The extra blankets from the closet have a faint dusty smell from being folded away for so long without use. I let one fall out of order and whip it out to try and chase some of the staleness away while Dwight's locking up around the house. Birdie takes the other end and makes a game out of helping me air out the blanket. Every time the blanket floats up like a parachute, she releases her end and runs under as it softly flows back down, laughing and then standing underneath like a ghost.

She's spent a great deal of the day at my side. She's definitely curious of the stranger in the house, but she sticks close to me. My pregnant belly makes for a convenient hiding spot to watch carefully from behind.

Her choice to be shy is probably because the three adults aren't talking with one another or even in the same room. Whatever room Negan is in, the three of us are in the opposite. There's nothing to cuff him to. I've never disliked being in my kitchen before.

Dwight comes into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Where's-"

"He's on the couch." Dwight immediately replies, peeling off his jacket.

I nod my head, picking up the refolded blanket.

"What's that?"

"A blanket," I answer, "I was going to give it to him."

Dwight looks at me as if wondering why I'd think Negan would deserve the courtesy of a blanket.

"I'll be right back."

"I'll take it." He reaches his hand out for it.

"I can do it."

"I'd prefer you didn't."

I knit my brows. "Why?"

"Because I...just prefer you didn't."

"Oh…" I say, "Well, I'd like to."

He finds this puzzling. "Why would you like to?"

I shrug. "I just would."

Dwight stares for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around it.

"I'll be right back."

"Me, too." Birdie starts to follow.

"No, you stay with Daddy," I halt her, "He's gonna run you a bath before bed."

"I don't wanna bath."

"Well, too bad," I open the door, sliding out, "I'll be right back."

Closing the door and being alone in the hallway feels strange. Looking down the hallway feels even stranger. The walls seem like they're closing in. I feel vulnerable.

But I walk down the hall anyway, unable to turn and go back inside my bedroom with the blanket still in hand. The lights are all off except for what I think is the lamp in the living room. When I reach the end of the hall, I find Negan pulling off his boots on the couch readying himself for bed.

He turns his head after a moment of me standing there. He smiles. "Well, hello."

I feel the blanket on top of my hand. "I brought you a blanket."

"How courteous."

I tread into the room. "Here."

"Thanks." Negan takes the blanket.

I nod and turn to walk off.

"Thank you."

"Mhm."

"I mean for letting me stay here."

I pause.

"I know it's because of you that I'm not dead or roasting alive in that garage"

I don't look over at him. "It's just until we can take you back."

"I know, but I still appreciate it," He says, "And you."

I touch my baby bump and walk back to the bedroom in silence.

When I get inside, I close the door and lock it.

"I wanna wash my hair."

"Mom will wash your hair tomorrow."

Their voices echo off the wall in the bathroom. I go in.

"Mommy, I wanna wash my hair." Birdie says when she sees me.

"We'll wash it tomorrow when it's warmer."

Dwight stands up. "I'll let you take over."

He steps past me to the sink where he brushes his teeth.

I smile and sit beside the bathtub, putting my hands in the water for the washcloth.

"Mommy, your friend's sleeping over?"

I wring out the cloth. "Um, yeah."

"For a long time?"

"No, just until we can give him a ride home."

"Oh," She takes the cloth and washes her face, "He lives very far away?"

"He lives in Alexandria," I tell her, "Where Hal, Laura, and Daryl live."

"Oh." Birdie runs the cloth behind her ears.

I smile. "You about ready to get out?"

"Yeah."

I drape a towel around her and lift her out of the tub. "Did you grab her some pajamas?" I ask Dwight at the sink.

He spits into the sink. "I'll go grab her some now." He sticks his toothbrush back in the holder and leaves the bathroom.

"And her toothbrush!" I call out.

"And her toothbrush."

I set Birdie on the space between the two sinks. "Daddy will be right back."

"'Kay."

I take a few minutes to brush my teeth as we wait. He comes back promptly with Birdie's pajamas, but has to go back to get her toothbrush after forgetting it. When Birdie's finally ready for bed, I lay down with her and read her a bedtime story until she falls asleep.

I try to make myself comfortable for bed without waking Birdie up. I watch as Dwight moves around the room. He looks agitated as he goes back and forth from bathroom to the dresser and from the dresser to his side of the bed to back to the dresser. His routine is all jumbled and thrown off.

"You took your boots off in the bathroom."

Dwight looks over in his paused state, trying to figure out why his boots weren't by his bedside. "Oh."

He goes into the bathroom and returns, placing his boots by the bed where he always keeps them. He sits down on the bed with a deep sigh. He runs his hands through his hair as he breathes, letting them slide down to his mouth as he thinks in silence.

I stare at the back of him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He shortly answers, exhaling as he stands up to get out of his pants.

"You left your pajama bottoms on the top of the dresser."

Dwight curses under his breath before walking over to the dresser to get the flannel bottoms he sleeps in. He undresses there and leaves his clothes on the floor by the dresser, probably too frustrated to pick them up.

