The kitchen staff was still staring, and you had no clue how to respond. Trying to reason with them or give an excuse seemed pointless at the moment, seeing as how your brain had left the building and no intelligent responses were to be found. Then the thought hit: you're in charge here! You don't have to explain yourself to them.
Deciding to take a page out of Negan's book, you constructed what was hopefully an authoritative tone and commanded, "What are you people staring at? Get the hell back to work!"
There was a pause as people continued to look shocked, whether still from the exchange with Negan or now because of your tone of voice, you weren't sure. However, after a brief hesitation, everyone appeared to start moving again at once, going from staring openly to actively avoiding any potential eye contact with you.
Well, everyone except Ben.
He continued to openly gawk, and you could practically hear the gears whirring in his brain as he tried to process what the hell your interaction with Negan meant. Turning away from him, you walked over to start mixing together the cheese and sauce for the ziti. Once that was finished, you turned back to the sink to retrieve the strained ziti, a quick glance confirming that Ben was still frozen to the spot.
It was as you went to lift up the first strainer of ziti that you saw movement out of the corner of your eye.
"I got it," Ben said, finally unfrozen and back into work mode.
It carried on this way for the rest of dinner prep; Ben was strangely silent and contemplative, while everyone else seemed afraid to make eye contact, which you were fine with. In fact, you now understood why Negan used fear tactics to help run the compound. Things were so much easier when people were afraid to speak, since there were no pesky questions or stares. Only Trixie appeared unaffected by your outburst; a permanent smirk was fixated on her face as she bounced around the kitchen, baking rolls and arranging them in baskets before skipping them out to set on the multiple cafeteria tables.
Dinner was almost finished being served, and you were almost convinced that it was possible to finish your duties and leave for the evening without any interrogation. However, after a server had taken the last round of pasta bowls through the door into the cafeteria, you felt a hand lightly touch your shoulder. Looking over, you saw Ben standing there with a look that showcased a mixture of shyness yet determination.
"Can I talk to you in the pantry for a minute?"
Your stomach dropped. More than anything, you wanted to decline or use some excuse as to why you couldn't, but knew that would just make the situation look even worse. Nodding begrudgingly, you followed Ben across the tiles to the back of the kitchen, aware of the gazes that followed both your retreating backs.
Stepping into the pantry, you couldn't help but notice how different the atmosphere was in here with Ben compared to Negan. With Negan, the pantry had felt tiny when filled with his presence, as well as seeming like a safe haven. It had almost felt like a pocket of space where time was suspended and no one was able to intrude, which was why you both had let down your guards when last in here. However, with Ben, the pantry felt so large as to be imposing, the rows of shelves seeming to loom all around, as if the various cans and boxes were a jury trying to prove your guilt.
Fidgeting his feet, as if unsure where to start, Ben finally appeared to gather his courage. He took a deep breath and finally looked you square in the eye while asking, "Wanna tell me what that was all about with Negan earlier?"
Sweat started to break out on your palms as you floundered for a response. You knew this had been coming, but were still unwilling to be honest. What if Ben judges you? Or even worse: what if he doesn't want to be your friend anymore when he hears you've been hanging out with Negan?!
It took an awful lot of willpower not to twist your sweaty hands anxiously while replying, "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
Giving an exasperated look, Ben accused, "Oh come on, you really think I'm that stupid? That kinda hurts."
Shit. Not the response you had been expecting. Maybe you could be sliiiightly honest with him. Kinda like how you were with Maria, but with even less detail? your subconscious suggested. For once, your brain seemed to be in agreement.
Puffing out a breath, you said, "Okay, fine. I'll admit, me going out in the woods with Negan tomorrow might seem a little weird. But I swear it's not." You hesitated before continuing. "He agreed to take me outside the compound for a few walks through the woods so I could look for berries and such. After the success of the hawthorn crisp, he thought maybe I could find some other stuff in the woods to use in the kitchen."
