and though he had yet to show them anything particularly useful they were impressed by his skills nonetheless.
And yet, despite this, there were still things he was barred access from.
He was not allowed down in the basement where the cells were kept. He was not allowed outside without an escort.
And he was not allowed a gun.
This was perhaps the most frustrating part of the role he played, that they thought him so utterly incapable of wielding a weapon with any sort of success. He could entertain them all he wanted with purple fire and Lichtenberg figures, but outside of his role as chemist he was nothing.
After getting himself into Negan's good graces he'd been returned the possessions they'd confiscated from him, which included Abraham's gloves. He wore them all the time for two reasons.
The first was to hide the bullet, which, without a gun, had grown weightier and weightier in his left hand.
The second was to hide notes to pass along to Mason whenever he found the chance, which was not often. He could not simply slide them under her door, as Negan made a habit of barging in whenever he pleased. Instead, when he could, he used AJ as a conduit, though he saw him about as much as he saw Mason. More often than not they spoke through silent signals.
Sometimes these communications were to exchange intel, although this dwindled as time went on. The armory and the keys were the real treasures for which they suffered and lied and whored themselves, yet these things remained practically unattainable. He was beginning to think they'd have to resort to something drastic just to find them, which he spent a significant amount of time worrying over.
No, most of their exchanges were simply to encourage each other, to keep the fire lit in each other's bellies.
To remind each other of who they were when they thought they might lose themselves.
Still, any and all of their interactions were so rare that it surprised him when, after several weeks, Negan invited both him and Mason to sit in on a meeting with his inner circle.
It was a run-of-the-mill inventory meeting, no real interesting information shared, but it was exciting all the same. Because Negan now trusted them both enough to include them.
And because he got to see Mason.
They played their roles immaculately, regarding each other with enough cool dislike that Negan warned them that he didn't want to see any fur flying.
But above the table, when no one was watching, their fingers formed symbols.
~m~
He was sitting in the cafeteria with Simon, fielding questions about the possibility of adding homemade explosives to their arsenal, when he heard the gunshots. They came in a flurry so quick that at first he didn't register what they were. Then a second volley sounded and he leapt to his feet, his heart clenching so tight he thought it might be trying to implode.
He vaguely heard Simon barking at him to stay inside- because he was the scientist, he was the nerd who couldn't defend himself, right, of course, if they only knew- but his mind was mud. His only thought was of Mason, wondering where she was, if she was okay.
The gunfire didn't continue for very long. It doubled, reached its climax, and then suddenly cut off. When the Savior guardsmen strolled inside to report to Negan, he knew by their smug expressions that they must have won.
When Mason trailed in with them, he should have been relieved. For a moment, he was. She wasn't hurt, she didn't even have any blood on her.
But then he saw her face.
The horror in it, the disbelief, hollowed out a piece of him. Whatever had happened had left her alarmingly unsteady. Her machete- like him she was not allowed a gun, though he wondered if that would change- hung limply in her hand.
He didn't dare approach her, not with so many eyes watching. But he met her gaze from across the room.
Her free hand flashed the briefest symbol, one that filled his bones with ice.
Home.
~m~
"God only knows where they found so many guns so quickly. But they weren't expecting the outer walls to be so impenetrable," Simon said.
All the seats at the table were taken for this meeting. Eugene and Mason had been chosen to sit council among them, though they'd been given little opportunity to speak as Simon and Negan snapped at each other.
"I want a crew sent to the Kingdom immediately," Negan said. "See if those assholes are missing any guns."
Eugene and Mason frowned at each other without ever quite looking at each other, a skill they'd honed over the past month.
The Kingdom? Who in the hell was that?
The look of doubt on Simon's face bordered on disdain. "You don't really think Ezekiel would be stupid enough-"
"I'm sorry, did I make that sound like an open-ended request? Because I meant it as a get-this-done-or-it's-your-nutsack kind of thing."
Simon's eyes flickered with rage, but he just nodded. "Of course. My apologies."
"Now." Negan held Lucille across his lap as though she were a beloved pet; he regarded her broodingly for a moment before turning to Eugene. "It's time for you to prove that you've got hair where it really counts. It's time for a little...reunion."
Eugene blinked. Across the table, Mason went absolutely still.
"I don't follow..." he said slowly.
But he did. Fuck him to hell, he did.