When he comes back over, he slides under the covers and lays on his back with another sigh through his nose.

"Are you sure-"

"I said I'm fine."

I look at him. "Are you gonna turn the light off?"

He stares up at the light over our heads, swearing again, and then pulling himself up to go turn off the light by the door.

I can't help but chuckle a little.

"What's so funny?"

"You."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you keep forgetting to do stuff and you're getting so pissed."

"So would you if you kept having to get up and go back and forth."

"Yeah, but I'd probably just ask you do it for me."

"Yeah, well…" He smiles a little, "I don't have a wife that's that nice, so I have to do shit myself."

"Well, I am already in bed and it takes me a minute to get up, but if you ask me after I have the baby, I'll be glad to."

"Sure, if you're not dead tired."

I smile. "I'd get up for you."

He stares up towards the ceiling and begins to chuckle. "I forgot to turn on the overhead fan."

I snicker with him. "Leave it."

"If I do, you're gonna wake me up complaining it's too hot."

"I promise I won't."

Dwight gets up anyway and goes over to turn the fan on. He lays down again and exhales, this time peacefully.

"Will you sleep tonight?"

"Yeah," He says unconvincingly, "Will you?"

I listen to the crickets chirp outside. "...Yeah."

"Good." He answers after a pause.

…

The birds start waking up a little before dawn. Once they begin to sing in the new day, I can't lay here any longer with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep. I open my eyes to my wife and daughter both sound asleep. I ease myself out of bed to avoid waking them.

Normally, I'd shower, brush my teeth, etc. but I'm too tired to bother at the moment. I didn't sleep at all last night. Every sound alerted me. Besides, how could I when he's on the other side of the door?

I get dressed and put my gun to it's holster, before opening the door quietly and shutting it. I lock the door from the outside and go down the hall. It's quiet, which makes me cautious. But when I come into the living room, I find him sleeping with one leg off the couch and the blanket Nan brought him draped over him. I think about it for a few moments, before I head into the kitchen to brew coffee and caffeine-free tea.

He starts to stir awake when the coffee maker turns on. I'd go and get the eggs from the coop, but I'm not gonna leave this house with him inside it and the girls still asleep. Birdie's been wanting waffles anyway.

"Mornin'."

I look over to acknowledge him, but I don't reply.

He groans. "I always hated sleeping on the couch," He says, sitting up, "Of course, I can't say I never deserved it."

Again, I don't respond.

"Can I have a cup of that?"

I glance over as I'm pouring a cup of coffee for myself. I fight the urge to tell him no, before I get another cup out of the cupboard.

"I take it black," He comes into the kitchen for the coffee, "Used to like a little cream and sugar but my prison days cured me of that." He takes the cup from off the counter with that annoying smirk of his. "But I guess I'm still in my prison days, aren't I?"

"Yeah." I answer plainly.

He eyes me up, towering over me by a few inches. He smiles when our eyes meet. I just stare back at him.

Negan then walks over to the kitchen table, pulls out a chair, and sits down, stretching his legs out under the table. He takes a sip of his coffee. "What is this?" Columbian?"

"I don't know." I check my watch for the time.

"What's the hot water for?" He nods towards the kettle on the stove.

"What do you think?" I open up the cupboard where Nan's got the tea and coffee. She likes this decaf breakfast tea that has a bold taste. I usually let some mint from her herb garden steep in there to help her stomach.

"Thought Nan was a coffee girl."

I look over at him as I grab a cup.

"Coffee in the morning, tea in the evening," He continues with the cup to his lips, "Wine if she had to spend the night with me. At least in the beginning."

I feel the teacup in my hand. I harden my grip around it. What the hell am I doing? Why am I allowing this asshole in my house? To sleep on my couch and have coffee at my table? Why haven't I killed him?

The kettle starts to scream and I loosen my hold on the teacup. I go to the kettle and transfer it to a cool burner.

I pour the hot water into the cup and stare as the teabag bleeds out into the water.

"Dwight?"

I turn from the counter and look towards the hall. "Yeah?"

I hear quick footsteps in response. Nan comes into the kitchen with Birdie. She gives me Birdie's hand, covering her mouth with her other hand.

"Here, take her."

She then turns around and walks out in a hurry.

"Morning, Daddy."

I look down at Birdie. "Morning, Bird."

"Mommy's sick."

"Yeah, I know."'

"I'm hungry."'

"I'm making breakfast," I pet her head, "Why don't you go play in your room for a bit?"

"No, I wanna play here with you."

"I've gotta make breakfast, Birdie."

"I wanna help."

"Alright, you can help."

"Here," She reaches up towards the steaming teacup, "I take it to her."

"Let's wait awhile."

"'Kay."

A chuckle from the table makes both of us look over. Birdie seems to have forgotten about Negan being here by the way her brows have gathered.

"Well, good morning."

"G'morning." She greets back, polite but leery. She touches my hand.

