All the dead are gone. The snarling and choked growls have vanished from earshot. I look around, puzzled. A minute ago, this place was surrounded by those straggling things and now Charlie and I are completely alone. Charlie...he's lying under that tablecloth I got from the cabin that's no longer on fire.
I turn around to see him, but the cloth lies flat on the ground of the woods. I furrow my brows at this site, before my eyes scan around for any signs of him. The grave I dug looks deep, even from here. Wait, what? A hand is at the width of the grave.
"Charlie?" I cautiously approach, shovel in hand. "Charlie?" I get close enough to the edge to peer in. There he is. He looks up and smiles. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"Well," He exhales, out of breath, "I'm trying to ease on in, but I'm a little short-handed."
"Stop laughing," I snap immediately at his breathy chuckling, "It's not funny."
"It's a little funny," Charlie says, "Would you mind taking my hand?"
"You want me to pull you up?" I ask as I get down on my knees.
"No, I was hoping you'd help lower me down."
I'm crushed by his honest answer. "Have you lost your mind?"
"C'mon, Anna," He goads, "I'm dead and you dug this grave for me."
"I know, but..." I put my hand on his.
"Why dig a grave, if you don't intend to bury anything?"
I stare at him, mouth slightly open. "I..."
I don't know what to say. He's right; I did dig this grave. So, why am I so uneasy that he's trying to lie down and rest? Isn't that what I did this for?
"Let go," Charlie calmly tells me, "You can't emerge, if you don't."
"Emerge?" I question, confounded, "Charlie, I don't-"
"You have to move on from here," He cuts me off, "Save yourself and let go."
We look at each other, both differently intense. I open my mouth to speak, but a familiar whistle breezes into the air. I look up, panicked, but see nothing and nobody.
"Charlie..."
"Move on from here," He repeats, which causes me to look back to his strong eyes, "Move on."
...
I move out of my sleep like usual this morning. I'm officially seven and half months pregnant today. I mark the day with an "X" on the hand drawn calendar that Harlan made for me months ago. I wash up a little from the sink, before taking my vitamins and getting dressed.
It's starting to get a little nippier in the factory, so after I slide a t-shirt over my belly, I use one of his flannels as a cardigan and then my jacket. I pretend to ignore the pile of chess pieces that rest in the armchair, because it still bothers me that they aren't where they're supposed to be. I know it's silly and I hate that I'm being like this, but I can't handle it.
I leave the room and head for the upstairs apartment where Negan and the wives are probably about to sit down for breakfast. I don't really feel too hungry this morning, but I'll go anyway. There's more than likely going to be oatmeal on the table, so I might be able to get a couple bland spoonfuls in. If not, then this nagging voice in my head will guilt trip me for not feeding myself to feed my baby.
When I get to the top, the first thing I hear is the shower going from the stairwell. From the sound of things in the halls, Negan must be the one in the bathroom, because the girls are all talking. I enter the dining room and find them all, except Amber. That makes me a little uneasy. What if they're in the shower together?
"Morning."
I look up from my thoughts at Danica. "Good morning."
"How did you sleep?"
"Okay." I answer, sitting down at the place that's always set for me. I make myself a bowl of oatmeal and throw some dates on it, because I've been a little constipated the last three days. I've also been eating a spoonful of olive oil every morning, but so far nothing. "So...Where's Amber?"
"In the shower."
I nod my head. "And where's Negan?"
"In his room."
"Oh." I stir my breakfast, before I take a bite. The shower stops a few minutes later. "Is everything alright with Amber?"
"What do you mean?" Tonya asks.
"She just seems...I don't know, upset lately."
"She's just moody," She dismissively replies, "You know how she is."
The bathroom door opens and Amber pads into the dining room shortly after. She stops when she sees me, then turns around and leaves. I listen to the sound of her footsteps. When they don't stop where they should, I listen more closely as they tread a little further down the hall. She opens a door and shuts it.
I glance over my shoulder and then look at the wives in question. "Did she go into another bedroom?"
"She's probably borrowing my comb." Frankie smiles at me.
"Oh...okay." That seemed fishy. I go to ask something else, but Negan's double doors rumbling as one opens stop me.
"Good morning!" Negan practically sings.
"Good morning." We all say in varied unison.
He looks at me with a grin on his face. "And how are you this fine morning, mama bear?"
"I'm fine." I bashfully peer into my oatmeal. The girls don't really pay any mind to his half-sarcastic, endearing words to me, but it's still embarrassing.