Even though you had originally meant to be a little more honest with Ben, the lie just seemed to pop out automatically. And technically, there was some truth behind it, since a big part of the reason you wanted to go outside the fences was to explore the surrounding area and see if there were any nature-made goodies to find.
Still appearing skeptical, Ben pointed out, "Okay, but then what was up with the pet names? I mean, 'Red Riding Hood'? And 'doll'? What the heck?"
You could feel the beginnings of heat brushing your cheeks, and inwardly cursed. Giving a forced laugh, and hoping it sounded genuine, you joked, "Oh, come on, Ben. You know how Negan is. I'm sure he thinks those comments are funny or something. I should just be lucky I get called 'doll' and not 'mother fucker' like a lot of other people around here."
Ben stared intently, as if looking for any hint of deceit, so you leveled what was hopefully a neutral expression back at him, refusing to even blink for fear that he would see right through your dishonesty. Finally, his shoulders seemed to sag a little and he gave a reluctant nod before conceding, "I guess that makes sense. Although…I don't know…there's something about the way he looks at you." His gaze hardening slightly, Ben added, "I don't like it."
Surprised at the protectiveness in his voice, you couldn't help the answering thump of guilt that beat in your chest. Ben was just trying to be a good friend and look out for you, and of course a good friend would be worried if a man like Negan showed any speck of interest. And yet here you were, lying to said friend, yet again. But maybe it's for his own good? If he knew the truth, he would just worry constantly, which would complicate things even more.
Looking at Ben with a small, reassuring smile, you asked, "Is there anything else you needed to discuss?"
Finally reverting to the carefree Ben you knew and loved, he gave you a small smile in return and said, "Nah, I guess that's it. Just…be careful tomorrow, okay?"
Flashing an even bigger grin, you joked, "Oh, don't worry about me. After being cooped up here for so long, I'll be more than ready to take down any potential walkers I encounter."
You swore you heard Ben mumble, "That's not what I meant," under his breath, but decided to ignore it in favor of leaving the pantry.
Even your subconscious seemed a little in doubt about this situation. How long do you think you can keep this from everyone? Especially if Negan keeps saying things that put you in a compromising situation?
Yea, about that. Excited as you were to go out in the woods with Negan, you knew a talk was also needed. You had no idea why he had mentioned the outing in front of the entire kitchen, but you sure as hell planned on getting answers tomorrow.
0
Sighing, you glanced out the open bedroom door into the hall to look at the clock. 11:55pm. God damnit.
After leaving the kitchen, you had decided to do a load of laundry, especially since you needed your other pair of jeans to wear for work tomorrow. There was actually a group of women here whose duty was to wash and dry all the laundry in the compound, but you typically preferred to wash your own clothes. No one had done laundry for you since you were a pre-teen, and so the thought of allowing someone else to do it now as an adult seemed strange. Or maybe you were just too independent for your own damn good sometimes. Or in this case, maybe you wanted something to do to pass the time so you'd stop fixating on the outing tomorrow.
Well, if that was true, you had failed miserably. Seeing as how it was already the middle of the night and you didn't have a tired bone in your body, you didn't know how this was going to work in your favor tomorrow morning. Especially since you still had no idea how you were going to wake up at the right time.
You had quickly realized that without any type of alarm, or any clock in general beside the big one mounted in the hallway, getting up early enough to meet Negan at the fences was going to be a bit problematic. Usually you woke up on your own around 8 or 9am since you didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn like those with other compound duties. And of course, the commissary had already been closed up for the evening, which meant you couldn't go see if there were any alarms or watches or something to help wake you up on time.
There was the solution of asking Ben if he could wake you, since he had to be up super early himself to prepare breakfast. However, pride kept you from wanting to place any more responsibility on him. Not to mention you weren't in the mood to potentially hear another lecture from him about Negan. Heck, at this rate, your anxiety and excitement about tomorrow might cause you to not even fall sleep at all.
