A/N Thank you so much for the response to my query at the end of the last chapter, I really appreciate the feedback, and also the reassurances that chapter reads may have dropped because of summer and end of the school year.

Lilsuccubus - I wasn't able to respond to your last review, but you're totally getting into Negan's mindset! Negan sure regrets his impulse decision to snatch Carrie, but he's also feeling attached/attracted to her because she and Rick may represent small parts of what he wants for himself. There will be more Negan and Carrie interactions, and more on that topic in later chapters too!


Wednesday, March 4

That morning when Carrie awoke, she made no effort to get herself out of bed. Already she had overslept, it was after eight o'clock now, and Daryl would have been hauled out of his cell over an hour ago. She had missed her opportunity to see him that morning, to bring him extra food and water, and she felt terrible for sleeping through it. The guilt is what compelled her to stay in bed a little longer, as did the lack of motivation to do anything other than lay there and wallow. She didn't have it in her to face another day, to hold her head up high and keep going…what was she even doing any of that for? Everything felt completely hopeless that morning.

Outside her room she could hear the wives stirring, the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing reminding her that she needed to pee, that she had bene holding it since she awoke. In the living area she heard Jade pleading with the coffee machine to hurry, while Amber was bemoaning the delay in their breakfast delivery. Hating all of them Carrie simply closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, though she knew her efforts would be for naut. The need to pee was so uncomfortable, as was the baby moving around insider her like she was their own personal play gym. Trying to make it stop she pressed her hand firmly against her belly, not holding back about it.

When there was a small knock at the door she ignored it, hoping that whoever it was would go away and leave her in peace. But it was wishful thinking, and after knocking a second time and receiving no answer the door knob slowly turned. Someone was creeping in, and making a point of the fact she had not invited them in she raised her head and looked at the intruder. It was Tanya, her long silk robe and perfectly smoothed hair a reminder of the fact that these wives rarely looked less than perfect, even first thing in the morning.

"Sorry to wake you," Tanya apologised as she crept inside. In her hands she held a bottle of orange Gatorade and a green pill container, both of which she set down onto the sideboard with her prenatal vitamins. "We have other flavours if you don't like the orange."

"Thanks," she said awkwardly, looking at the Gatorade and pills, the label of which she could not see. "What are they for?"

"They're from Negan. He asked me to bring them to you," she explained, straightening her robe. "He said you need electrolytes and magnesium to help prevent more muscle cramps. He also asked me to remind you to go for a walk this morning. You can even go outside."

"Sure," she muttered, laying back down into the pillows and hoping Tanya would leave.

She lingered awkwardly, having something else to say. "Is the orange flavour okay?"

"It's fine. Thanks Tanya."

"Well…why don't I ask Frankie to check your leg for you?" she offered, approaching the other side of the bed. "Negan said there was still a knot in your calf. She's a massage therapist, so I-"

"I'm okay, thanks."

Seeing that she was undeterred Carrie threw back her blankets and pushed herself up, lingering on the edge of the bed before pushing herself upright. It felt particularly strenuous today, and she practically had to catch her breath when she stood, though to her relief she could easily bear weight on her right leg. It was sore when she started to walk, the muscle feeling tight and strained with every step, but she was alright.

"Really, I'm fine," she repeated, slowly shuffling past her towards the door. "Thanks."

Hoping there was no one else in the bathroom she slipped across the hall and entered, annoyed to find that it was occupied. Bridgette was standing at one of the two sinks brushing her teeth, while Amber sat at one of the make up stations looking woefully into the mirror, scrutinising the shadows beneath her eyes. There was no avoiding them, the wives were always nice and accommodating to her, and so despite wanting to never see them again Carrie forced herself to return their pleasant greetings.

In the privacy of the toilet cubicle she lingered longer than necessary to relieve herself, simply sitting there with her hands on her belly. She felt different, for the pressure she had initially thought was just her poor squashed bladder had not eased up, and the hard lump of her baby's head was no longer in the usual place below her ribs. Not daring to get her hopes up she pressed around on her belly to try and find it, unable to feel anything in particular. Was it just tightly curled up, the head having finally moved out from beneath her diaphragm?

Slowly rising to her feet she continued exploring her belly, trying to figure out what was happening. Yesterday she had noticed the pressure below her ribs had eased, that it felt a little easier to catch her breath during a brisk walk, but that was about the only change. She was still large and uncomfortable, but this new pressure in her pelvis made her feel like the baby was going to fall out of her at any moment…she definitely felt different. Increasingly curious she reached under her belly and pressed, but the only thing she could feel was her pubic bone, not the baby.