I take her hand. "Come on, let's go collect the eggs."

"And feed them."

"Yeah, and feed them," I look over at Negan, "Get up."

"Oh, I'm good, thanks," Negan replies, "See, I walked all the way here, so I'm game for a little R&R."

"I wasn't asking," I say bluntly, "Get up."

He sighs, setting down his coffee mug. "Alright, whatever you say."

"I'll get Mommy."

"She'll come out when she's ready, Bird," I redirect her, "Let's go the eggs."

"Nan gonna be long?"

"Holy shit," He remarks, "You've got quite the fucking garden going on here."

I take Birdie over to the coop while he admires the vegetables.

"Daddy, I wanna feed 'em."

I scoop out a decent amount of chicken feed. "Alright, make sure you scatter it."

Birdie takes the pan of feed. She grips a fistful of the feed and tosses it at the ground as I let the chickens out.

I move to the side when the rooster charges at me in his usual manner, trying to ignore him so I can get the job done.

"Here." Birdie offers up the pan.

I turn my head to reply to her, when I see Negan reaching for some feed.

"Thank you, darlin'."

"You have to throw it," She demonstrates, "Like this."

"Like this?" Negan scatters chicken feed over the ground where the hens are pecking.

"Yeah." Birdie confirms, scooping up another handful. She offers Negan the pan again.

"Birdie, come over here."

She walks over and continues to feed the chickens away from him.

"Nan gonna be long?"

"Don't worry about it."

I close up the doors to the nests and fasten the lock I just installed a few days ago. I catch a glance at Negan observing.

His eyes pick up to mine, curious. "Fox in the hen house?"

I scoff. "Come on, Bird."

"Good job." She tells him as we pass.

He follows us into the house.

…

I have the most beautiful daughter in the whole goddamn world. She's hands down the cutest kid I've ever seen and I was an educator for twenty plus years, so I think I know what the fuck I'm talking about.

I don't mean to sound like a fucking creep, but I can't take my eyes off her. She's been in the kitchen all morning helping Dwight make waffles. She'll occasionally wander in to the living room and when she does, it's just to observe. She comes in and either takes a toy, or stands over by the armchair; every time finding my gaze, before running back into the kitchen to Dwight.

Dwight's been keeping a close watch on me, too. He's called her back over a few times. Like I'd do anything. She's my daughter for Christ's sake. I'd never do anything to hurt her or make her hate my guts. I've only got this one shot to make a good impression before it's back to the cell.

Nan treads into sight, walking past me into the kitchen.

"Mommy!"

"Hey, Bird." She touches a kind hand to Birdie's head.

"We're making waffles!"

"Oh, it smells delicious."

"How you feeling?"

"Fine." She sniffs.

"I made your tea for you."

"Oh, thanks but I'll drink it later," She says, "Right now I just wanna sit down. My head feels like it weighs twenty pounds from hanging over the toilet."

"You need to stay hydrated," Dwight argues, "I'll get you some of that electrolyte powder."

"Whatever." She softly exhales as she moseys her way to the living room.

She halts in her yoga pants and t-shirt when she sees me sitting in the middle of the couch, as if she didn't realize I was here. Her eyes look drained and red. Her complexion is flushed and sweaty and her hair is falling out of a ponytail.

"Mornin'." I greet.

Nan blinks and she moves towards the armchair with a forced casualty. "Good morning."

My eyes trail down to that pregnant belly of hers as she sits down. The same feeling of let down I felt yesterday when I was greeted at the front door with it. The same stomach ache.

"How did you sleep?"

I look up to see her waiting for my answer. "Like a baby."

Her eyes almost look to her belly, but go off elsewhere as she clears her raspy throat. "I'm glad."

"Thanks again."

"Mhm." She pulls her hair tie out of her hair and starts to put it up again.

I can tell by her slightly chilly air that she's trying to convey how unwelcome my being here is. But her subtle politeness in asking how I slept betrays her a little. It always has.

"Here." Dwight hands her the cup of tea he made an hour ago for her.

She smiles up at him, taking it. She rests the cup on her bump and it gives me uncomfortable nostalgia.

"How far along are you?" I ask on impulse.

Nan glances over at me. She seems to grow shy. "Uh, seven months."

I whistle. "I would've guessed nine, 'cause of your size, but either way that bun's about ready to come out of the oven."

Her eyes cast down at her stomach.

"Come on," Dwight puts out his hand to her, "Come sit in the kitchen."

"I'm okay." She replies, looking up and giving him a reassuring smile that's sort of fake.

He blinks from her to me and his eyes are fuckin' daggers. "Breakfast is almost done."

"Okay." She softly says as he turns to go back to the kitchen.

"Mommy," Birdie comes up to the chair, "I want Blanche."

"Oh, I think you left her with Lamby in my room."

"She's sleeping." She sighs.

"Go wake her up."

Birdie goes running down the hall.

"Who the hell is Blanche?"

