You stared at the note, almost hoping that it was a mirage. That perhaps you had hit your head even harder than anyone thought, and now were hallucinating this entire thing. But, sadly, the paper between your fingers felt all too real, as did the rush of anxiety and embarrassment that came with the realization that Negan had been privy to something so personal. That not only had he seen your written response to his note…but he now knew you had kept the note this entire time.

You also realized that this meant he had been looking through your things, and that your privacy had been violated, which brought about a spark of annoyance. Why the hell had he been looking in your bedside table? Had he done so in the past, or was this the first time?

Looking up at him calmly, you quietly answered his question with one of your own. "How did you get this?"

As if you were playing a verbal game of volleyball, Negan served you back another question, instead of an answer. "How about you tell me why the fuck you wrote it, first?"

Rather than nicely hit the ball back to him, you decided to spike it in his face, by replying, "How about you tell me why I currently don't have on any pants?"

You saw him blink silently, as if taken off guard by the change in topic. However, he quickly righted himself, a slow grin lifting the corners of his mouth. Jesus, you had almost forgotten how god damn beautiful he was when he smiled.

"Pants didn't seem like a priority, given the situation," he drawled.

You felt a blush hit your cheeks at his words. In any other environment, you might've been able to control your reaction, but not here. Not while sitting in his bed, only a thin sheet between your bare legs and his gaze. You looked down at the hand holding the note, which had reflexively clenched closed at his words. Relaxing and opening your fingers, the note still lay on your palm, but now it was crinkled at the edges. It looked exactly how you currently felt: not damaged or broken, but just…wrinkled. Like you were waiting for a hand to come along and gently smooth out the rough edges of your emotional crinkles. To straighten and ease the creases that had been left behind after Negan closed his fist around you with his words a week ago. However, like the note, you weren't torn or irreparable; no, you were just a bit weathered and worn with the harsh wisdom of how he really felt about you.

Looking up at Negan, you met his gaze solidly, letting him see that you weren't going to submit or cower before him. Even if you felt at an extreme disadvantage with your lack of clothing and current environment, that wasn't going to keep you from standing your ground, so to speak. Eyes holding his, you nonchalantly flicked the note down onto the sheets between the two of you, almost as if you were throwing down a gauntlet.

Instead of accepting the challenge and responding in anger, like you had been expecting, Negan gave a deep sigh and walked away from the foot of the bed. He stopped at the small table and two chairs to your left, sitting down in the one furthest away, so that he was facing you. He then slowly removed each of his gloves and laid them on top of one another on the smooth surface of the table.

The motion gave you a sense of déjà vu, and you recalled the last time you had watched him take off his gloves at that table: the day you had played chess with him. That event, now, seemed so long ago, and suddenly, you longed to go back to it. To relive the day when you and Negan had bantered playfully, joked with another…actually enjoyed one another's company. But…had it been genuine? Or, as he had told you in the gardens, had he just been manipulating you for his own entertainment?

You wondered if his thoughts had traveled a similar route just now, because he stared down at the flat surface thoughtfully, before lifting his tawny gaze to once again meet your own. You stared back at him, unflinchingly, and remained silent.

After a long moment, he finally broke the silence. "So, is this the fucking game we're going to play, doll?"

You knew immediately that he had been thinking of the chess match, and that his words were a metaphor for that day…that game.

Finding that it was easier to slip back into the verbal games and witty banter then you had at first expected, you met his cryptic metaphor with one of your own. "Depends on if the king in this game will be capturable. Or is the queen expected to just run around until she's exhausted, with no possible victory in sight?"

He gave a slight huff at your words, as if he found them amusing, but his gaze was still showcasing some flickering embers of anger, and you knew that the wrong words could bring those embers to full flame.

"How about you make the first move by answering my question about why you wrote that fucking note?" he challenged.

Shrugging, you replied, "I wrote it because I wanted to."

Pinning you with his gaze, he warned, "Doll…"

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," you blurted.