When she came out from the cubicle she washed her hands at the sink, looking up at herself in the mirror with the same woe that Amber did. She looked terrible, dark shadows lingering under her eyes, her skin pale and dry. Nevertheless she did nothing about it, didn't brush her teeth or comb her hair, but simply washed her hands and then left. She wanted to turn side on and lift her shirt, to see if there was a noticeable change in her belly, but with Amber still there at the make up station she had to refrain.

"I sure hope you're feeling better," Amber said sweetly, dabbing foundation onto her nose and tilting her head to get better light. "We were all so worried last night."

Carrie held her tongue, for although Bambi drove her nuts she did seem to mean well. "Thanks Amber. I'm feeling better."

"We're all wearing pink today," she added, calling to her as she left. "You know, because it's Wednesday…Mean Girls. Do you have anything pink?"

"No, but thanks for the heads up," she forced herself to say, managing to make it sound polite.

As she crossed the hall she looked into the living room where all the wives were crowded around a cart laden with breakfast food, serving themselves cereal with fresh milk, fruit and croissants. It was tempting to join them, she was hungry after all, but instead she returned to her room without incident. She didn't have it in her today to face the world, especially when she saw that they were all indeed wearing pink. Her leg was tender, she was emotionally and physically spent, and she didn't have time to wear fucking pink. What happened last night had been terrifying, and even after it was all over and she returned to bed she had struggled to go back to sleep…all she wanted to do was close her eyes and not think about anything.

When she settled back into bed she arranged her pillows just as she needed them, again putting the biggest behind her back so that it felt like Rick might be there. In her fist she clutched the Sheriff onesie, hidden beneath the blankets lest anyone else barge in without invitation. She lay there in bed for another hour still trying to feel the baby's position, but as if it had finally gone to sleep it lay still inside her, only a few flutters of movement keeping her company.

It was late morning by now, and although she had made another appearance to go to the bathroom and grab a croissant she had returned to her room. There was plenty of things she could be occupying her time with today, she could be down in the laundry helping the workers or trying to find Daryl, but still she could not bring herself to face the world. Instead she did what she felt was exactly what she needed to do, staying curled up in bed with a book she had borrowed from the library. All she wanted to do was pass the time until night fell again, the time at which Daryl would be returned to his cell and she could go to see him. She would apologise for sleeping through the morning, would try to find him food that would slip under the door other than bread. Perhaps soup or some stew? She could put it into a zip lock bag and slip it under, and he could drink it straight from the bag. Twenty two made some pretty decent stews, and he usually gave her an extra serving or two…no one would be surprised if she outright asked for two servings, especially not after she ploughed through three pudding cups in one evening.

There came a polite knock at the door, and though she wasn't particularly engrossed in her book the interruption was most unwelcome. She could hear someone calling her name, and it was with great reluctance that she told them to come in.

"Yeah?"

It was Tanya again, opening the door just enough to peek inside at her. "Are you decent?"

"Not really."

"But you're dressed?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Ummm," she began apologetically, looking back out into the corridor. "Someone's here to-"

The bedroom door burst open without warning, and when Negan came barging in Carrie yelped in surprise. For a brief moment she was reminded of Rick and the way he would go charging into Carl's bedroom on the mornings that he bemoaned getting out of bed. He'd go in there shouting, drawing the curtains back and yanking the comforter from the bed. Though sometimes he was annoyed with Carl's laziness most often it was all a bit of fun…Negan barging into her room felt nothing like that. She dropped her book and scrambled to grab the bedsheets, for though she was dressed she felt the need to cover herself.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" he said loudly, stepping inside with a great flourish. In his left hand he carried Lucille, twirling her around in his hand as he looked at her with a wide smirk. "You're damn lucky I can say that, because it's almost fucking midday."

"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed in outrage, pushing herself up and shuffling to the opposite side of the bed. His presence always seemed to suck all the air out of a room, so assertive and powerful that he dominated every space he entered.

"No, the fucking question is what the hell are you doing?" he questioned, though his tone was light hearted and jovial. "It's ten thirty."

She gaped at him. "S-so?"

He looked at her in delight, but as he chuckled to himself his tone and body language took on a sinister feel similar to last night. "Am I one fry short of a Happy Meal?" he questioned, looking through the doorway to where there were wives surely listening in. "Is there a village out there looking for its idiot?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

Turning back to her now he was genuinely pissed, and he lowered Lucille to his side as he took a step closer to her bed. "Either the wheel is spinning but the hamster's dead, or did I tell you to drink that Gatorade, eat your supplements and take a damn walk?"

She looked at him in disbelief, outraged that he had come barging in telling her what to do, but she was very much aware of her place at the Sanctuary. If Negan wanted to tell her what to do, then he could do it. She was in no position to argue about anything.

"Okay," she said quietly, stopping short of apologising. "I'm getting up."

"Then let's fucking see it," he ordered. "And show me your leg, I wanna see that knot again."