"Jesus," He chuckles down at my curved belly, "You are fuckin' huge."
"Seven and a half months." I murmur.
Negan smiles wider. "Won't be long now, 'til the timer goes off on that bun."
"Yeah."
"Have you seen the doctor since your last visit?" Danica asks me.
"No, I haven't." I answer.
"Have you given any thoughts about where you want to have the baby?"
I furrow my brows, bewildered. "What?"
She shrugs. "Well, there's a bed in the infirmary now. You could have the baby there, if you wanted to."
"Oh..." I spy Negan from the corner of my eye, "Well, that priest is there. I don't want him to have to be moved, if he's not well enough."
"So, then you want to give birth at home...or, you know, in your bed?"
"I..." I shrug my shoulders, lightly shaking my head, "I haven't really thought about it."
I haven't thought about it. To be honest, I haven't really given labor and delivery any thought. I think I just figured that when it came time to have the baby, I would just go where I was told to by the doctor. I never thought about having options, let alone making that choice myself, because of Negan. Why not? I'm the one having the baby.
"I think...I think maybe I'd like to be in bed," I softly proclaim, "That bed in the infirmary is small and narrow and I think it'll more comfortable to be in a bed that's more spacious." I feel him look back up at me. "And besides, it's not like I need to be in the infirmary, right? I'm not going to be hooked up to anything, so Harlan can just bring what he needs to me." I glance over to Negan, whose fork has paused at my words. "Unless...you can think of a reason why I need to be in the infirmary."
Negan's smile forms, before he shrugs. "Nope, sounds good to me."
I nod lightly. I know we made a deal to work together, but I still half expected him to authoritatively tell me where I would be having the baby. I guess maybe he's trying to prove that he can work with me and is taking our agreement seriously.
"Have you thought about names?" Hazel inquires with a hopeful smile.
"No." I politely smile back, before putting my spoon down in my bowl. "Well, I should get going."
"Hazel," Frankie scolds under her breath, "See what you did?"
"No, it's fine, " I assure her, "Really, I just have to get to work."
"Well, look at you," Negan marvels, "Belly the size of a beach ball and you're still eager as a beaver to get to work. That's my girl."
I offer a small smile and start to leave, digging at my thumb.
...
The factory floor is ten times colder than the top. I bounce my knees in Reed's office to try to warm myself as I do this crossword puzzle. Reed's been in and out all day, not really happy with me at the moment. He didn't get blamed for me going out to the coops, but he saw Negan march me up the stairs and figured he found out.
The agreement that Negan and I shook on whirls around in my head while I sit here. It's not the ideal choice I wanted to make. I remember a few months ago when I was crying on Dwight's shoulder when I learned that there was a better chance of Negan being the father than I wanted to believe. I didn't want me, or my child to be tethered to him. But now, I have limited options. I could raise this baby alone, but that would mean cutting off the resources I'm getting from him, which would be more for my baby than myself. I hate to be put in this position, but I have to think about what's best and, unfortunately, Negan can and wants to provide for us.
"Hey," Reed pokes his head in, "There's a fight going on in the front quarters. Go break it up."
I scoff, looking at him from where my chair. "Why can't you do it?"
"Because you're in charge of all worker related matters, remember?"
"Yeah, but I'm pregnant," I argue, motioning down to my stomach, "I'm not gonna get between two people fighting."
"Well, it's not so much a fight as it is a beat down," Reed replies, "And you will go break it up, because that's your job and because I don't want to have to chain another worker to the fences."
I groan under my breath, "Alright," I wince a little as I get up, because my back's been aching again, "I'll go."
When I leave the office, I can immediately hear the commotion. I walk as fast as I can over towards the front of the factory, or at least to the beginning of where the partitions start. A Savior has a worker by the shirt, before he decks him across the face. The worker drops to the ground, which only makes it easier for the Savior to kick him.
"Hey!" I shout, pushing through the small crowd. "Hey! Stop!" I grab the Savior's arm to pull him back.
The guy rears back, as if to strike, but holds off when he gets a look at me. He gives me a glance over, huffing since he's out of breath. I look down at the worker, whose eye is already swelling.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Nothing that concerns you." The Savior replies with a scoff.
I glance over at him with my brow half raised. "Really? Because I'm in charge of all worker matters and this seems to be just that."