Surprised, and yet also annoyed, he snarled, "Why the fuck is me calling you doll a problem now?"

"Since the moment you made it clear that that's all I am to you," you shot back. This wasn't the direction you had wanted the conversation to go, but you couldn't help it. The fact that he was speaking to you so calmly, as if nothing had happened a week ago, was quickly grating your nerves. Before, that nickname had been endearing, and had made you feel unique, in a way, since you were the only one he bestowed with it. However, it now made you feel cheap, and like a fool for ever thinking you had been special to him.

His brows had furrowed at your response, and his words were drawled out slowly, as he asked, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Had he really forgotten, already? You felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in your chest, but pushed it back down. You knew that laughter, such as that, could quickly escalate into tears, and you needed to keep ahold of your annoyance and anger, instead.

"It means that, while I might just be a puppet for your amusement, I'd rather not be publicly reminded of what I am with every other sentence you direct at me."

You were mighty proud of yourself for speaking your mind without flinching or cowering. The last time you had dared to challenge him, it had ended in some harsh emotional wounds. However, maybe it was the lingering effects of the concussion, or the leftover rush of adrenaline from escaping the compound, but you found that your fiery determination was back in a way that it hadn't been this past week. At this point, he couldn't do anything to you that hadn't already been done. You knew what it felt like to be skewered by his words, and you knew what it was like to live outside the compound on your own, since you had done so before arriving here a few months ago. And now, after your daring escape, it was likely that you would also know what it was like to lose your position in the kitchen, if he didn't kick you out of the compound entirely. So, really, what did you have to lose at this point, if you spoke your mind?

Rather than address your comment, Negan huffed, "You're changing the fucking topic."

"I'm really not," you calmly replied.

"How does something I said a fucking week ago have anything to do with you sneaking out?" he asked. While you felt slightly more at ease with him sitting down, you still were on edge with this conversation. And the last thing you wanted to do was discuss how much his words had affected you and your decision to go out into the woods.

Therefore, you maneuvered away from the puppet comment by bringing up something else he had said. "Well, you also threatened to kick me out of the compound, if I didn't follow your rules. Maybe I just figured I'd beat you to the punch and leave on my own."

His eyes darkened and lips pursed as he rumbled, "Are you're trying to say it's my fault that you fucking snuck out and almost got yourself killed?"

You stared back at him, silently arching one brow in a silent version of 'if the shoe fits.'

"So why leave the note?" he pressed. His tone was neutral, but his fingers tapping against the surface of the table gave away his internal frustration.

"I didn't leave it. It was supposed to be private, and you weren't supposed to go snooping through my things," you said calmly, also trying not to fidget and showcase your own frustration.

"If it was fucking private, then maybe you should've hidden it better. Then I wouldn't have had to deal with Ben raising the alarm that you'd disappeared from the fucking compound."

"Ben?!" you blurted in shock.

At this, Negan stood up from the chair and walked back to the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on you. "Yes, Ben. It was your precious little Benny boy who came pounding on my door, interrupting a perfectly good meal, to inform me of your disappearance."

"How…"

"Apparently, he went to check on you after dinner, since you hadn't been feeling well. After he couldn't find you in your room, or the medic station, or fucking anywhere else, he alerted Simon to your disappearance. Since it hadn't even been a few hours since you'd last been seen, Simon didn't see the need to raise any fucking alarm bells, so he told Ben to cool his fucking jets. Instead, the little shit bypassed the system and came straight to me, throwing that fucking note in my face and proclaiming that you had left. When I went and questioned my Saviors, Dwight came forward and said that he had let you out of the fucking front gate hours earlier, since you had said those were my fucking orders," he growled the last part, obviously pissed about your manipulation. You had a moment of anxiety for Dwight, but you had too much going on with Negan right now to expend extra energy worrying about someone else.