She sat there awkwardly, still holding the blankets up to her chest. "Can you turn around? Please," she added.

Though he made a grand show of it, Negan turned around and faced the opposite corner, granting her a slither of privacy. Never turning her back on him, though she didn't know what she expected him to do, she shuffled out of bed and stuffed the onesie under her pillow, not wanting him to see it. As she got up she tried to straighten her clothes, tugging her tank top over her belly before reaching for her sweatshirt at the end of the bed. She had taken this from Alexandria's Pantry a month ago, and at three sizes too big it comfortably covered her whole belly.

"You can turn around now."

He did so with a flourish, pulling a face of dismay when he saw the shirt she was wearing. "I bet you weren't wearing that sack when good ol' Rick had his way with you nine months ago," he joked, looking at it in disappointment. "It does nothing for your figure."

"It's not supposed to," she muttered, self consciously trying to neaten her hair before reaching for her trainers on the chair by the bed.

She sat down and put herself through the arduous task of putting her shoes on, a task made all the more uncomfortable by the way Negan lingered there in her room, watching her every move. She could barely bring her foot up onto the opposite knee, and it was almost impossible to tie the laces, but she forced herself to persevere and succeed, not wanting to give Negan any ideas about helping. She got the feeling that were she anyone else he would have offered, a feeling supported by the way he kept watching in interest, a hint of concern having now returned to his demeanour. He was chaotic with the way he so quickly switched gears, one moment going to great lengths to help her, and then the next turning cold and angry. There was no way to keep up with him, and she didn't bother trying.

Not being let off the hook, she had no choice but to allow him to crouch down at her feet and put his hands on her leg. He pushed her leggings up to the knee and then gently began pressing his fingers into the muscle, the tenderness she felt making her wince a little. For a moment she thought back to what happened last night, to the excruciating pain made all the worse by her state of semi-delirious confusion. Had she not been half asleep it wouldn't have felt so terrifying.

"There's still a knot there," he said, getting back to his feet then picking up Lucille again. "Have Frankie massage it. And then…"

Getting the hint, she played along. "Drink the gatorade and go for a walk."

"You can even go outside. And take your pills too," he added. "You're probably lacking magnesium."

"Okay," she agreed.

"I've told Carson to expect you at his office stat," he ordered, swinging Lucille over his shoulder and then finally departing. "He's waiting for you as we speak."

When he was finally gone Carrie breathed an enormous sight of relief, grateful that the encounter was over. Not letting her guard down yet she stood there and waited for him to go, listening carefully as he reminded Frankie to massage her leg. But to her dismay he didn't immediately leave, her heart filled with dread when she saw his shadow growing closer on the corridor wall. He was coming back now, and she hated to think about what he might want from her. Was it Daryl? Was someone finally going to confront her about what she had been going for him?

Reappearing in her doorway Negan gave her a warm smile, leaning casually against the door frame. Using one finger he ushered her to come over, waiting patiently as she slowly and reluctantly approached. She was holding her breath, her body tensing up as he encouraged her closer and closer again. Unable to refuse she did exactly as he asked, hating the way he seemed to enjoy getting in her personal space.

"What?" she murmured, trying not to sound rude.

His breath was hot on her ear when he spoke. "Why the fucking fuck are they all wearing pink?"


"For someone who's not a doctor, Wilson sure knew what he was doing," Carson praised, turning the computer screen around so that Carrie could see it. "Baby is anterior, and head down."

As the news sank in Carrie closed her eyes, silently uttering a prayer of thanks. The relief was enormous, taking months of stress and worry from her shoulders. The baby's poor position had been the entire reason she had gone in the RV the day they left Alexandria, why she had risked it all. Even after everything that had happened to her group and to her, did this mean that risk had paid off? Would the baby have turned without intervention from not a doctor, Doctor Wilson?

"What you're feeling there above your pubic bone is the baby's shoulders. Seems to me that the head is fully engaged."

"Fully engaged," she murmured, sitting up and fixing her shirt. "That means it's nearly ready to be born, right?"

Carson nodded, tidying up and putting the ultrasound away. "It's good news."

Like with many other things in this world, her good news was tainted by a slither of dread. This was both good news and bad. "How long do you think I have left?"

"Oh, difficult to say," he began conversationally, and before he said it she knew what he was going to say next. "Particularly when you won't let me do an internal examination."

She grit her teeth at the mention of this, but she said nothing. Her refusal to allow him to do an internal examination seemed to be grating on his nerves, making her think he had taken it as a personal slight against his professionalism or capabilities. But she had said no, and she was standing by that decision. Maybe she would change her mind in a few days, but for now she did not want a stranger performing an invasive procedure like that, even if it was over and done with in two minutes.