"Her ragdoll," She answers, not looking at me, "Judith Grimes gave it to her for her birthday. It's a hand-me-down."

Figures Jude would outgrow dolls. My eyes gravitate back to her whale of a belly.

"You cut your hair."

I meet her eyes. "What?"

Nan looks at me curiously. "Your hair was unkept last time I came to see you. And you had a longer beard."

"Yeah, well, I shaved…" I inspect my hands, "Thought I'd come show you my new haircut since you stopped coming by."

Her eyes trail down. "I got busy."

"You certainly did."

She gives me a look. "I was pregnant the last time I saw you...I found out while Birdie was in the hospital."

I stare. I can feel the sick in stomach. "That why you stopped coming around? So I wouldn't know?"

Nan looks up again and our eyes meet.

"Mommy, Blanche got a boo-boo." Birdie brings Nan a doll.

"Oh, no," Nan calmly pities, inspecting the doll, "I'll have to sew her leg up. You play with something else until I can make her better."

"Okay." Birdie exhales, leaning her chin against the arm of the chair.

Nan delicately washes a hand over her head with a tired, maternal smile. She looks like hell, but she's still pretty.

"Breakfast is ready!" Dwight hollers

"Go wash your hands, Pidge."

"Okay, Mommy."

Nan then braces herself, putting both hands on the arms of the chair to hoist herself out of the chair. Just before she can make the effort, Dwight comes in and offers her a hand.

"I was gonna do it myself," She takes his hand, "I'm not a turtle on my back."

"Yeah, but how much more do you like it when I offer to help?"

She chuckles. "A lot."

He snickers, before looking over at me. His smile ends. "You, too."

"Oh, no thanks, I can get up on my own just fine."

He nearly rolls his eyes. "I meant, go to the table."

I stand up. "Don't have to tell me twice."

"We're going out to look for gas after," Dwight tells me, "So, don't be shy."

"Never am." I walk into the kitchen, sitting at the end of the table two chairs from Birdie.

"Do you like waffles?" She asks.

"Well, I'm more of eggs and bacon guy," I sit down, "But who am I to turn down golden brown waffles?"

She looks at me, puzzled by my answer.

"Yeah, I like waffles."

Nan sits down in the empty spot between us. She takes Birdie's plate and starts to cut her waffles into pieces.

"I want lots of syrup." Birdie tells her.

Nan drizzles syrup over her waffles bites.

"More, Mommy."

"That's plenty," Nan gives her plate back, "And I want you to eat your strawberries. Not just your waffles."

"'Kay."

"You want some more tea while I'm up?"

"No, I'm good."

"Any barbecue sauce?"

I look at him like he's crazy.

"Shut up." She snickers as she butters her waffles.

On her hand, I spy a little ring on her finger with a pathetic fleck of green in the middle. I shift my jaw, before peering down at my plate.

"How long have you kids been married?"

Nan looks up from her breakfast. "About seven months."

I can't help myself; I laugh under my breath.

They both turn their heads.

I clear my throat. "Sorry, congratulations."

Nan holds her gaze longer than Dwight. I don't look up, but I can feel the disapproval.

"Hell, I didn't think you'd ever make Nan an honest woman, but I guess nothing makes you rise to the occasion quicker than an unplanned pregnancy."

The legs to Dwight's chair jar against the floor in a loud, screeching sound.

"D." Nan halts him with a quick, yet calm tone. She takes her eyes off me and looks over at him, standing up from his spot. I can see from here where her eyes lead him.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Birdie asks him with beautifully jolted eyes.

Dwight's eyes are full of hate. His nostrils flare as he exhales.

"Dwight."

He peers over at Nan, who very subtly shakes her head. His eyes shift back to me, before he exhales again and moves to exit the kitchen.

"Where you going?" Birdie inquires.

Dwight doesn't reply. He just stalks out the kitchen door, slamming it a little.

"I wanna go, too!" Birdie looks to her mother.

"Eat your breakfast, Birdie." Nan gets up from the table. She walks over to the window by the sink and looks out to see where he went.

"Where's Daddy, Mommy?"

Nan stares out. "He's just getting some air."

"I was gonna say him and I were two peas in a pod," I chime in, "If he would've just held on for a minute more."

Nan looks over with her hand on her belly.

"I mean, at least I was married to y-"

"Shut up." She softly, but firmly commands.

I look over at Birdie, who's busy eating.

"Why did you say that?"

I stifle an eye roll. "Oh, come on, was it really that offensive?"

"Dwight is the real reason you are sitting here right now, eating breakfast freely. Not me," She retorts, "If he had said no to letting you out of that garage, you would've stayed there."

I scoff at her in disbelief.

"He could have let you die in there," Nan treads back to the table, "Or killed you outside when he had a chance."

"A stronger man would've." I pick up my coffee mug.

"Than count yourself lucky Dwight's not as strong as you."

The implication in 'you' puts me to bitter silence.