After folding all of the clean clothes, you had organized and reorganized the belongings in your crates before laying out your outfit for tomorrow. You had then tried to sit down and read the last few chapters of The Scarlet Letter, but were unable to concentrate since your mind kept drifting to the outing tomorrow. There were about a dozen questions floating around your head in regards to the outing, none of which you knew the answer to.
Would you find any berries? Would Negan bring any of his men with him, or would it just be the two of you? Would anyone else see you leave, and did you care if they did? And, perhaps most importantly: how were you supposed to act around him after everything that had happened last night? Would it be best to just act as if nothing had happened? Or maybe you should bring it up? Or maybe you should just grab a hold of him, kiss him, and tell him now that you're sober, you're still willing to ride him like a racing stallion all the way to the finish line.
Sometimes you really wondered if your subconscious was actually just your ovaries masquerading as something more intelligent.
Resigning yourself to the fact that sleep wasn't on the horizon, despite it being almost midnight, you paced back and forth in the tiny bedroom while trying to decide what to do next.
That was when you noticed Ricardo.
The mop was still propped up against the wall; you hadn't found the time to return it, and had been afraid someone would see you do so and report that you had stolen it. At this point, it would almost be best to just keep the damn thing, although you had no use for a mop. Not unless you could somehow use it as a weapon.
It was then that the metaphorical lightbulb flicked on in your brain.
Now, two hours later, at a little after two in the morning, your master plan was almost complete. Using your small pocket knife, Ricardo had been beheaded so that the mop end was now bare, and you had whittled the end until it was tapered into a long, sharp point. Ricardo the mop had now become Ricardo the spear.
Turning the long stick from side to side, you were quite impressed with your handy work. It wasn't perfect by any means, but you were confident that it could impale any needed walker skulls on the outing tomorrow. Carving at the wood for so long had also succeeded in tiring you out, your eyes half-lidded and mouth constantly spewing out yawns.
Deciding that perhaps you would lay down for just a quick nap, you closed and locked the bedroom door before curling up on the bed, Ricardo and the pocket knife lying in the rumpled sheets at your side. Your eyes closed of their own volition and your mind was finally able to slow down the gears that had cranked out so many questions earlier, allowing you to dip into unconsciousness.
0
The next thing you knew, there was a loud pounding noise that jolted you awake with a gasp. Sitting straight up in the bed, you felt disoriented as the pounding continued. What in the hell…
Finally possessing enough awake brain cells to determine that the pounding was someone at your door, you scooted off the bed and half stumbled, half ran to the door to see what the big emergency was.
You about toppled over from shock when you saw Negan standing on the other side of your door with the biggest scowl on his face. If he had been a cartoon character, his ears would be spewing steam right about now.
"What in the holy fucking hell are you fucking doing?!" he bellowed.
Oh sweet Christ, what time is it?!
Looking over his shoulder at the clock on the wall, you felt bile rise into your throat as the hands showcased that it was almost 20 minutes past 7am. You had overslept. Again. And Negan was not happy about it.
"I…shit, I…I overslept," you blubbered stupidly.
Glaring at you, he boomed, "How the motherfucking fuck could you fucking oversleep when I told you what time to be outside?"
Cringing inwardly, you saw a door or two open up further down the hall, curious compound members poking their heads out of their rooms to see what the hell was going on. Your first instinct was to shrink in the face of his anger. Thanks to your recently positive interactions with him, you had almost forgotten how god damn intimidating Negan could be when he was well and truly pissed. However, shrinking and acting submissive had never been your strong suit, especially when faced with a chauvinistic male.
Squaring your shoulders, all traces of sleepiness gone, you calmly, yet firmly stated, "I overslept because I don't own any alarms or clocks, and commissary was already closed, so I had no way of waking myself up this morning."
Glowering down at you menacingly, Negan replied, "Better not fucking happen again. You're fucking lucky I'm even still standing here waiting for you. It's not like I don't have fucking better things to do than skip around the god damn woods with a woman who is chronically late for fucking everything."