He knits his brows, a little taken back by my brazenness. He rubs his red knuckles. "Well...if you must know, I need this asswipe's boots and he refused to give 'em to me."
I stare at him incredulously. "So?"
"So, you earn what you take." He cockily smiles.
"Well," I look down at the worker's feet, "He's still got them on, which must mean you haven't taken them yet."
"No." He agrees.
"So, you haven't earned them."
"Not yet," The Savior informs me, "I wanted to teach this prick to have a little respect."
I sigh as he laughs, glancing back to the worker who's looking at me. "He's a mechanic."
"Good for him," The Savior scoffs, "But I don't give a flying fuck what he is, my boots have holes in 'em and I need a new pair."
I poke my tongue in my cheek, before returning my eyes to him. "Mechanics have to have shoes in the yard," I dryly remind him, "You can't take his boots, he needs them to work."
"Yeah, well so do I," He counters, "And my job is way more fuckin' important than his. He can get another pair."
"Or you can." I retort.
The Savior, whose name I can't remember, laughs in my face. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
I exhale, prepared for a whore comment in the near future. "Wouldn't it be easier to go to the commissary and look? You don't have to pay for shoes, he does."
"That's not my fucking problem!" He shouts at me. "Besides, I don't want to go look in the damn commissary, I want his boots."
I cross my arms and breath. "Well...you can't have them."
"Excuse me?" He growls in disbelief.
"You can't have his boots, he needs them to do his job," I adamantly clarify, "If you need new boots, go find some somewhere else."
The Saviors looks me over, licking his bottom lip. He nods. "Okay," A smirk tips up in the corner of his mouth, "Okay, whatever you say, honey." He turns his head to the side, locking eyes with a worker a few spaces down. "You," He points, "What size shoe do you wear?"
"Size twelve." The worker answers.
"And what do you for points?"
"I'm a janitor."
"Perfecto," He smiles, before snapping his fingers, "Take 'em off."
"Wait, no, I-"
"Ah, ah, ah!," The Savior interrupts putting his hand up to quiet me, "You said elsewhere."
"I didn't mean-"
"I earn what I take," He bluntly says, "That's my right, those are the rules. So, why don't you back the fuck off?"
I scratch the skin around my thumb as I stare back at him. Anger rises up in me and I can feel the hotness cloud my cheeks.
"What?" The Saviors chuckles, raising his brows. "You think because you're the boss' favorite gash, you can just change how shit works around here?" There it is. "Did daddy give you permission?"
By now, people are starting to stare. My eyes flicker downward and then over to the worker. "Sorry," I say to him, "But those are the rules."
The worker nods his head and crouches down to take off his shoes. The Savior arrogantly strolls over and takes the boots from the worker once they're off him.
"Thank you," He snickers, then looks back to me one more time, "We do a lot for these people."
I stare at him, eyes fuming.
He scoffs, amused. "Taking off their boots is the least they can do." He stalks off with the boots in his hand, whistling that eerie whistle.
Being unable to stop him infuriates me. I can't even look back at the barefoot worker, because I'm so ashamed. I walk away from the quarters and towards the stairs.
"Nan!" Reed calls out.
I sigh, annoyed. "What?"
"I need you to take these to Negan." He hands me the book that Arat uses to take stock of all the arms.
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now," He snaps, "He wanted a report on loss and inventory sent up to the meeting room."
I nod my head, inwardly groaning. "Yeah, okay."
On my way there, I quickly scan through the logs. It looks like we've taken a huge loss since the fighting broke out. Not just what we've used, but what we've lost when we were trapped inside the factory and Rick and his people attacked and raided the outposts. This is not going to go over well with Negan, which is probably why Reed sent me instead.
I knock on the door after I hear his voice talking in the room. He pauses. "Yeah?"
"I have the report on the armory." I sheepishly answer.
"Come in."
I open the door, finding Gary, Keller, and three other Saviors standing in the room. You can tell they aren't here to discuss business with Negan, because they aren't sitting, or more specifically weren't asked to sit down with Negan. They must be here for some orders.
"Afternoon." Negan smiles with his feet up on the table.
I walk over to him, extending the logs. "Here."
"Thank you, sweetheart." Negan accepts the list in one hand and puts his other on the small of my back. I stifle a cringe. He does it on purpose. I start to leave, when his hand quickly, but softly catches my wrist. "Where you runnin' off to?"
"To my room," I let him know, "To eat."