Her appointment having finished she got down from the examination table and prepared to leave, collecting her new jacket and putting it on. While Frankie had been massaging her calf the other wives had presented her with a gift, a pale pink denim jacket, one that she couldn't refuse without looking like a Grade A Bitch. So she accepted the gift graciously, pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't so bad after all. It absolutely would not go around her belly, but was large enough that it would be forgiving in the months that followed the birth. Today she wore pink, just like Negan's wives.

"Wilson will be glad to see the adjustment worked," she said, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence that lapsed.

Carson nodded, writing some notes for the file he was keeping. "Mmmm, yes. I'll make sure he's informed."

She stopped at this, frowning. "I can tell him myself at three o'clock."

"Oh, I don't know," Carson said dismissively, sparing her a glance. "He's on a day trip to one of the outposts. Negan will likely have him stay there now that he's no longer needed here."

Disappointed crushed her too brief elation. Although they had only discussed his true allegiance to the Kingdom once, it had left her feeling like she and Daryl weren't completely alone here, that there was someone on their side who cared. Wilson wanted to help, he wanted to get them out of there…he was their only connection to the world outside these damn concrete walls.

"I was hoping I could see him again," she said tentatively. "The adjustments were helping."

There was silence, Carson in no rush to address her concerns. "I'll put in a good word with Negan, but I wouldn't hold your breath," he concluded, closing her file and finally turning to look at her properly. "You still don't want to know the baby's gender?

Yes, she screamed on the inside. "No. Thanks," she answered. Rick wanted it to be a surprise for them, and she knew that finding out before him would ruin it for her too.

"Well I've identified the gender. You'll be pleased to know that all reproductive organs are present and as expected."

"Thanks."

"That's all."

Without another word Carson turned away, bustling around with his paperwork and files. His dismissal of her duly noted, she took her scarf from the chair and slung it around her neck, exiting the office as quickly as she could. Though he had treated her with kindness and respect he was like Negan in the way he so quickly changed his demeanour, going from a polite and professional doctor to one who was cold and aloof.

"How did it all go?" Tanya asked cheerfully, having been waiting outside for her.

"It was fine," she said shortly, not wanting to get into it. But when she took a moment to straighten the collar of her jacket she reconsidered, remembering how kind Tanya and the wives were being. "The baby turned over. It's good."

Tanya's face lit up, and her joy seemed genuine. "That's great news. Must be a weight off your shoulders," she commented. "You even look like you're walking better."

Though she was still keeping her pace slow and gentle, Carrie had to agree. "I think Frankie's massage helped."

Moaning, Tanya briefly closed her eyes in exaltation. "Frankie does wonderful things with those hands. Speaking of wonderful things, I'm making slow roasted pork belly. Wanna come hang out in the kitchen?"

"Pork belly? What's the occasion?"

"I have a date with Negan tonight," she said nonchalantly. "He likes it when I cook."

Carrie faltered, fumbling over her words a little. "Oh. That's nice of you."

Tanya seemed to laugh under her breath, not offended by Carrie's discomfort. "Come on, hang out with me in the kitchen today. You can watch me bossing people around, and I'll let you taste test for me."

Considering the offer and knowing there were worse ways she could pass the time, Carrie hesitated a little. Today she had been given free roam of the Sanctuary, Negan himself telling her to take a walk anywhere she pleased, even outside. There were things she needed to do, information to seek out, and today was her best opportunity to do that.

"I think I might keep walking for a while longer," she said lightly. "If I sit down I'll never get up again. Can I come by a little later?"

"Sure," she nodded eagerly, glad she was coming. "I'll set aside some chocolate mousse for you to taste test."

Parting ways with Tanya she simply got on with her do, doing exactly as Negan had instructed. Taking her time she made her way through the Sanctuary, starting first at the marketplace. Everywhere along the way people were stopping to ask if she was okay, if she needed help getting down the stairs, but she politely declined every offer. Word must have gotten out about what happened last night, for though it wasn't unusual for everyone to look at her in curiosity, their interest seemed even greater today. Trying to ignore them she focused on herself and the baby, feeling surprisingly paranoid about what was going on down there between her legs. She kept wanting to stop and investigate, the pressure between her legs making her feel like the baby was already coming…it really was the strangest feeling.

Downstairs at the marketplace she leisurely browsed the many stalls, keeping her head down but her eyes raised. David, Norris and two others whose names she couldn't recall were cutting the lunch line at number Twenty Two's stall, and she briefly entertained the idea of cutting in front of them. She knew she would get away with it, that even going to line up would see her being ushered to the front of the line, ahead of even Negan's men. The first time it happened had been when David was next, and the strained expression on his face when he realised she was cutting was almost comical. But he hadn't been able to protest, not when there was the unspoken understanding that when it came to food and creature comforts she outranked everyone.