So, Ben had been the one to find the note, not Negan. The words written on it must've really alarmed Ben, for him to confront Negan in that way. You wondered if he knew that you had been found, or if he was still off panicking somewhere. He had definitely been worried about you during dinner prep, so it made sense that he would come check on you. When he had seen you missing, and then not been able to find you in any of the communal areas, he had probably gone snooping around for some sort of clue as to where you had gone. You couldn't fault him for that, since you probably would've done the same thing, if the roles had been switched. And, in all honesty, him finding the note and alerting Negan had actually been a good thing, seeing as how you could still be laying out there fighting off a concussion, or stumbling around confused in the dark, easy prey for any nearby walkers.

Also, when thinking back over the words you had written, they did sound pretty cryptic, like a goodbye note, almost. You wondered if Negan thought you had left for good, and weren't coming back…but why would he care, either way?

"I'm surprised you took Ben's concerns seriously," you flippantly replied. You weren't even going to address the part about how you had manipulated Dwight to escape. Your head was still aching, and you knew that going down that path would make Negan even more pissed, and therefore make your headache worse.

"I almost didn't," he growled. "I wanted to strangle the little shit, but he said that you hadn't seemed yourself lately. That you weren't eating or talking, and probably wouldn't make it out there on your fucking own for very long." Nodding down at you, Negan scoffed, "Seeing the state we found you in, he wasn't fucking wrong."

Even though you had been just thinking something similar, it still raised your hackles for him to verbally acknowledge just how vulnerable you had been out in the woods. Annoyed, you challenged, "I don't understand why you even came looking for me. It's not like you had to."

"No shit, I didn't have to," he huffed arrogantly.

"So, why did you? Why not just let me go, instead? Or at the very least, wait until morning?" You were honestly curious as to his reasoning, since it didn't make any logical sense why he had put a group of his men in potential danger, just to find one individual who had voluntarily left.

When he didn't look like he was going to respond, you further goaded him by adding, "I wouldn't think risking a group of your men for one puppet would be worth the effort."

Negan gave what could only be classified as a snarl, and started pacing back and forth in front of the bed. "You're a real pain in my fucking ass, ya know that?"

"Me?!" you scoffed."You're the one who made a big deal out of this whole thing, rather than just letting me go, or waiting until morning."

Negan stroked a hand over his beard, his nonverbals giving off his frustration in waves. "And what if I had let you go? You could be dead right now."

You knew he was right, but you weren't about to concede. Pride wouldn't let you. Instead, you gave a nonchalant shrug and stated, "I still don't see how it would've mattered to you. I'd think having me out of the way would be a relief; one less person you'd have to worry about."

At this, Negan stopped pacing, leaned down, and put his palms on the mattress. His tawny gaze seared into your own, as he growled, "Is that really how you think I saw the situation? As a fucking relief?"

You saw the flames in his gaze, but for some reason, he didn't seem angry…or at least, not at you. In fact, he was kind of freaking you out. It wasn't like him to lose control enough to pace back and forth, and the expression on his face right now was one you hadn't seen before, and you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was. Your head started to ache more than before, probably from your brain trying to make sense of the situation. You reached a hand up to massage your temple; Negan's gaze followed the motion, watching closely, as if trying to analyze how much pain you were in.

Frustrated with both the pain and his vague riddles, you blurted out what you had been wondering, ever since waking up in this room. "I don't know, Negan. I'm honestly confused as hell right now. First, you tell me that I don't mean anything to you, and that I should just leave if I don't like how things are done around here. Then I do leave, and you send out a search team to look for me. Then I wake up in your god damn bed, which makes absolutely zero sense, seeing as how supposedly no one except you is allowed to be here. You talk about how 'there are rules' and no one is to break them, but then I see you breaking them all the time!"

Standing up straight again, Negan ran his tan, long-fingered hand slowly down over his beard, staring at you in contemplation. "It's not like I fucking expected to break those rules," he growled in admission.

Feeling as if you were finally starting to get somewhere, you prodded, "Then, why did you?"