His smile picks up, before he lets me go without a word. I exit the room, closing it behind me. "Go take down the blockades." He orders the men left in the room. He says something else, but by then I'm too far away.
I make it to my room and sit down on my bed, letting my head rest in my hands. Keep calm. I shut my eyes for a minute; breathing in and out in what I think will be therapeutic. In...and out. In...and out. Next, I count to five in my head. One-two-three-four-five.
I stand up. Okay, I'm okay. I fish out a can of soup from my crate of canned goods and let it heat up on the camp stove. I pace calmly while I wait for my soup, thinking about what happened in the quarters. I hate that I couldn't stop that asshole from stealing those boots. I want so badly to make this right, but how? This isn't like the mustard incident, not all shoes look the same. I sit down on my trunk and sigh, irritable.
I wish that wasn't a rule. You earn what you take? Bullshit. There's no pride, or strength in stealing from the weak. The Saviors take, because everyone was afraid of them up until now. If anyone tried to fight back, they'd be pulverized, or killed. Sadly, the people in here are still afraid of them, unlike those out there.
It's getting a little warm for me, considering how angry I'm getting, so I shrug off my jacket. I walk over to the closet for a hanger to put it up with. As I hang up my jacket, my eyes catch sight of a pair of boots on the floor of the small closet. I forgot Dwight had those. They're just a pair of plain old boots than I can't recall when I saw him where them last. The ones he left with were the pair I had always seen. These look a little beaten up.
I grab them up and inspect them. There are some small holes, but none that I can see on the soles, or that would be a hindrance to whomever wore them. I bite the corner of my lip. These are technically Dwight's, but...it's not like he need them. Is it silly to want to hold onto them, strictly because they use to belong to him? Let go. I check inside the tongue. What's the size?
...
Dinner is surprisingly pleasant so far, but I have my doubts that it will remain that way, as usual. Negan is fairly quiet, but not tense, or irritable. The wives chat like normal; careful not to say anything that might invite a response from Negan. None of them have ever really enjoyed conversing with him. Whenever he randomly chimes in, you just see them tighten up. It's like walking on ice; instantly but calmly halting at the sound of even the smallest of cracks.
I can't say that I blame them though. It's not fun being Negan's non-violent source of amusement. You're either being screwed, mocked, or snapped at. Come to think of it, I don't think Negan really has actual conversations with his people. It always seems to be him talking at them, not to them. The Saviors, from what I've seen, don't nervously fumble with their words, except for Fat Joey when he was still alive, but they also don't talk candidly with Negan like people do.
"Are you okay, Nan?" Hazel asks.
I nod my head. "Yeah, I'm fine. My back's just aching a little."
"Do you want an aspirin?"
"No, thank you," I smile through the discomfort, "I already took one before I came up here."
"It doesn't work?"
"It does, but only a little."
"I know some massages that could help, if you want," Frankie offers, "I mean, it might be hard, because you can't lie on your stomach, but it's worth a shot, right?"
"I don't know." I poke around my plate at the small potatoes.
A radio faintly crackles in Negan's room across the hall. He groans, getting up and going to his room to fetch the radio. We all watch him exit, either for no reason, or out of curiosity.
"You could take a warm bath," Hazel suggests, "I've got some bath salts for aching muscles you could use."
I shift my upper half again. "Oh, I don't have a tub."
"Use the one up here," She offers, pointing, "We could send for hot water."
"Um...o-okay." I relent, trying to be polite. I know they worry that I think they're only being nice to me because Negan put them up to it.
After dinner, Hazel radios for hot water to be brought up to the top floor for a bath. I impatiently wait in the drawing room, attempting to conceal myself by the piano from the workers. I don't want them to know it's me they're having to do such a grueling chore for. I have got to stop eating up here. Every time is either plagued with a million questions, Negan jading someone, or me staying longer than I attended.
Speaking of Negan, he didn't come back to the table after that radio call. He raised his voice to whoever was talking to him; demanding that they "get it done." He then closed his door to be alone, I suspect. No one in the dining room wondered what was going on. Well, except me, but only inwardly.
When the bath is ready, I go into the bathroom where a towel and washcloth are neatly left out for me, along with a bar of soap. I step into the tub; wanting to melt at how nice the water feels. Stream curls up, making my face dewily perspire. I ease down into the water, already knowing what benefits this basil and mint scented water will yield to my aching back.