Resisting the urge to exercise a little power play, or as Negan would put it, swing her lady dick around, Carrie continued browsing. She was trying to be subtle about it, to determine which of Negan's soldiers were down there at the marketplace and who were not. Arat was prowling the upper platform while she ate, glowering down at them all as if they had personally offended her, whereas Dwight and Laura were nowhere to be seen. They could be anywhere, they might not even be at the Sanctuary, but her uncertainty discouraged her from the tentative notion of trying to access their rooms.

"You can take a picture. It'll last longer."

The snide comment brought her back down to the present, and when she saw the disdainful look number Sixteen was giving her she realised she had been standing there motionless. A quick glance over her shoulder reminded her that there were other people in line, some of them trying to peer past her.

"You buying, or gawking?"

"Sorry," she apologised, hastily turning her attention to the items for sale. Stationary, batteries, knitted scarves, hair product and toiletries, none of which she needed, and to her disgust a bed pan that may or may not have been used. Turning to the stationary she looked at number Sixteen from the corner of her eye, conscious that she hadn't quite forgiven her for buying back the daisy necklace that Laura had confiscated. Sixteen looked worn out and haggard, the world having taken its toll on her, as had life at the Sanctuary. Being one of the workers was more of an existence than a life.

"I'll take these," she decided, selecting a pocket notebook and pen. "The pen works?"

"Find out," Sixteen said impatiently, thrusting the ledger towards her.

It was always so poorly lit in this part of the marketplace, forcing her to crouch over the pages to properly see the lines she needed to complete. As she completed two entries, one for the pen and one for the notebook, she cringed when she completed her name as Alexandria. She hated that most people here didn't call her by her name, that they didn't care to know or remember. Then again, she wasn't the only one who had lost her name.

"So…what's your name?" she murmured softly, still completing her entry in the ledger.

Her question was first met with surprised silence. "Gloria."

"Nice to meet you, Gloria," she said, passing the ledger back so that she could inspect and approve the entry.

Gloria raised the ledger and brought it closer to see, her lined brow furrowed as she too tried to read in the poor light. "How's my daughter?" she enquired nonchalantly. "Amber."

Amber's mother lived here? "She's well. She gave me this jacket."

Gloria scrutinised her long and hard, her eyes darting up and down her attire, and then down to her belly. By now Carrie was used to it, for while her people back home in Alexandria were so used to seeing her they no longer stared, here at the Sanctuary people's eyes were practically magnetised to her belly. There was only one other pregnant woman here, a worker, but there seemed to be little interest in her.

"You'll need a teddy bear for your little…blessing," she said, choosing her words carefully. "May it never darken my doorstep."

As she spoke she turned back and reached into one of the baskets stacked high with knitting yarn, producing a hand knitted doll. The long arms and legs flailed about loosely, but the unassuming smile stitched onto its face was cute, as were the two brown patches over the eyes. She had a teddybear for her baby, one at home in the crib and one in the baby bag, but she took this thing and looked it over anyway.

"What is it?"

"You can call it a Gremblygunk," she suggested shortly, passing her the ledger again. "You can have it for…thirty points."

Carrie blinked, looking up in outrage. She scoffed, but nonetheless she took the ledger and began completing her details. "I'm not negotiating. You can take the cost up with Laura."

Gloria huffed in annoyance, snatching back the ledger. "They grow up so fast," she muttered under her breath, ushering Carrie aside. "Next."

Surprisingly pleased with her purchases, Carrie slipped the pen and notepad into her pocket and then looked at the so called Gremblygunk, feeling more and more endeared by it. She had been easy prey for the stall owners on her first day in the marketplace alone, and knowing she shopped with Negan's wallet they had gone in for the kill. They were all over her trying to sell things, guilting her into buying one little trinket and then another, completing her details in the ledger before eagerly giving it to her to sign. It hadn't taken long to draw Laura's attention who had quickly shut it down, telling her to buy only the things she wanted, which was difficult because there was barely a damn thing among the junk she wanted. Then again, given how frequently she had to pee the bedpan was taking on a new appeal.

Stopping by number Twenty Two she bought herself something to eat, her request for a second serving of stew in a ziplock bag going unquestioned. Either they assumed it was for her or they didn't care to know her business, she didn't mind either way. Not lingering in the marketplace any longer than necessary she ate the stew she had purchased and then left, making a stop at the nearest bathroom to relieve a now urgent need. With the Gremblygunk stuffed into her pocket and the bag of stew clenched between her teeth she peed in one of the downstairs restrooms, and when she carefully walked across the freshly mopped tiles to wash her hands she wondered if it was Daryl who had been in here cleaning, or another prisoner.

It was down to the basement cells that she went first, knowing she would find the door to his cell wide open. Since she had moved in with the wives his cell had been kept clean for him, and she already knew he had received at least one change of clothes. She had seen the sweatshirt with an orange A out drying in the sun, the sight of it a small reassurance. It was the bare minimum, but he at least had the dignity of a change of clothes and a cell that didn't stink of urine and vomit.