"Well, obviously we can't let this little temper tantrum fly, I mean your people...they just don't fucking learn, do they? But. I like you. And I obviously like Mason. If you came from them, then maybe- just maybe- they're still salvageable. I'm giving them one more chance. One. And in order to drive this home, in order for them to truly appreciate what I'm doing for them, the benefits they can reap from a relationship with me, I want you as my emissary."
Every cell in Eugene's body became a shard of ice. He didn't look at Mason but he could feel her horror radiating across the table.
"Now, as my emissary," Negan continued, "I will require you to be...assertive. No more rolling over for those unappreciative bastards. I want you to display to them in no uncertain terms that this is their last chance."
Threaten them. He wanted Eugene to threaten his own people, his family.
But what could he say? Refusing would undo all of the work, all of the sacrifices of the past month.
Besides, he didn't think Negan was really asking anyway. Another test, just like the walkers.
So, swallowing his revulsion, swallowing up the part of him that screamed against it, he nodded and said, "Yes, I think you're right."
Mason
It took everything in her not to stand up and scream, not to reach across the table for Eugene and just run, damn the consequences. But she knew as she met his gaze- fleetingly, painfully brief- that there would be no breaking his resolve. He knew what he was agreeing to, the sacrifice he was making.
She couldn't concentrate after the meeting. She found herself pacing back and forth in her living room, which still remained sparse despite Negan's offer of furniture. She tried to distract herself with other important questions, like where in the fuck had her people gotten the guns? Had they indeed gone to this Kingdom to get them?
Were they alright?
She hadn't seen anyone get shot during the firefight. She hadn't seen much of anyone at all, except the backs of them as they retreated. The memory still horrified her, the fact that her role as Negan's war-wife required her to jump in to defend this place, these people.
Traitor.
Eventually the silence of her room, the space it gave her thoughts to shriek, was too much to bear. She left to find Negan to ask for her iPod, though she wondered if even her music would be enough to distract her.
She met them coming out of his apartment, Eugene and Simon striding shoulder to shoulder in the grimmest monochromes. Eugene wore a black overcoat over his all-black attire, but it was his hair that had her sucking in a sharp breath, as though she'd been kneed in the stomach.
They had lopped off his mullet, leaving only a short, severe style that made him look elegantly cruel. And looking at him, at the stony expression he wore to match his new make-over...
It was like looking at one of them.
Her steps faltered for a split second and then resumed. She had to act normal. She had to act as though she didn't see them at all.
Simon didn't look at her. Since coming here, he had treated her as though she were little more than an insect, never deigning to acknowledge her existence- which, admittedly, was just fine with her.
So it gave Eugene a chance, as Mason brushed past him, to slip the paper into her hand.
Her heart did flips at the touch of his skin, the pain of missing him so agonizing it nearly brought her to her knees. But she continued on as though nothing had happened, and only once they were gone did she double back to her apartment.
~m~
On the back of the page, the compound had been sketched. A single X stood out at the bottom, slashed through where the cells would have been, and in the margins he had scribbled a note.
Armory. Two guards stationed at all times. Location of keys still unknown.
But it was what he'd scrawled on the front that had her heart beating so fast with pride, hope, fear, she felt dizzy.
My May,
They gave me a gun but they won't let me load it. Something about making me look more threatening than I really am. Kinda bullshit, right?
Good thing I know how to make bullets.
Eugene
They aimed for Alexandria's watch points, outnumbering the lookouts five to one. None of the Saviors took the killing shot, as per Eugene's advisement.
Less chance of things getting too messy, he'd said, a half-truth Negan had bought surprisingly quickly.
Panic knotted his insides as they pulled up to the gate. This was home. This was home and he was invading.
You have to do this. You have to do this to get free.
Slowly, he willed himself into someone who wasn't afraid, someone who wouldn't feel a thing. He encased his heart in ice and stepped out of the car.
The gate squealed open and there was Rick, his eyes as feral as they'd been out on the road. They darted about wildly, taking in every inch of Eugene. Not just examining his new appearance, but...
Checking to see if I'm alright.
Eugene's eyes pricked with tears.
Rick shot a murderous glare at Negan as he stepped out of the car, and then looked back at Eugene.
"What's going on?" he said.
"Let us in and no one has to die," Eugene responded.
Rick cocked his head, blinking. "Did Negan make you say that?"