I'll soak a while, then wash up. I'm tempted to close my eyes as I lean my head back, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep and be lectured again about how dangerous it is. The pain starts to alleviate quickly. If only I had some tea and a book. But, just sitting back and relaxing is good, too.
My thoughts can't help but shift to Dwight. I know he's dead and I have to let go and accept that, but remembering how he heated up some water for me so that I could bathe keeps strolling in my brain. He was such a kind person. I know it didn't always seem that way, but D was good. He was so attentive and just did for me without my asking. He was steadfast, and honest, and caring. All the bad he did seems so minute to me now. Maybe it's because he's gone, or maybe it's because I-
Someone knocks on the door, snapping me out of focus. I stare at the door. "Yes?"
"I gotta drain the hose."
I roll my eyes. "It's open."
Negan enters a second later. I cover my breasts with the washcloth and bring my legs up as much as I can. My belly covers most of the downstairs under the water.
He grins as he walks by. "Relaxed yet?" As he passes the tub, he dips his fingers in the surface and flickers the water at me.
I use one hand to wipe my face. "Just hurry up."
Negan chuckles. "How's your back?"
"Better," I tell him, rolling my eyes again when I hear his stream hit the toilet bowl, "The water's helping."
"Good, good," He answers behind me, "Feel free to use the tub anytime. I don't mind."
"I'm sure you don't." I mutter under my breath, knowing that he's smiled at his own words. "How come you didn't come back to dinner?"
"Got some unpleasant news," Negan relays, "I know you think I'm an asshole at the dinner table, so I sat it out in my room."
"Oh," I nod my head, "What was the news?"
"Gavin wasn't at his outpost," He flushes the toilet, "Neither were the guys I sent with him."
"Maybe they were at the Kingdom," I observe him go to the sink to wash his hands, "Aren't they suppose to maintain them, or something?"
"Yeah, but he should've got word back by now."
"Well, maybe the woods are too thick, or they're out of bounds."
"That could be." He vaguely agrees, drying his hands on a towel.
"You sent people out?"
"Yeah, to take down the blockades and to see where the hell he's at," Negan turns to look at me and I cover up more, which humors him, "No need to be bashful, baby; I've already seen every inch of you."
"Get out, please."
"You need the water to be warmed up some more?"
"No." I shake my head. My limbs move through the cool water. I sigh, "I'm actually getting out." I carefully use both sides of the tub to rise out of the tub.
Negan picks up the towel and unfolds it, spreading it out in his arms. "Here."
"That's okay," I put my hand out for the towel, "I've got it."
His eyes travel down, but his face doesn't convey that a dirty comment is coming my way. His brows furrow slightly. I don't know if he's staring at my breasts, my belly, or just my nakedness in general, but it's astounding to me. He doesn't appear to be lecherously peeping like he typically would; he's just eyeing my body.
I feel my cheeks start to burn. "Can I have the towel please?"
Negan blinks up to my eyes. "Yeah."
I take one side and try to wrap it around me, but Negan's not letting go of the other end. He brings around, so I just grab it the rest of the way when I can. Next, he puts his hand out.
"Thanks." I murmur, letting him help me out of the tub. I stand on the bathmat, glancing up at him in question when he doesn't move. "Are you...going to leave, so I can get dressed?"
Negan looks back to me. "Yeah, sure. Unless of course you want me to stay."
"No, thank you."
He snickers, and then sighs. "Alright, I'm going."
I dry myself off with the towel, patting the water droplets off my skin.
"Oh, Nan?" Negan calls as he's opening the door.
"Yeah?"
"I want to see you after you're dressed."
I pause the patting, knitting my brows. "What?"
"Come see me when you aren't naked," Negan tells me, "Or hell, if you wanna show up tits out, I wouldn't mind a damn bit."
I scowl at his chuckling. "Just give me a minute and I'll be out."
The door closes and I finish getting dry. I knew I wouldn't walk away unscathed. I knew he'd do or say something. I know he's gonna ask me to meet him in his room. Once I put on my undergarments and clothes, I hoof it out of the bathroom. I get a view of the drawing room, where the girls are sitting and Negan's pouring a drink into a glass.
I tread quietly into the room and over to the bar. Negan catches sight of me as he takes a drink from his bourbon. I come up to the bar, leaning my arm on the top. "So?"
He smiles while his lips are still on the glass. He sets it down with a gravelly "ah!" at the strength of the alcohol. "So?"
"You wanted to see me."