He took a deep breath, as if to compose himself, before softly saying, "Because, doll…I couldn't stand the fucking thought of you out there, alone. I couldn't stop thinking that you might've left for good…or that you could be lying dead out there in the fucking woods…"

You were able to ignore his 'doll' usage, because your brain was currently frozen with shock, while your subconscious was gaping silently from the other side of the room, both of them trying to process what his words meant. Could it be…had he been…no, there was no way…

He started pacing across the floor again, slower this time. He was grumbling under his breath, and the words were so low that it seemed as if he were talking more to himself than to you. "I thought I had stopped knowing what that fucking felt like."

He then shook his head, as if realizing that he was showcasing more honesty than he had intended, and was trying to physically shake off the emotions.

You felt like a hand was clenching around your chest, your throat tight as you softly asked, "What what felt like?"

He stopped and looked at you in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten you were even there. There was a long, quiet moment where he held your gaze, and you could see that he was contemplating his response. Your eyes silently pled with him to give you an honest answer, to throw you a bone of some sort.

"Being scared."

The quietly spoken words hit you like a kick to the solar plexus. Your brain was unsure how to process this, while your subconscious was slowly creeping closer towards the bed, eyes wide with a renewed spark of hope.

He had been scared?! You had never in your wildest dreams expected to hear those words come out of his mouth, especially not in regards to you, and especially not after what he had said in the gardens. Negan might showcase a lot of emotions, but fear was never one of them. And, if that were true, if he had actually been afraid for your safety, to the point of dropping everything to bring his men out in the dark woods looking for you…well, then that had to mean that he cared, at least a little. Right?

Negan's expression was mostly blank, but his eyes…you now realized that they were showcasing residual worry, and possibly even confusion. It made you feel a bit better to know that he most likely felt out of his depth in this situation, as well. That both of you were getting in over your head, together.

Wanting to reassure him in some way, to return his honesty with some of your own, you soothed, "I would've come back…I planned to just stay the night out there, and return in the morning. I needed time away, to think, after…after that night."

You could tell that Negan knew what you were referring to just by the expression on his face. The flickering flames in his eyes softened to a warm glow as he said the words you had secretly hoped to hear, but never thought you actually would.

"You're not a puppet, doll. Not even fucking close."

You knew it wasn't like Negan to take back his previous words, to admit that he had said something he didn't mean, especially since he valued honesty. The fact that he was willing to take back those words was more proof than any other type of apology of how much he regretted even saying them in the first place. His face appeared calm and nonchalant, but the fingers of his right hand had come up to fiddle with the zipper hanging from his open jacket, belying his appearance of indifference.

You decided that if he could push aside his pride long enough to admit that his harsh words from the other night weren't true, then you could own up and do the same. Nodding, you tried to keep the unexpected sting of tears at bay as you replied, "We both said some stupid things that night. I didn't mean what I said…about Ken. I was just…taken off guard, by the situation with Harry."

There was more you wanted to say, but you were also exhausted and overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally. And, judging from Negan's mud-streaked appearance and the dark circles under his eyes, you were pretty sure that he was also currently exhausted. You also were afraid that you might start crying, if you said anything more. Negan might not have spoken many words, or laid out a detailed apology, but there was so much meaning behind what he had said, and you needed some time to process it all. It felt like there were still so many questions between the two of you, and yet, at the same time, this was also one of your most enlightening conversations to date. Who knew what that said about you and Negan's communication abilities, but hey, getting the Big Bad Wolf to admit he had actually been scared, and for you, was a huge confession.

As if he also realized what a milestone this was, and wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, Negan straightened his posture and curtly said, "It's late, and you need to rest. So how about we call it a fucking night?"

His words firmly reminded you of where you were currently located. Eyes widened and glanced frantically at the bed. Sure, it was huge, and there was plenty of space, but…

As if reading your internal thoughts, Negan gave a chuckle and said, "Relax, doll. I'll take the couch. You fucking snore, anyways."

