A/N: This story contains mentions of; eating disorders, self-harm, attempted suic*de, and overall just a lot of pain before the healing. Please be cautious of yourself if these are triggers for you. It is a sweet story though and things pick up. Time jumps stop at Chapter Five.

NEGAN

Negan wasn't and he never claimed to be. But he kept shit honest and that was decent enough. Even before the outbreak he was out for himself. Wrapped up in an affair with a woman whom was nothing like his wife while Lucille progressively became sicker. Of course, that all came to an end when her cancer was declared terminal and the other woman was cut from his life so Negan could stand beside his wife until the day she died and he only left when she reanimated. He was unable to kill her. He felt he had already let Lucille down enough during their marriage; and instead he asked a kid to do it for him. As he came to terms with the apocalypse, he re-established the role of putting himself first and became the man he felt was always beneath it all. With his cunning tongue and bright smile, Negan lured those around him to come close and listen. Men, women, children- it didn't matter, everyone had a different use for his many plans or desires. He could give you a rock, call it a diamond and you'd happily buy it while thanking him for his kindness. It was a skill that kept him alive despite all odds, and it also helped him gain the position as leader of The Saviors quite quickly.

But he expected there to be a downfall at some point- like there was for anyone at the top of a hierarchy, and that prediction came to fruition in his later years. For a long while he sat in a cage underneath Alexandria with only a life sentence and a backbreaking cot to keep him company. He was antagonizing in the beginning. Wanting to cause more pain to the people who held him captive. But after a while, it became apparent that they wouldn't kill him and so he kept to himself. It had been four solitary and mind-bending years in confinement before anything changed.

One afternoon Michonne came to him with news that she would be setting a guard to keep watch over him and immediately he agreed to play nice. Maybe it was because he yearned for consistent human contact, or it could have been the need to prove his mental dominance after all this time. Regardless of his intentions the woman arrived and watched over him each day. He had only heard her speak once in the last four months and it was during an introduction Michonne chauffeured where she told him her name, Katrina. She was less sociable than he ever imagined, but greeting her with the question 'aren't you the one with the dead husband' obviously instigated the behavior. Still. He tried every single day to persuade her into a conversation without a fault in his motivation. Long silences were not his thing, but plenty of times he found it therapeutic just to talk out loud even though she never responded. Today, however, was different.

Negan sat against the wall of his cell while Katrina relaxed at the desk. He observed the woman ahead as she nursed a cup of coffee and flicked through an old book of poems that reminded him a little of her. Worn-out and at the end of its days.

"That depressing shit will make you more miserable sweetheart. Trust me." Just like always, Negan found himself without a reply. Speaking to the air rather than a person. "My wife read that kind of stuff. Then she got cancer and every time she went back to them it made her worse." Katrina looked up at him with the cup paused close to her lips and Negan was mildly taken aback. She had never paid attention to him. Not unless it was to clear out his bucket or hand over meals. So, with the bait now being tugged on he continued. "If you make yourself sad enough your body will eventually kill you." She took a sip, set down the coffee and shrugged.

"Hopefully." There was no emotion in her voice, just monotone. He wondered many things in that moment but decided to keep them to himself in case she closed up again. It wasn't his business to know what was going on in that head of hers. He just wanted someone to finally talk to.

"You got a favorite?" She eyed him warily and nodded, then went back to her book. "Can you read it for me."

"Why should I?"

Negan sighed. "Because the only entertainment I've had since I got here is a bucket to piss and shit in. And that loses its value pretty quickly." He grinned at his own joke but she remained indifferent and continued to read.

"You're a serial killer. You deserve less." The words were unsympathetic but not a surprise.

"True. But come on, just one. Think of it as charity for a man who's probably going to die in here." Her eyes met his and he held onto the hope that she would. If it was a definite no she would have gone back to her book and ignored the request all together. Maybe she was as lonely as he was. Why else she would suddenly pay him any notice after all this time? Katrina spent almost all of her hours sitting by his cell and that didn't escape Negan. She was trying to kill herself slowly while out of eye-sight of the people who cared for her up there. She wasn't sleeping, he never saw her eat and the wedding band on her finger slid loose on more than one occasion. She was withering away in a similar way that he was, the only difference between them being their contrasting freedoms. It was a definite waste of a young life- but it wasn't his, and so he didn't care.

"Fine. I'll read a stanza."

Enthused by the acceptance Negan stood tall and walked hurriedly toward her, his arms slid through the bars and his chest pressed against it to support the position. He pondered briefly on why she didn't seem at least a little bothered by him being so close and came to the conclusion that she just didn't care about anything. Not even going into his cell to attend to the bucket seemed to shake anything in there. Sometimes she would even stay a moment longer than needed, and he realized quickly that she was giving him a chance to do something to her. However, hurting or killing a woman was never something that interested him. Especially not one who had never done anything wrong. He closed his eyes and waited to receive something from the outside that was beyond bare necessities. Katrina cleared her throat.

"Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry: All her, maidens, watching said 'she must weep or she will die'."

As Negan came back to the room she watched while he ran a hand through his hair and raised his brows exaggeratedly. "That's fucking morbid."

"As is life."

He got it. The loss wasn't as raw for him anymore but it still stung to think of Lucille, and hearing that crap read aloud immediately bought her to mind. Katrina shuffled around in the chair until her knees were at her chest and her eyes stared down at the ground. She just left herself so vulnerable all of the time. If he reached his long arm all the way out, he could grab her hair and pull her to him- but he knew, from his own experience, that grief distorted reality and her thoughts were likely worse than the threat of his presence.

"Well, thanks for reading it anyway dollface." She didn't reply.

He wanted to try and continue the conversation but was cut short by her routine departure. As always; she threw her head back to drain the mug, wiped at her mouth, rose up from the chair and left without a word. The only form of light in the jail followed her. Negan made his way back to the cot when the door closed and as he lay down, he recalled the poem she had shared with him. It was first piece of literature he had heard for years and it was given freely by a woman who obviously saw herself in the words. With the new taste of an interaction that seemed almost intimate, he knew it would be inevitable to keep trying to draw out more during their time together. Being alone for so long, a showman like Negan had been starved of attention- he wanted as much as he could get. Hell, maybe she would even agree to finish the rest of her poem over time if he put his best smile on and flirted around a little.