…

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not long," I screw the lid on my canteen, "We're going to Barton. It's a town just past Camden. There should be some gas left to siphon there."

She holds her elbows, anxious. "How far away is it?"

"About thirty minutes out."

"That far?"

"It's not that far."

"It is walking distance," Nan says, "It could take you hours to walk to Barton."

"We're not walking."

"I know, you're wasting more of our gas."

"So, we can get more gas. Would you rather we walk it?"

"No," She sighs, "I just don't know that I like you being alone with him."

"I can handle Negan."

"Well, I also don't like being alone for a few hours."

I furrow my brows with a smile. "It's only a few hours."

"I know, but…" Her eyes falter as her mouth pauses.

"But?"

Nan picks up her gaze. She smiles softly. "I just don't want you to go."

"We need gas in order to take him back," I touch her arms, "The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can go back to living our lives."

"Yeah…" She stares over at the truck, where Negan's sitting in the passenger's seat, cuffed to the door. "I think you should leave him behind, Dwight."

"What?"

"You'd work faster without having to watch him," She tells me, "He could run off from you, or…"

"Kill me?"

Nan looks at me.

"Yeah, that could be," I agree, "But if he stays here, he could kill you and take Birdie, or force both of you to leave with him."

"He wouldn't do that," She says, "There's nowhere for him to take us."

"That doesn't mean he wouldn't try."

"I'm seven months pregnant and Birdie's three years old," She mildly argues, "Negan's smart enough to know that he could never take us into the woods or on the road. We'd have to go by foot to avoid getting caught."

I stare at her rational eyes. "He could hurt you, Nan. And Birdie."

She looks down, nodding as she considers this. Her mouth twists to the side. "He could...but he won't."

"You don't know that."

"He's not a monster," She looks up at me, "I told Rick and Daryl that when they came looking for him. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't believe it now that he's here."

"Better to be a hypocrite than a dead fool."

"Trust me," Nan insists, "Negan wouldn't hurt us if you leave him here."

"I'm not leaving him here," I shake my head, "I'm not taking that risk."

"If I'm wrong, then he'd kill you out there and come back for Birdie and me."

I scoff. "Honey-"

"If he takes us while you're gone and you come back to an empty house, then you can search for us and kill him. You and I both know he couldn't take us far and he can't stay here."

"Do you hear yourself?" I ask her, incredulous. "You're basically saying it's okay if he kidnaps you and our daughter."

"No, I'm saying that if he did, which he won't, then it would be better if you were alive, so you could find us," She tries to clarify, "If he kills you and then kidnaps us, we could be gone by the time anyone in town ever came around wondering why I hadn't come to have my baby."

"I'm sorry, but you're out of your mind, if you think I'm leaving him here."

Nan brings her lips to a close. Her eyes don't look pouty, like I thought they would. Instead she looks deeply bothered. Like she's worried, or afraid.

"It'll be okay, Nan," I assure her, diffused, "I can handle Negan."

She nods her head, but she's still got a concerned look on her face as she holds her elbows.

I lick my lip. "I can't leave him here with you and Birdie."

"What if he stayed cuffed?" She looks at me. "You could cuff him to the oven door."

"The oven door?"

She shrugs. "Or the door to the fridge; those are the only places I could think of that he wouldn't be able to break from."

"Nan-"

"Are we gonna fuckin' hit the road, or what?" Negan calls out from the window. "You're siphoning gas, not going off to war. Let's roll!"

I look at her and she knows what I'm thinking. She tries not to smile. "It's only gonna get worse the further down the road you get with him."

I glance over my shoulder at him. He's looking right at us, grinning as we look back. I can't leave him here with the girls.

…

I hum a Swedish song to myself as I roll the molasses dough into balls on the floured counter in my kitchen. My grandma used to hum and sing all the time when I was growing up, especially in the bakery, which is probably why it always returns to my mind whenever I'm cooking or baking. I don't know how to sing the words exactly; there's only one verse I could speak under my breath but that I'm not sure I'm actually saying it correctly.

I wish I had learned at some point in my life to either speak my grandparents' language or at the very least enough to sing that song to Birdie. It was so light and airy and soothing.

"Mommy, Blanche has a boo-boo."

"I know, I'll fix her," I tell her, "But I'm doing something right now."

"What you doing?"

"I'm making cookies."

"Mm, I like cookies."

"Me, too."

"Me, three."

My smile lowers and I look over at Negan, cuffed to the door of the refrigerator.

"Smells damn good, Mom."

"Birdie go put Blanche in your room," I tell her, "I'll fix her as soon as I'm done."

"'Kay." Birdie trots off.

"You know, my neighbor used to make molasses cookies during the winter when I was a kid."

I go back to rolling out the cookies.

"And gingerbread," He goes on, "But Ms. Olsen didn't look nearly as smokin' as you."

I scoff, unflattered and bent on ignoring him.

"Although, at the moment, you are almost as big as she was."

"I'm seven months pregnant with my second child," I curtly reply, "Excuse me for not maintaining my figure."

