Guys, thank you so much for the support and feedback! I really appreciate it, as I really want to upload the story as I write, too. I just don't want to stress myself further with the silence, as I'm already stressed out-a lot. I'm at home like ten days-worried and bored out of my mind-our factory got closed this week too, so I'm kind stranded without nothing to do, except write or chat on Whatsapp and Instagram, or watching news, like everyone else, and totally losing it-washing my hands like every half of an hour... Really, this virus would make every each of us suffering anxiety attacks.
Because of boredom I also put up some ramblings about my writing and stories at my profile page... check it out if you're curious, or bored like me, too :)
Anyways, further ado, enjoy. Still love you bunches.
XVII.
At the dawn, Rick started digging Glenn's grave.
This time there were no memorials, no speeches, no memoirs. In silence, they buried his friend, each in their own misery. The air was cold and dry, a chill in the morning, frosty smoky long fingers of the pale mist slowly wandering around them, seeping through their clothes into their skins. Maggie's cries had ceased as she stood rigidly over her husband grave, her eyes as pale as the mist as they bury his oldest friend since the turn.
Carl was with them too, his face set in with his grimace, eyes scowling under his old Sheriff hat, staring ahead as he pretended Rick didn't exist at all. Leaving the house after he'd gone to his room screaming at him, Carl hadn't come back again, possibly spent the night with Enid as Rick had crushed at the couch in the hall.
He couldn't even have gone to their room—see their bed—Amanda laying with him—making love, sleeping, hugging, kissing, bickering, laughing, him tickling her as she cried out screaming with laughter… No. He just couldn't have lay there without her even though the sleep was no option.
He'd passed the night slumped back at the couch, her voice asking him never to sleep in separate beds turning in his mind—worry and fear eating his insides—imaging her there… Carl's accusing words echoing in him… You failed again… You can't protect anyone.
And he hadn't. He couldn't have protected his wife, left her there with those sick bastards… His thoughts had turned so bleak with each possibility, he couldn't have even stomached being inside the house, so he'd gone out and sat on the porch' steps, wishing for another cigarette. But Daryl was nowhere to be seen. Rick had wondered where his friend was—knowing the same fears and dreads were turning in the hunter's mind as well. Daryl had never showed up, and a few minutes later Carl left the house too, banging the door on his back, his eyes trained ahead, not giving even a look at Rick as he sat down at the steps in silence.
Then Rick spent the rest of the night then there, alone, sitting at the porch—trying to quell down the voices in his head as his hands shook with trembles—his eyes hurting, prickling…You can't protect anyone… We should never trust you again…
Rick lifted his eyes and saw Daryl across him beside the grave. He'd come back at the dawn too, his face bearing the same grim expression of the last night. Father Gabriel had started reciting passages, but Rick wasn't listening. His eyes moved toward the former Sanctuary's residents, his mind steeling.
No. He was going to get her back. Last night—last night they'd been betrayed, caught unawares, but it wasn't going to repeat again. Never again.
He was never going to fail again.
Once the pastor finished, he walked to Dwight and Cherry. "Come with me—" he told them flatly, and without waiting their answer back, he turned and started walking back to the house. Daryl followed him quickly, and he picked up with the corner of his eyes that Carl did the same, too.
Maggie was following with Carol, as well, so was Abraham and Sasha and Rosita, as Michonne and Tyreese, his stump at the elbow still covered with bandages but the big man was back on his feet a month ago. He saw Tobin, Spencer, and the pastor padding after them as the rest of the council. Aaron, Eric, and Maggie's friend Claire came behind them as they'd all witnessed what happened last night, so Heath and Scott, and Rick even saw Amanda's former ward, a young woman in her mid-twenties, following them hesitantly.
Rick stepped inside the house and waited for all of them as they all settled down in the hall. Then he turned to Spencer, "Do we need to call in another assembly?" Rick asked.