Say it. Say it.
"I am Negan."
The shock that flared on Rick's face, the denial... That was the bearable part.
When it became clear that Eugene was not about to take the words back, Rick's expression contorted into one of rage, one of pain.
Eugene jumped when Negan laid a hand on his shoulder. "So Rick. Buddy. You gonna let us in?"
They had no choice and Rick knew it. He stood back and watched thunderously as the Saviors trooped the hostages in first. As the trucks trailed in after, Negan grinned insolently.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, big shot. Eugene and I just wanted to have a little powwow with you and your people. Gather 'round, guys, c'mon, don't be shy."
Reluctantly, distrustfully, the Alexandrians clustered around them. The Saviors weaved through their ranks, taking the guns from those who were armed.
Negan motioned to Eugene.
"You all should be well aware of the reason behind our house call," Eugene began, drawing himself up like he wasn't surrounded by the people he loved. "You brought this on yourselves. But Negan has agreed to be gracious. This is your last chance to survive. Tell us where you got the guns and your lives will be spared."
No one answered. Some of them were staring at him with utter loathing, some with heartbroken disbelief. He couldn't look to long at any of them.
As the silence lingered, he said, "I would advise against a vow of silence, friends-"
"We are not your friends," Rick hissed. "We aren't friends with traitors."
A murmur of agreement rustled through the group. Eugene swallowed.
"Fair enough. But it would be in your best interest if you tell us where the guns came from."
"Someone left them on our doorstep," Michonne growled.
Negan raised an eyebrow. "They did, did they? And you have no clue who they might've been from?"
"No."
"Well, isn't that special."
There was a beat of silence in which Negan examined Rick and Michonne. Eugene did as well and was not surprised to see that they were telling the truth, though the question remained: who had left the guns?
Finally Negan nodded, a little smirk playing on his face that Eugene had learned to dread. "Alright," he said. "I believe you, although that is really fucking odd if you think about it. Like is there some kind of gun fairy I don't know about? Jesus Christ..." He trailed off, and the pause had the hair on the back of Eugene's neck standing up before he even said it.
"Eugene, pick someone. Anyone. And gut 'em like a fish, I mean really have fun with it."
At first, he was convinced it wasn't real, that he had only imagined the command.
He swayed a little as he looked at Negan.
"What?"
Negan grinned. "You heard me. Oh, don't look like that. I know you're probably one of those guys that faints at the sight of blood but you did swear your allegiance to me, and I have faith in you. So. Who's it gonna be?"
Eugene's mind raced.
How could he get out of this?
How could he get out?
He couldn't.
There was no way. Not without forfeiting his life.
That's fine. That's fine. Let them kill you.
But Mason.
He couldn't leave her.
You can't kill one of your own.
But his mind was still racing, seeing all the angles, the benefits, the disastrous benefits.
Suddenly he knew who to pick.
He drew the knife from his belt, the one Simon had given him to compliment the gun, and drifted through the crowd. His family drew away from him as though he were a bitter wind, a plague. His heart raced, everything inside him screaming, whirling, tearing apart with hurricane panic.
He faltered when he saw Carl standing next to Spencer, his one good eye wide with disbelief, with desperation. Still clinging to the hope that Eugene wouldn't do it, that he was still good, still good, still good.
But you're not good. You will never be good after this. You will always be poisoned.
The blade flashed in the sun. It went through so, so easily.
A deep fracture cut through him as he drove the knife into Spencer's stomach.
He didn't feel the blood as it washed over his hands. Didn't hear the gasps, the screams, the shouts.
He didn't see the glint of life fade from Spencer's eyes. Didn't see Spencer's blood splattered on Carl's face.
He didn't he didn't he didn't.
Traitor traitor traitor
"Good job, Eugene, holy shit!" Negan crowed from far away. "I'm gonna be honest, I wasn't sure if you had it in you but I am proud."
Eugene managed a robotic nod. "I think we're done here," he said.
"Yeah, I'd say so. I think they got the message."
He didn't remember walking back to the car, or anything in between. There was still blood on his hands, still blood...
He didn't remember getting into the passenger seat, or the rumble of the car as it started up.
He wasn't aware of anything until he looked down and noticed a shadowed lump hidden beneath the seat. The stranger had kept their promise.
His rucksack had been returned to him.