Biting your tongue to hold back any sarcastic responses, you knew that now was not the time to push him. Especially since he was indeed still standing there, as if willing to wait for you to get ready and go on the outing.
"Give me 2 minutes to get dressed and I'll be ready to go?" you asked hesitantly.
Rather than verbally respond, Negan gave a quick jerk of his head in the affirmative. You turned and shut the door quietly so that he was left in the hall, then became a virtual whirlwind of movement as you scurried to get dressed. You had changed into your blue gym shorts last night, so you whipped them off quickly before putting on clean underwear and the tight jeans with the tear in the thigh. Much as you liked your other pair, you couldn't risk getting them dirty out in the woods when you had just finished laundry last night. Since you had accidentally fallen asleep wearing a bra, you decided to just leave that and the peach t-shirt on, grabbing some deodorant from a crate and swiping under your arms to freshen up. A glance in the mirror showed that your bun was falling out, so you quickly took it down, ran your fingers through the strands, and whipped it up into a quicker, much messier version of your usual bun. Grabbing the knee-high black boots that you hadn't worn since your last outing over three weeks ago, you pulled the leather up over your legs and tucked your pocket knife securely down into one of the shafts for protection. You then picked Ricardo up off the bed before hurrying across the room and opening the door to find Negan was thankfully still on the other side.
"I'm ready," you announced.
Negan's eyes scanned over you quickly before stopping to rest on the stick in your hand. "What in the ever living fuck is that?"
Giving him a deadpan expression in response, you said, "This is Ricardo."
His brows lowered into a confused furrow as he assessed the beheaded mop-turned-spear before turning his gaze back to your face, then back to the mop-spear. You saw when the connection clicked in his brain, because his eyes darkened in obvious annoyance and a muscle started ticking rhythmically on the left side of his jaw. Part of you wanted to laugh at his reaction, but another part was semi-terrified that maybe you had crossed a line, and that this might be seen as a disrespectful gesture towards him and his "relationship" with Lucille. Not giving you a hint as to what he was thinking, Negan turned away and started down the hall, throwing Lucille over his shoulder before growling, "Let's fucking go. I'm not going to waste my whole fucking morning doing this shit."
Well fuck, so much for him being in a good mood. Guess it'll be super easy to act like the other evening never happened after all.
Sighing deeply, you hoisted Ricardo up over your own shoulder and marched down the hall after him.
You watched as his broad, leather-clad shoulders marched in front of you, Lucille swung up over his left one. Looking at her now, you thought that Ricardo appeared absolutely pathetic in comparison. Sure, Ricardo could do some damage and was a perfectly efficient weapon that didn't need any help in taking down a walker by himself. But next to the deadly beauty of Lucille he looked so simple, unadorned, and almost feeble. He was still capable on his own, but it sure did elevate your feelings of safety to know that Lucille was there to help you out, as well, if things should get out of hand in the woods, and that she could take charge of any dangerous situation with one hefty swing.
You couldn't help but think that both your weapons represented an even larger metaphor of Negan versus yourself. You also viewed yourself as independent and ready to single-handedly take down whatever challenge came your way. But next to the deadly beauty of Negan, you sometimes felt like maybe you weren't as tough as you thought, and that maybe it actually wouldn't be so bad to have someone else in your corner, as well. Someone who could be there as back-up when needed, and maybe even take charge once in a while to give you a break from the constant need to be perfectly in control. Someone who could help balance you out and allow you to balance them out, as well. Not to mention the fact that Negan was as striking and adorned as Lucille, and sometimes you felt as simple and basic as Ricardo.
And now you had taken a simple mop-spear and wire-wrapped baseball bat and turned them into some philosophical comparison to you and Negan's relationship. Wow, there might be a good chance that you were still delirious from lack of sleep.
Picking up the pace so that you were right behind him, you followed Negan through the halls and out the front door of the compound, excitement and uncertainty boiling in your stomach at the thought of what might occur in the next hour out there in the woods.