"Oh, I don't mind," He smartly retorts, "I think you look adorable in your frumpy little pregnancy dress and apron."

I take the pan of cookies to the oven. He watches as I place them in.

"Hey, is it true the more kids you have, the harder it is to lose the baby weight?" Negan asks me. "'Cause through the bars you seemed like you lost it, well, most of it, after Birdie and you look like you got a little fatter with baby number two. What's your weight loss strategy?"

I shut the oven door. "I'm gonna go lay Birdie down for a nap."

"Do kids her age still take naps?"

"Yes." I leave the kitchen and enter the hallway.

I pause for a moment to take a deep breath. I chose this; I told Dwight everything would be okay and that I had a thicker skin than he did when it came to Negan's incessant talking and taunting.

That is afterall why Dwight decided to leave him behind. I think my reason for why Birdie and I would be safe, which I believe, started to sink in, but what really changed his mind I think was the idea of having to ride around looking for gas on a hot summer day with Negan.

Once I've taken a moment to breathe, I go find Birdie. She's in her room, sitting at her little tea table with her head in her hands.

"What's with the pout?" I ask her. "Did you hear me say it was naptime?"

She sighs, a little dramatically. "No."

"Then what's up?"

"Your friend's in the way."

I puzzle my brows. "In the way?"

"Yeah, I can't see my drawings." She tells me.

"Oh," I nod in understanding, "Well, it's just until Daddy gets back."

"Why did Daddy put him there?" Birdie asks me with furrowed brows. "Is he in trouble?"

"Um...yeah, he's in timeout."

"Why?" Birdie inquires. " 'Cause he says bad words?"

"Y-yes, which is against the rules."

"Oooh."

"Yeah, so I'm sorry he's in the way of your drawings, but it's just for a little bit."

"Okay." She sighs again.

I smile. "How about you take a nap? When you wake up Blanche will be all better and you can have a cookie."

"I wanna go swing, Mommy."

"Um...we'll see."

"Okay."

"Alright, let's go lay down."

"Mommy, is your friend nice or mean?"

"He's...complicated," I tell her as she lays down on her bed, "I think Negan likes to pick on people, but doesn't mean it in a mean way. Which is still mean, which is why he's always in timeout."

"He's a jerk?"

"Don't call names," I stroke her hair, "But yes."

After she goes to sleep, I leave, taking Blanche with me. I get my sewing kit out of the closet and head to the kitchen to sew up the rip in the seam of her leg while I wait on the first batch of cookies.

As I'm about to enter the kitchen, my eyes fall on Negan. He's standing there at the fridge, waiting for me. I think twice and sit in the living room where I can keep an eye on him at a distance.

"Hiding?"

"The couch is better on my back."

"Yeah, sure I'll watch your cookies for you. No problem," He sarcastically says, "If you need anything to drink I've got you covered there, too."

I take out my needle and thread. I carefully try to thread the needle which is always the toughest.

"You fixing her doll in there?"

"Yes."

"Huh," He says, "I forgot you could sew."

"I didn't before, but it's not much different from embroidery, so it wasn't hard to pick up."

"Well, look at you," His tone has some humor to it, "You went from stitching naughty gestures to playing doll hospital."

I take my glasses out my apron, so I can get a better look at my stitching.

"Hey, can I have a chair or something?" He asks. "I've been fucking standing here for two hours."

"Just sit on the floor."

"I've tried, my ass can't reach the ground."

I exhale, annoyed. "Alright, I'm coming."

I set Blanche down and push myself off the couch, despite being comfortable. I then go into the kitchen, grab the chair nearest to him and set it right next to him.

"There."

"Thank you, kindly." Negan starts to angle the chair just right so he can sit.

I turn to go back.

"Hey, wait a minute, don't go."

"I'm just going back to the living room."

"Sew the doll up in here."

"No."

"Oh, come on," He pleads with a slight groan, "I'm gonna keep talking to you either way."

"Then what does it matter where I sit?"

"Because it does," Negan says, "Just down at the table. I'll be on my best behavior."

I go into the living room, resolved in sitting there. But just as I'm about to sit down, the timer in the kitchen goes off. I sigh, frustrated, before I go into the kitchen to take the cookies out of the oven.

"Smells good."

I reach into the oven with my oven mitts. I flinch and hiss through my teeth. "Shit."

"What?"

I set the tray down on top of the stove with a little force. I wince, taking off my mitts. "I accidentally burned my arm." I inspect the line reddening across my forearm. "Right where the oven mitt ends."

"You alright?"

"Yeah, it's just a little burn." I get into a drawer and rummage for some burn ointment.

"Run it under room temperature water."

"I'm going to." I say, going to the sink.

The water stings my burn a little, but after a few seconds it's not so bad. I dry it delicately and unscrew the ointment. It smells awful, pungent with eucalyptus.

"Man, that shit fucking stinks."