Going inside she set the bag of stew down into the far corner along with the three bags of water she had collected. Doing this was always a risk, for if Dwight came inside and turned his gaze left he would see what was hidden there, but so long as he simply sent Daryl in all would be well. Conscious of trying to keep it all hidden, she covered the food and water with the grey blankets she had scrounged up for him a few days ago. Neatly folded and carefully draped the blankets would go unnoticed by anyone simply casting their gaze through the open door. A quick sniff assured her they were both still clean enough for her satisfaction, which came to great relief. It had been tricky enough sneaking them down here in the first place let alone doing it a second time.

Keen to take advantage of Negan's instructions that she roam about freely she began exploring, for although she had familiarised herself with the Sanctuary she had largely stayed to the same areas. Today though she allowed herself to wander, turning left towards the unknown instead of right towards the familiar. Though it felt good to be exercising her leg and to feel her heart pumping every step she took was tinged with discomfort, for still she felt like she had something wedged between her legs. Forced to take it gently her progress around the Sanctuary was slow, and she dreaded the possibility that she might get lost down here and be stuck wandering around for hours.

Oh God…what if she couldn't find a bathroom?

Starting to regret her determination to wander, she tried to make the best of it. In the back of her mind was Wilson's instructions that she was to wait things out at the Sanctuary, that she not try to escape. Though she understood his logic, that any attempt on her part to escape would only escalate tensions between the Saviours and Alexandria, she couldn't completely write it off. To do nothing would mean abandoning Daryl here, and prolonging the risk that Negan wouldn't let her leave with enough time before the baby was born. Despite Wilson's assurances that it wouldn't happen she dreaded the slim possibility that the baby would be born here in his hell hole, that this would be where it took its first breath.

Wandering around her attention was captures by a door at the end of the corridor, one with a small square window that admitted some natural light into the otherwise dim basement level. Trying not to feel like she was creeping around where she shouldn't be, for after all Negan himself had told her to go for a walk, Carrie stood on the tips of her toes and peered through the square window to the world outside. There was nothing to see other than the insipid exterior of the wall opposite and the concrete ground, but it was sunny out there, and she could practically feel the warmth already. She found resistance when she twisted the door knob, but a swift shove of the door told her that it wasn't locked.

As she pushed the door open and stepped through she saw a small piece of cardboard fluttering to the ground, and it was then she realised why she couldn't turn the knob, that the latch had been wedged open to prevent it locking. She looked down at the piece of cardboard that had fallen to the ground, dreading the thought that she would have to pick it up lest she be locked out. It was so damn far down, and Judy wasn't there to pick things up that she couldn't reach. Bracing herself she slowly lowered herself to the ground, picked up the cardboard and then hauled herself back up, glad that there was no one to see her struggling against her own girth. Feeling immensely satisfied she placed the cardboard over the latch and allowed the door to close, confident she would be able to get back in.

Having paused a moment to catch her breath she finally looked around the drab courtyard, glad to feel the sun on her skin. The only times she had been outside was when the wives took her to their sundeck and when she was helping with the laundry, and though she had dragged her feet she couldn't exactly spend an hour hanging one load of laundry. Today though she was free to take her time, even if this place wasn't of much appeal. It was all concrete ground and steel panelled walls, but there on the opposite side was something that stood out, something so wildly out of place she couldn't possibly miss it.

Lined up alongside half a dozen others was Daryl's motorcycle, the one that Dwight had taken such pleasure in flaunting in front of him. Feeling nostalgic she remembered the day they had arrived at the prison on their supply run to Georgia, how happy Daryl was to find the motorcycle there waiting for him. She had ridden on it with him a few times, but motorcycles really were her thing. Perhaps she had never quite recovered from her first boyfriend Todd, who rode possibly the coolest dirt bike she had ever seen.

Today Carrie made her way over and touched the handlebars. It was so easy to picture Daryl on it, the motorcycle an extension of himself in the same way his crossbow was. But there wasn't even a moment to think about it, for all too quickly she heard the sound of someone approaching, saw their shadow growing on the wall in front of her.

"Hey! What you doing out here?"

Carrie's heart leapt into her throat as she whirled around, eyes falling on Fat Joey who seemed he outraged to see her out here. But before she could say anything in her own defence his body language softened, and then he gave her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he said apologetically, slowing to a stop a few yards away. "I didn't realise it was you."

"I'm allowed to be out here," she said quickly, guiltily taking a step away from the motorcycles. "Negan told me to take a walk."

His body language softening even more Joey laughed. "I know. I heard him ranting about you over the radio this morning. Said you were driving him nucking futs."