Grateful not only for his words, but also for the way his demeanor appeared to relax, as he slipped back into playful Negan mode, you felt a grin pull at the edges of your mouth.

"I do not!" you scoffed, crossing your arms indignantly.

"So, does that mean you do want me to join you?" he taunted, taking a step towards the bed.

You gripped the sheets tightly, trying to ignore the simmer of heat that started in your lower stomach at his words. How in the hell could you go from hating his guts a few hours ago, to being confused as hell when you first woke up, to now once again falling back into that exhilarating, and yet, frustrating place where you both wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time?

"I take it back! I do snore, after all. Horribly loud, at that," you quipped.

Giving a slow smirk that put his dimples on full display, Negan sneered, "That's what I fucking thought."

Turning, he walked over to the armoire across from the bed. You watched as he pulled open a drawer and retrieved a white t-shirt and another pair of jeans, these ones a dark forest green and free of any mud streaks. He got halfway to the door before your mouth blurted out his name without checking with your brain first.

"Negan…"

He paused, turning to regard you curiously. You had wanted to say something profound, something to further solidify that the two of you were 'okay', but you also didn't want to push your luck. Especially since you had gotten out of this interrogation in much better emotional shape than you had originally expected, when he first threw that note on the bed. So, instead, you went with the safer route, and brought up something else that had been on your mind.

"In all seriousness, did you…I mean…" you gestured at your sheet-covered legs, lacking the appropriate words that wouldn't lead to your face flushing like a tomato.

Negan understood what you meant, because his lips curled upwards into a Cheshire cat grin. "I did. Simon grabbed a clean shirt from your room, since your other one was fucking covered in walker residue. I have no fucking clue how you get those jeans on, because they were a real bitch to peel off. And you were dead to the fucking world, which made it even more difficult. Hell, you didn't even wake up when I scrubbed your arms clean." He almost seemed in awe that you had stayed unconscious through such events, and you were honestly a little awed at yourself, as well. You must've knocked your head pretty good, to sleep through Negan stripping off your clothes.

So much for not blushing, you thought, face immediately flushing at the mental image of Negan changing and bathing you, while you were completely unaware of him doing so. Thank god he hadn't gone so far as to change your bra or underwear.

On cue with your thoughts, he glanced downwards at your sheet-covered body, and drawled, "I gotta say, I usually prefer my women to be in more lacy bits. But those blue panties? You sure do make 'em look fuckin' cute, doll."

With that, he gave you a quick wink and swaggered towards the door. Flustered, you gaped your mouth open and shut multiple times, trying to come up with a satisfying retort.

"Yea, well…maybe you should worry about bathing yourself, now!"

He turned at the open doorway, and taunted, "Oh no, doll. I don't mind being a little dirty from time to time."

Frowning at his teasing, you did the most immature thing possible: you stuck your tongue out at him.

You could hear Negan laughing even after he had firmly shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in his bed…while he slept only one room away.

Still propped up against the headboard, you sat there in the dim light of the chandelier and stared at the fireplace on the other side of the room. What the actual fuck just happened? Perhaps you were still a bit loopy from the concussion, which would explain your current confusion. Shouldn't you still be mad at him, hate him, be cursing him to hell and back, after the emotional turmoil he put you through over the past week? Instead, your chest felt warm and fuzzy, and you were too tired and sore to muster up the energy needed to challenge such feelings. You could deal with it more in the morning, when you had rested and felt more yourself.

Scooching back down, so that your head lay on the decadently fluffy pillow, you stared at the closed door, trying not to imagine him getting changed and settling down on the leather couch just a few feet away. The pillow and bed sheets had a faintly masculine smell to them, which was strangely calming, and you closed your eyes with a sigh. Your brain was typing numbers into a calculator, trying to compute how the hell so much had changed between you and Negan in the last 24 hours. Meanwhile, your subconscious had snuggled under the covers beside you with a sigh, a dreamy smile on its face as it drifted off to sleep, content at last.