"I know," I put the tube back in the drawer, "Dwight hates the smell so bad he won't use it." I halt my footsteps, looking up at him. "But I think it's more of a trauma thing."

Negan sits there cuffed to the fridge.

I walk back into the living room."Aren't you gonna put the rest of the cookies in?"

I refrain from groaning even though I want to. I turn and go back. I have two warm cookies when I'm done.

I glance over at him staring at me. It's almost like how Birdie would look at me if I were eating a cookie in front of her.

"Do you want one?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

I offer him one and he takes it.

"Thanks," He sinks his teeth into it, "Mm! You make a mean ass cookie."

I brush some flour off my apron. "That's why I worked the baker's station."

"I don't think I ever ate anything of yours," He chews, grinning suddenly, "Well, actually-"

"Don't say it." I snap. Just as I do, the baby kicks me a little too eagerly.

"What?"

"Nothing," I head to the living room, "The baby just kicked."

"Huh," Negan replies, "Girl, or boy?"

"We don't know," I pick up the doll, "The machine at Alexandria hasn't been working and I'm not going all the way to Hilltop or the Kingdom to use theirs. If theirs even work."

"What do you want?"

"A baby."

"Yeah, yeah, healthy and happy," He says, "Aside from all that, what do you want to have? Boy or girl?"

"I don't have a preference." I take Blanche and the sewing kit to the kitchen.

"You're a damn liar."

"Watch your mouth," I shoot him a look, "Birdie repeats bad words."

"A chip off her old man's shoulder."

"And you-"

"Yeah, I know." He rolls his eyes.

I sit at the table.

"Boy or girl?"

"Alright, a boy."

"A boy?" He looks me over. "Why?"

"I don't know," I shrug, "Just to see what it's like to have a boy, I guess."

"You want a mama's boy."

"No."

"Liar."

"Stop calling me a liar."

"Just admit that's why."

"You really want me to admit that?"

He grins. "I do."

I bite my tongue. "Fine. I want a boy, so I can have a mama's boy, because Birdie is a daddy's girl."

Negan's grin fades and it makes me regret what I said. He looks down at the floor and I go back to sewing up Birdie's doll in silence.

I finish the little project and snip the thread. I look over the doll to make sure she's perfectly fine everywhere else. It's funny, Birdie really isn't into dolls but she loves Blanche whose name I have no clue as to where Birdie got it from. I think she was gonna call her something else, I can't remember what, but then all of the sudden she just started calling her Blanche. She can barely pronounce it.

The sound of a truck lifts my head up. I know it's not ours, because ours doesn't run that loud. I get up and go to the front to see who it is, fearing it might be someone from Alexandria. But when I open the door, all I see is the back of a white truck fading in down the road. I knit my brows as it grows farther away; I think it looks familiar.

I shut the door, lock it, and then go back to the kitchen.

"Have they come to collect?"

I look over at Negan.

"Rick?"

"No," I walk back to the stove, "Just a passing car."

"A passing car?"

"Yeah."

"Why do you say that like it shouldn't bother you?"

"Why should it?"

"Because it could be anyone," He says, "And you're all alone out here."

"I know who it was."

"Who?"

I transfer the cool cookies into the cookie jar. "Someone who lives on the fringe."

"What like a hermit?"

"I guess."

"And you aren't afraid of 'em?" Negan asks me. "You know this hermit?"

"Yes."

"And D trusts him?"

"Why do you assume it's a man?"

"How many lady hermits have you fuckin' heard of?"

"That's a stupid argument."

"I didn't hear you name any."

I roll my eyes. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know if Dwight trusts them."

"Then why the fuck would he leave his wife and stepdaughter alone for a few hours?"

"I don't know," I shrug my shoulders, "Maybe he doesn't think they'd do anything to hurt us. We lock the doors and windows."

"Oh, 'cause that's an excellent way to stop dangerous people that want to get in."

"Let's drop it," I sit back down at the table, "I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Negan looks at me as I sit there. "Are you afraid of this guy?"

I touch my belly as the baby kicks a little. "No, I'm not afraid of him."

"Huh," He nods, "Okay, then."

"...Were you afraid that it was Rick?"

"No," Negan replies, adjusting in his chair, "Well, maybe a little bit."

"Because you don't want to go back?"

"Well, no fuckin' duh, I don't want to go back," He chuckles, "Once I go back to that cell, it's all over for me."

I look over. "You think he'd kill you?"

"Nah, just strip me of every last privilege I had," He says, "Until I've got only the jumpsuit on my back, my shitty cot, and my bedpan."

I nod. "Back to where you started."

"Yep," He reclines, "It's my own fault really. I got caught helping Jude with her homework and well, this is gonna take the fucking cake for damn sure."

"I heard."

Negan's brows furrow a little.

"Rick came here looking for you," I clarify, "He told me what you did."

"Yeah, well...I'm a bad man."

I offer a crumb of a smile.

"Mommy?" Birdie pads into the kitchen with messy hair.