"I did," He grins and then his eyes signal towards the door along with a slight nudge of his head, "In private."
Of course. I nod and head for his bedroom. I don't know what this is about, but it's Negan, so I suspect it won't be anything pleasant. I open his door and go inside, waiting for him to shortly follow.
"Have a seat."
I go to sit in my usual spot, but Lucille's resting there. As I move to go around to the other chair, Negan tosses his leather jacket down on it. He smiles at me as he extends his bourbon for me to hold. Annoyed, I give him a glance, before I take the glass and walk over to the sofa and sit.
After setting the glass on the end table, I place my hands in my lap, just under my tummy, which gives off just the right amount of warm. I watch him go over to the dresser, tugging off one of his many white shirts over his head. He rifles through the second drawer for a clean shirt, not saying anything, which perturbs me.
As strange as it sounds, quiet Negan is worse to me than Negan who never shuts up. I'm the kind of person who has never minded a little quietude between two people, in fact, I think it can be comfortable, but that's not the case with Negan. He's quiet when he chooses to be quiet and you can't always peg why he's chosen to be. It always feels so isolating, like he's putting an arm's length of space out, so he can think, or assess what to do, or say.
I know it seems like I'm overthinking him taking a minute to change his shirt without feeling the need to speak, but I know Negan well enough to know that he's thinking and that's what concerns me. What is he thinking?
Negan looks my way, almost as if he's heard my thoughts, so I turn my head forward. "So, how was your day?"
How was my day? "It was okay." I answer without looking over at him.
"You didn't go outside, did ya?" He chuckles as he sits himself down in the corner of the sofa. "Take a little stroll around the garden?"
"No, I didn't." I reply, even though I know he's teasing.
"Good girl." Negan reclines back, putting his feet up on the table.
"Is that all you wanted to see me for?"
"Nope." He takes another sip from his glass.
I glance his way. "What did you want to see me for?"
Negan lets out an exhale, perfectly relaxed. "Nothing, really. I just wanted you to sit here a spell with me."
I puzzle my brows. "W-what?"
"Yeah," He huskily says, "All the fuckin' shit I've been dealing with lately, I could use a little company to decompress."
"You have wives for that. One of which is a masseuse."
He peers over at me, smiling as he snickers. "Maybe later tonight, but not right now. Right now, I just want to sit here with my baby mama. Take a load off."
I look him over, before sighing through my nose and pushing myself up.
Negan takes the wrist closest to him. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Let go, please."
"Where are you going?"
"Back down to my room," I blandly relay, "I don't want to sit here with you, if all you're doing is entertaining yourself."
"Trust me, darlin', this isn't my idea of entertaining myself," He chuckles, "Though the thought does tickle me hard."
I take my arm from him. "I'm leaving."
"Actually, you're not, so sit the fuck down." He calmly, yet curtly tells me.
"Why do you do this?" I sigh, remaining seated.
"Do what?"
"Toy with me?" I look at him earnestly. "If you wanted me to sit here with you, then you should have just said so. Instead, you just play games." I fight back tears. "I don't like it; I'm not a play thing."
Negan is quiet for a minute, staring, studying. He then sighs and looks off. "Fucking hell, you're a prude."
"No, I'm a person and I wouldn't be so wound up, if you didn't do things to wind me up."
His head turns back my way and he sets his eyes on me, again searching my face. And again, letting out a breath. "It's not like I mean to fuck with you. I mean, I do, because it's funnier than shit, but I do that with everyone, Nan, not just you."
"Oh, well, now I don't feel so singled out." I acridly murmur.
"Look..." His finger taps his glass, before he exhales, "It's easy, alright?"
"Easier than it is to just be nice?"
"I'm a little rusty on how to 'be nice'," Negan cackles under his breath, "It's not something that comes natural. You gotta stroke it a little."
"Well, start stroking, then."
Negan laughs and it causes me to laugh, too. "Damn, honey, you are funny when you're not being a pain in my ass."
I smile lightly. "I don't mean to be so uptight, either, you know? It's just...I like when you're straightforward. Like when you told me that you wanted me to eat with you, so you knew I was getting enough food for the baby, instead of acting like I was just some guest you honored with an invitation." Negan looks at me with a serious, curious expression. I gaze into his eyes. "Or when you told me that you would look out for us, no matter what. I like when you're honest with me and not spinning me around."
"Spinning you around?" He puts his bourbon up to his lips. "What like a sit and spin sort of thing?"