The last Monroe shook his head, "No—" he said, "Everyone knows."
Bad news spread fast… Daryl turned to Dwight, "Do you know a way we could use to get inside?" he directly questioned the former Savior, "A secret entrance or something?"
Spencer shot at Rick a glance, then turned to Daryl. "Wait a minute—are we talking about a rescue mission?"
Daryl fixed at the younger man a glare, "We can't leave 'em there."
The man shook his head, "Didn't you see what happened last night?" Monroe cried out, "He beat—beat one of us to death." Maggie flinched where she sat at the couch at the words, but other than that stayed expressionless, "He said—he said—"
"I know what he said—" Daryl snapped back, "I ain't gonna leave Beth there!"
"She offered herself!" the younger man exclaimed, and his eyes wandered around them to look for back up, "We need to think this thoroughly. We already fucked it up once!" He tossed another glance at Rick, "We should've never agreed on this!"
The words hit at him like a slap, but Rick forced himself not to react. He'd done what he had to. He'd never wanted to go to find Hilltop but Amanda—no, Amanda couldn't have waited—she had to learn—she had to know. After then, they'd done what they had to.
Sooner or later Negan would've found them, even though they'd never done anything but wait sitting om their asses, the bastard still would've found them. He'd thought—he'd believed they had gone to him before Negan had come for them—but a little snicker in his mind was whispering at him then perhaps that way it wouldn't have been Amanda who had been taken away—but someone else…
Rick stopped the thought.
But Daryl had already started walking toward Monroe after his last words, and Rick walked away from his own corner too, but the pastor spoke up from his left side before things got more heated.
"We—we shouldn't fight with each other—" The pastor announced firmly, and Rick started understanding this meeting was going to be harder than he'd thought. Perhaps not everyone had seen Glenn's body, they'd buried his friend with a white cloth, but everyone had heard how he had died. His insides growled out again—the nameless beast snarling inside him—but he forced himself to calm down again.
They—they had to keep it together. The pastor was right. This—anger, fighting, blaming wouldn't do neither to Amanda nor Beth any good now.
The pastor turned to Rick then, "When you said he told he was going to come?"
"The next week—" Rick answered flatly.
"Can't we…ransom for them?" Tobin asked hesitantly.
Rick shook his head, "He took them as hostages. He wouldn't let them go. He knows we'd come again if he did."
"Maybe we could make…peace?" the older man offered this time.
"Peace—" Maggie bit off, her voice nothing but a seething hiss, "He doesn't want peace. He wants half of everything we have."
Carol cut in, "Maggie's right, Tobin," she said, "Men like him want everything." She paused for a second, "He thinks we lost now. We should play along," she continued, and startled Rick's head snapped up at the older woman, hearing his own thoughts from last night making him tense again.
They—they had to play along—they should wait for their time, wait the victory and vanity made Negan weak as they regrouped in the meanwhile. They'd just lost a fight, but the battle hadn't finished yet. The logical part of him knew it was the truth but if heeding those words after Amanda had been taken away been hard, after he'd spent the rest of the night fighting with voices inside in his mind all the while trying not think what monsters Amanda would've been fighting with—monsters in flesh and blood, it'd become practically impossible.
How could he sit here while they might…hurt her…He wanted to believe they couldn't hurt her—wanted to believe Amanda wouldn't let it happen, wanted to believe she'd find a way—she always did—but what if—what if—
It was killing him—thinking of her like this. And even if nothing had happened, to think that she was living through her fears again—even the mere thought of it…her childhood—how she used to lay in her bed, listening to footsteps outside—waiting something bad happen to her… In his own fears found him again, how he used to wonder if anyone had really stepped in—imagining a smaller Amanda laying in her bed—and his vision turned to her own Amanda—the woman he loved with all of his heart, bearing his children—and—and what if someone did… someone stepped in wherever it was they'd kept them during the night…
His sight blackened again, and Rick almost threw up. It was killing him, killing him like someone was cutting little pieces of him… with each part of him, he was losing a piece of her, too…with each part…
Mentally, he shook his head. She was still alive. It was what was mattered the most. She was alive. They couldn't kill her. And Rick was going to get her back, and whatever hurt she might have—he was going to wrap them up himself—each one, with his own hands. He was. He was going to get her back.