"Hey, you woke up?" I look at the clock. "It's only been thirty minutes."

"I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you some water." I get up yet again.

"Can I have a cookie?"

"Sure, baby," I turn the sink on, "Go sit at the table and I'll make you a snack."

"Blanche is all better?"

"Mhm."

"She had a boo-boo."

"I kn-"

"Aw, how'd she manage to get a nasty gash like that?"

I turn and see Birdie showing Blanche to Negan.

"Um, running," She makes up, "From deaders."

"Yeah, well, that'll sure as hell do it," He muses, "I've got some pretty gnarly ones from running from those...deaders, too."

"Me, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, um, on my knee." She lifts and points to her knee.

"Where?"

"Here."

"I don't see anything."

"Yeah, right here!"

"Are you pulling my leg?" He chuckles, "Because that is the barest fucking knee I've ever seen, little lady."

"You said a bad word."

He makes a shocked frown. "Oops." He smiles when she snickers.

"Birdie." I put her water and cookie on the table.

Birdie comes to the table and snatches her cookie off the plate, going back over to Negan. The shy spell is broken.

"You're in the way."

"In the way of who? You?"

"Of my drawings." She points behind him.

Negan glances over his shoulder. "Oh, my goodness, I had no clue I was blocking such fine art."

"You need to move."

He laughs a little. "Yeah, well, I would gladly scoot, but I gotta wait until your...dad gets home before I can."

"Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?"

I make myself smile at her when she looks over. "Soon."

…

It's nearly completely dark by time I hear Dwight pull up. I made dinner an hour ago, and because he wasn't here and Birdie was hungry, we ate without him. I go to the door to meet him. When he comes in, he smells like gasoline and cigarette smoke.

"Hey."

"Hey." He gruffs.

"I thought you'd be home sooner."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," He wipes his sweaty, dirty forehead, "I searched all over Barton and didn't find anything, so I went further up."

"And?"

Dwight exhales. "Nothing. It's all been drained."

I curse inward. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means I look at the map and try again tomorrow."

I nod, twisting my mouth to the side.

"Where's Birdie?"

"Um, watching her movie."

Dwight just now notices the sound in the background. "Oh," He looks at me, more serious, "Negan give you any trouble?"

"Well, he's cuffed to the fridge, so aside from making as many comments about my weight as he can, no."

"You hit him?"

"No, of course not."

"Too bad."

I give him a look. "D."

"Daddy!"

"Hey, Bird!" He calls back. "I'm gonna take a shower to get the grime off me."

"Okay, I saved you some dinner."

"Thanks."

Dwight goes to head down the hall.

"Um, D?"

"What?"

"The key to the cuffs."

"What?"

"Negan's been cuffed to the fridge all day," I remind him, "The deal was he'd be uncuffed when you got home."

"He can wait fifteen more minutes."

"Dwight," I insist, "I've had to give him a bucket to piss in all day."

"Alright, here." He gives me the keys from his jacket.

"Thank you."

Dwight showers for about twenty minutes. I release Negan from the fridge and Birdie invites him to sit in the living room with us after he goes to the bathroom.

"Do I smell molasses cookies?" Dwight asks as he returns.

I peer over my shoulder towards the hall. "Yeah I made two baker's dozens this afternoon."

"I'm surprised you haven't made yourself sick, eating all those…" He pauses as he comes into the living room.

I don't have to follow his gaze to know he's looking at Negan sitting on the couch, leaned towards the coffee table. Birdie's got her name puzzle out.

"Daddy!" Birdie gets up and runs over to Dwight.

"Hey, baby." He picks her up, kissing her cheek.

"We're doing my puzzle." She points to the table.

"Yeah, I see that." His eyes meet mine.

"Some fine craftsmanship, D." Negan smiles.

Dwight scoffs, not flattered.

I scratch at my thumb."Come on, let's go heat up your dinner."

"I wanna cookie, Daddy."

"You want a cookie?" He carries her. "How many have you had today?"

"Um, this many." She holds up one finger.

"Only one?" Dwight sits with her at the table. "Are you fibbing?"

"No!" She chuckles.

"Alright, then, you can have another cookie."

I put his plate in front of him with a fork.

"Thank you."

"You want something to drink?"

"Yeah."

I get him some water.

"Thanks, honey."

I smile softly, before getting Birdie and myself a cookie.

"So, you'll go out again tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

I nod my head, sitting quietly.

"What happens if we can't find gas?"

"Then we'll have to try and reach Alexandria."

I nod again. "How much gas did you use today?"

"More than we can afford to use going up past Barton."

"So, he'll be here longer than we thought?"

"Yeah," He stops eating to look over at me, "You good with that?"

"Um, yeah," I sigh "I don't really have a choice."

He nods, going back to his dinner as Birdie eats her cookie in his lap.

"If he is here longer, though," I say, "I think we need to set new rules."

Dwight glances back over. "Yeah?"

My eyes find Negan sitting in the living room. "Yeah."

Thanks for reading :)