Realising he expected her to laugh she forced one out, feeling her heart beginning to ease itself out of her throat. Though Joey had never done anything to her she was conscious that although he wasn't one of Negan's top men, he wasn't a nobody either. She had seen him down in the basement corridors, had heard his voice during the days she was confined to a cell. He was complicit in the things that happened here, and despite his friendly smile he was not her friend.

"How's your leg?" he asked in concern. The initial tension of the encounter was gone now, and he was coming closer. "Is it still bothering you?"

"No, it's fine," she said cordially, and then before she knew it there was a hint of sweetness in her voice. "Thanks for asking, Joey."

It took a moment for her consciousness to catch up to what her mind had already figured out. Fat Joey was rather taken with her, she already suspected that from the shy why he had behaved in front of her that day in Negan's room, but until now she hadn't seen that shyness in any other light. Today it suddenly clicked that his fondness for her was an opportunity, a weakness she could exploit.

"What is it you're doing out here?" she enquired, feigning interest.

"I'm on watch."

"Really?" she questioned in surprise. "They put you on watch?"

His expression fell a fraction. "What do you mean?"

"I just…I dunno," she shrugged, shyly averting her eyes. She touched her hands to her belly, drawing his attention there for a moment, and then she continued. "I thought they'd have you doing more important things than keepin' watch. Seems like a waste."

Though she hadn't been at all specific with her compliment, Joey seemed to take it as one, his former boyish smile returning to his face. "Uhhh, I'm actually being punished," he admitted. "I'm on watch out here for a week. It's dead ass boring."

"Oh," she commiserated, still touching her hands to her belly. He kept looking down at what she was doing, and moment by moment she could see him letting his guard down. "Did you do something really bad?"

Joey shrugged for a moment, scratching the back of his head. "I'm in charge of rerouting the Rotters away from the Sanctuary. Something went wrong yesterday, so they blame me."

"You're in charge of that? Sounds like a pretty big deal."

Flourishing under her feigned interest and praise, Joey let his guard down almost completely. "Yeah, it's a tough gig. Do you ever do things like that? Rerouting the dead?"

Yes! She had rerouted herds of Walkers three times.

"No," she shook her head, giving a disbelieving laugh. "No way. I…I'd be too scared to do that." Silence fell for a moment, and she quickly sought to fill it in. "Do you have to stay here all day?"

"No, I have a route around the fences. Do you-"

She intentionally cut him off, speaking over him and then awkwardly trailing off with a shy laugh. "Sorry," she apologised. "You go."

His cheeks were red now, and he seemed to stammer over his words a little. "Do you want me to…show you around?"

At this she widened her eyes a little, and now it was she who took a step towards him. "I was actually going to ask if you wouldn't mind showing me around," she smiled sweetly, looking him in the eye and holding his gaze. "That's real sweet of you, Joey."

For a moment he simply looked at her in nervous delight, perhaps unable to believe she'd taken him up on his offer. "It's no big deal. Come on, I'll…I'll show you around." No sooner had they fallen into step alongside one another did Joey stop in his tracks, his face falling as he looked at the door she had just come through. "Wait. You didn't come through that door, did you?"

"Um…yes."

"Oh no," he said lowly, despair contorting his features. "No…no."

"What's wrong?"

"My keys!" he exclaimed as he rushed over. "Shit…"

"It's okay," she said hurriedly. "I put the cardboard back."

When he came closer and saw that the cardboard was indeed wedged between the latch and the frame he visibly relaxed, his shoulders slackening as he breathed a sigh of relief. But Carrie felt not a slither of relief, her mood darkening when she saw Rick's prized Colt in the back of Joey's waistband. She had forgotten all about it, and seeing it again now was like a kick in the teeth.

"What happened to your keys?"

"I've lost them," he admitted quietly, taking a moment to recover from his brief fright. "I have no idea where they are, and if Negan finds out, then…well, you know. He's always going on about these things."

"It's too bad you lost them," she commiserated, trying to recover from the momentary anger of seeing Rick's gun.

It seemed she had said the wrong thing, for all of a sudden Joey was looking at her mistrustfully. His body language was changing, and when he jutted his chin out and took a deep breath she could feel her earlier progress slipping from her fingers.

"Yeah, I lost my keys," he said roughly, his expression having become accusatory. "So if that's what you want from me you should just go back upstairs to all them other bitches."

Carrie blinked at him, not having to feign her astonishment. It hadn't yet occurred to her that Joey was trusted enough to carry a set of keys, but now that she knew he normally did she was even more determined to win his trust. It was only too easy for her to manipulate him, and she quickly matched his change by closing off her body language and lowering her gaze.

"That's not why I was talking to you," she said softly, making sure she sounded upset. "You seemed nice…that's all."

There was an awkward silence, but Carrie resisted the urge to look up at him and instead held her ground. She took a tentative step backward, pretending to nervously touch her hair while she waited…and then he did exactly what she wanted.