A small laugh exits my mouth, which makes him chuckle. "No, I mean, when you mess with me, until I'm upset, instead of just telling me what you want."
Negan's humored smile fades. He looks down at his glass. "Huh."
I survey his features, before sighing aloud and looking towards the doors at nothing. "Lillian said the library needs more color."
"Is that right?" He replies, vaguely paying attention.
"Yeah, she said the walls are 'optical corrosion of the mind'," I faintly chuckle, "I think she'd like a brighter coat of paint."
"I'll get right fuckin' on that."
I adjust in my seat a little bit. I've been sitting so erect that my back's a little achy, so I decided to scoot myself back until my back touches the rest. "Is Amber angry with me?"
"Who the fuck cares?" Negan finally glances back at me.
"Well, I'd like to you know what I did."
"You didn't do anything," He rolls his eyes, "She's just a fucking whiner."
I put my hand on the top of my belly. "Are you still nudging them to be nice to me?"
"No," He scoffs, humored, "Don't fuckin' need to, they like you better than they like me."
"I...can't argue with that."
Negan throatily chuckles. "Yeah, especially Dani. She likes you a lot, or at least she did that one night."
I purse my lips. "Shut up."
"I was there, baby," Negan sits up, back to himself, "You definitely made me feel inadequate. Satisfying one of my wives better than I could."
I look down at my hand. "Well, I...always felt more confident with women."
"I should say so," He snickers, "Is it because you're also a woman?"
"I don't know," I shrug my shoulders, "Maybe. It's like...Mrs. Dalloway."
"Who?"
"It's a book," My eyes return to his, "In it, Mrs. Dalloway reflects on how she felt with Sally Seton when she was younger. And when she looks back on that moment by the urn and then on her relationships with Peter and Richard, her husband, she feels like those were nothing compared to that small time she had with Sally. Like what they had was purer and deeper than what she could ever have with a man."
Negan looks me over. "Is that how you feel?"
I shrug again. "I thought I felt that way with Sylvie, but I think it was just a first love sort of thing. She was the first person who said she loved me, aside from my family. She knew how to make me feel like I was special and like I mattered to her."
"She's the one you cheated on your boyfriend with?"
I sigh, peering down at the rectangular space between us. "Yeah. It took me a long time to realize that just because someone said that they love you, doesn't mean you have to give them your love back. Not if they don't deserve it."
Negan's eyes blink down. "Well, be glad you learned that fuckin' lesson."
"Even though it meant that I hurt someone I cared about?"
"Yeah, well, sometimes that's the only way people learn."
I stare at him. "What about you?"
He looks over at me, morose. I continue my gaze, but softly, trustingly. Negan takes a swig from his bourbon and exhales, licking his bottom lip acridly.
Suddenly, I glance down at my stomach. "I think the baby's moving again."
Negan moves his attention to my curved belly. "Yeah?"
I feel around. "Yeah."
He reaches over and puts his hand on my bump. "Here?"
"Here." I move him down where mine just was.
Negan smiles a second later. "Ho-ly shit."
I smile. "It's really active."
"Yeah," He chuckles, "Does it hurt?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Jesus, I don't see how it doesn't. The kid's practically curb stomping your insides."
The baby settles down after a few minutes. "It stopped." I let him know, so he won't linger his hand like last time, which I'll admit was partially my fault.
"Fuck," Negan marvels, "If that ain't the coolest fuckin' thing ever."
"It's pretty cool." I mildly agree.
"And you," He scratches his beard, still astounded, "You are awesome."
I look at him, bewildered. "Why am I awesome?"
"Because you..." He puts his hand up towards my belly, looking for the words, "You got a fuckin' kid growing inside you. The fuckin' future."
"That's...a little dramatic, don't you think?" I nervously chuckle.
"No," He shakes his head, "It's not, and it's the truth." Negan's eyes meet mine intensely. "You're keeping this world going. It's goddamn beautiful. Hell, you're beautiful. You look like a pumpkin, but you're beautiful."
"I...I-"
"You're saving the world, Nan."
I stare at him, unsure of what to say. Does he really hold that much importance in this child? My child? I'm speechless and I don't know if it's because I think he's drunk, or if I...I don't know.
"You...Do you really believe that?"
"You're goddamn right I do," He retorts, serious as a heart attack, "You're a fucking lifegiver. Not a lot of people can say that these days."