"I'm sorry," he apologised sincerely, his voice softening once again. "It's just…ladies like you don't usually talk to guys like me."

You mean slack jawed knuckle dragging morons? Yeah, we don't.

"I'm really sorry."

Finally she looked up, giving a small nod to acknowledge his apology, but then she pushed things a little further. "M-maybe I should just go," she said tentatively. "I didn't want to upset you."

"No, it's okay," he insisted, quickly apologising again. "Come on, I'll show you around. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

She pretended to hesitate, but only for a moment. "Well, that's all I wanted. You don't seem like the other guys here. You're different."

At this Joey smiled, and in that instant Carrie knew she had completely won him over.

They spent two hours walking the fences that surrounded the Sanctuary, and with Negan's orders that she be allowed outside combined with Joey's company no one had given her a second glance. Though she could only walk at a gentle pace that had made it around the exterior of the Sanctuary three times, and with each lap she began to better familiarise herself with it. She knew every road leading in, she knew every gate and every place from which someone would be on watch, both inside and outside the Sanctuary. Though Lana had already given them a great deal of information about the Sanctuary and how it worked, seeing it all in person was what Carrie needed to properly gauge what she was up against.

If she and Daryl were to escape she knew exactly how they would do it, exactly where they could walk straight through an unlocked gate to their freedom. This was it, this was their escape plan, and she would need Joey to be the one on watch to make it happen. He had another six days of his punishment to endure, a six day window in which that courtyard with the motorbikes would be without a guard…that might be their only opportunity.

But her time spent with Joey that day had reminded her of another obstacle, one that she hadn't quite managed to find a solution for…until now.

Her need to pee was desperate by now, she and Joey had only stopped once to allow her to slip back inside and find a restroom, but she forced herself to ignore this need for as long as possible. She had one opportunity to seize a solution, and she absolutely could not afford to miss it.

Carl was the one who inspired this idea, notorious for leaving junk in the pockets of his pants. Rick was far better at emptying his pockets at the end of the day, joking that Lori had spent sixteen years beating him into submission, but it hadn't yet rubbed off onto Carl. He was constantly leaving things in his pockets, and when it was her turn to put on a load of laundry she always braced herself for what she was going to find. Coins that were worthless, two Hershey's Kisses she had kept for herself, and once even a pebble shaped like a penis that now had pride of place on the shelf in Carl's bedroom.

Was Joey the same? Was he in the habit of leaving things in his pockets?

When she reached the laundry she slowed to a stop and paused, listening outside the door to see if anyone was in. It was approaching three o'clock in the afternoon, and by now the laundry workers had usually finished for the day. They were speedy and efficient, a well oiled machine that allowed them to get through a great deal of laundry and be finished by mid-afternoon. Clothes would be hung outside and brought in the next day, always taking a while to dry in the cooler weather, but for the most part they ought to be gone by now.

Hearing no sounds of life from inside Carrie went inside, confident that they wouldn't question her sudden arrival here. To her relief the enormous room was completely empty of people, and so she closed the door behind her and rushed straight to the drying courtyard outside. There she was met with line after line of clean laundry left to dry overnight, the items grouped together and their ownership marked by the white linen laundry bag that hung with them. Tomorrow when the workers came in they would take these clothes down, fold them and repack them into the linen bag that had also been laundered, ready to be returned to their owners.

The baby was kicking up a fuss now, but Carrie didn't have time to revel in the newfound changes, to appreciate that its feet were kicking her ribs now that it had turned over. Instead she was focused on the laundry set out to dry. Making her way down the various lines she craned her neck to try and identify the clothing or the names on the bags, but it was difficult to see given they were so high up from the ground, the only height at which they could catch a decent breeze. Finally sourcing clothing that looked big enough to belong to Joey she narrowed her eyes and tried to make out the name on the white linen bag.

Fat Joey.

High with excitement she rushed over to the wall of the courtyard, finding the lever which would lower each washing line to a height at which she could reach the clothing. Not caring that half of the laundry now dragged on the ground she went back to the clothing that belonging to Joey, her heart racing when she looked at his jeans and sent up a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. Desperate for some good news she reached into the right hand pocket, the denim still damp, and withdrew a set of keys.

A dozen or so keys on the circular key ring clinked together, but it was to the retractable belt clip that she paid attention to. Carved into the plastic was Fat Joey.


A/N I hope you enjoyed a deeper look into the Sanctuary life, and Carrie's efforts to manipulate Joey to her own advantage. Even though it would be safer for her to let Negan take her home at his discretion, if she gets the chance to save Daryl too she's going to take it!

Would love to know what you think of the chapter. Also, how do we all feel about the rumours of Andrew Lincoln's departure in Season 9A?