"What about you? The Saviors?"
"I'm a lifesaver," He clarifies, "And when need be, a lifetaker, but I sure as shit ain't on your level, baby."
I just keep staring at him, stunned. When I have to breathe out, a very minuscule of a smile cracks onto my face.
Negan's eyes glances over my face, before he moves himself in his seat. A little closer, then he slowly leans forward. Right as our lips just about touch, I turn my head forward and the smile has faded, disappointed. He sits there, still and possibly confused.
"Um, I..." I get up from the sofa, "I should go."
Negan sighs heavily, biting his lower lip, before nodding. "Yeah." He barely says, jilted.
I move around him and am out of his room in nothing flat, without looking like I darted. I take a few deep breaths as I make my way to the stairs, shaking what was just about to happen out of my head. What the hell was that?
...
Laura's in Reed's office again when I return around four in the afternoon. She does the usual; stops talking to Reed, gives me a look over, and then tells Reed she has to go, before she walks out.
"See ya." She says to him, moving past me without a word.
There's another small crate of food and other things on Reed's desk. No doubt it's for Marisol, I'm sure. I think it's becoming rather clear who her anonymous patron is. This isn't the first time both Laura and a generous donation have been in this office simultaneously.
"Do you want me to take the crate to Worker 51?"
"If you don't mind, please." He responds, reaching out for my clipboard.
"Okay." I gingerly set what I brought on top.
"What are those?" Reed cocks an eyebrow.
"Boots." I simply reply, handing him the clipboard.
"From the commissary?"
"No, from my room," I explain, "They're an old pair of Dwight's I found in the closet."
"I see," He's still perplexed, "And you think I might want them?"
"No, I'm giving them to a worker."
Reed's eyes follow me as I exit the office. I go through the quarters with more pairs of eyes on me. I stop off at quarter 51 to give Marisol her stuff.
"Thanks." She sets it down beside her bed.
"You're welcome." I tuck the boots under my arm and start to walk off.
"Hey, wait a minute!"
I glance over my shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Do you know who's sending me all this?"
"Um, no," I answer her, "The only person who does is Reed and he said they wish to remain anonymous."
"It... It isn't Simon, is it?"
"No."
"Is it Negan?" She inquires with an uneasy look on her face. "He comped my meals already."
"No," I shake my head, "It's not Negan, either. Look, I don't know who they are."
"Oh," She nods, "Okay."
I carry on down a ways towards the front; I catch a quick glimpse of Laura by the stairs. As soon as I look her way, her eyes flicker off. Worker 10, whose shoes were taken by the Savior earlier, sits on his mattress, picking through his belongings. He looks up when I stride up to his quarter. I set them down in front of him and promptly walk away before he can reject the boots, or say anything unnecessarily hurtful.
The front doors to the factory abruptly burst open, gaining the attention everyone on the floor. Gary, Keller, and those two other Saviors that Negan had sent out have returned. All four men are carrying a large crate on each side. It must be heavy, because of the lofty way they set it down.
"Hang on," Gary tells the other men as he wipes sweat from his brow, "I'm gonna go get a nail gun for the big guy."
Hope you all enjoy! Wow, what an episode last Sunday! Just Wow!
CLTex: Glad you liked Nan and Negan's little compromise! Hopefully, it lasts and they can keep common ground...until Dwight comes back that is.
StTudnoBright: I like Nan standing up to Negan, too. She's not always so brazen, but she's getting there. I mean, she'll have to survive Negan lol. I'm happy you enjoyed their cute little moment at the end. Negan is excited, as I'm sure you may have picked dup on in this last chapter ;)
Muffin35: Welcome aboard! It makes me so happy that you found and love my fic! It also makes me glad that I made you like Dwight a little more and that you find my character relatable! Thank you so much for the praise :)
Note: A while back, when asked to provide some idea of what Nan might look like, I said something like Imogen Poots. On further thought, while Imogen is gorgeous, I think Nan (in my mind) resembles Gillian Jacobs. She's got an older look to her that I really just have always pictured Nan as looking like to some effects. Imogen just looks a tad young to me...
Being said, if you have already got Nan's image down in your head, then by all means, disregard this note. I can't force you to visualize a character anyway you don't want you; it's you imagination. Nan's aesthetic is still the same though: copper brown hair, nose ring, twenty-seven years old, and makeupless (since it's not accessible in the ZA, or at least no one can be bothered with it).