He was going to endure, then he was going to take her back. Amanda needed him to be strong now. If—if they—they barged in on heated emotions, wanting to save them—they might hurt them even more in the process.
"We have to regroup first—" he remarked then, walking in the middle of the room, "He'll come next week—" he went on, but Daryl cut him off—
"The next week!" the hunter yelled back, sprinting from his corner toward him, waving his arm, "We can't wait until the next week! I can't wait until the next week!" Walking to him closer, he shouted, "They got Beth."
Rick gave him a sharp look. "So as Amanda or did you forget?" he snapped.
Rick knew it was hard to Daryl as much as it was to him. It wasn't even the first time. Daryl had watched the second time Beth had been taken away from him—no one in the world would understand him better than Rick but Daryl hadn't lived what Rick had lived—hadn't lost someone he loved the way Rick had… not like him. Rick couldn't endanger her like that. He just couldn't. He couldn't lose her… really, truly lose her. Not again. Never again.
After his outburst, Daryl calmed down a bit, "We can't just wait," he said, "We should do something."
"We're doing something—" Rick said back, "We're preparing. We're…readying—" he returned his gaze to the others as well, "We got one week until he comes here. Amanda made a list for the places she believed there should be communities. We start looking for them and try to find more guns, more people—make new alliances. Build a real army for ourselves."
Daryl gave him a look, "An army in a week—"
Rick paused, and grimaced, "It might take a little while," he finally said, accepting, "We—we need to play along."
Daryl shook his head, his voice rising again, "We need to get them outta there!"
His anger flared up, Rick screamed back too, "Goddammit how!" He walked on in Daryl, their chest inches apart, two wild animals giving each other snarls, "How we get them, Daryl!"
Another snarl at his lips, Daryl turned on his heels silently, and stormed off out of the house, his hand holding up his crossbow—and with a glare at Rick, Carl followed him out.
Breathing out in the middle of the room in the sudden silence, Rick closed his eyes for a second, then Spencer said with a cold voice, "This all happened because we fought at the first place. Maybe we just need to give him what he wants—"
His eyes shot open, "And expect him to leave us alone?" Rick bit back, turning to the other man, "It doesn't work like that!"
"It was exactly working like that!" Spencer shouted in return, standing up, "They left Kingdom and Hilltop alone taking what they needed until you came and stirred things, Rick." The other man gave him an open look, full of hatred, "Somehow wherever you go, death follows."
Rick really wanted not to do it, he really didn't but before he could understand what happened he found himself jumping at the man—his fist already crushing at the sonofabitch's jaw.
Hands grabbed him, trying to pull him, "You—" Rick growled out as Michonne screamed— "Rick!"
"You say it because it's your wife—!" Spencer screamed back as others got him back off Rick as well, "If it'd been anyone else you wouldn't do it. We're all in this shit because of her!"
Rick launched forward again, fighting off the hands that held him back- "Let go off me!" he yelled back, still fighting the hands— He was going to break his jaw—knock his teeth out—He was going to—
Breaking free, Rick attacked at the last Monroe.
# # #
Standing in their room, Amanda gave Beth a look, and pursed her lips down, "Black isn't really your color."
Beth let out a sigh, bowing her head to look at the dress she'd put on. It was a simple long-sleeved above knees black flared dress of cotton, combined with black Mary Jane shoes with two inches. Amanda supposed it was a sort of uniform for the women around here. Negan's wives—all of them wore black. In the morning the girls had brought two dresses and shoes from them, saying Negan had picked the dresses personally, and told them to suit up.
For a second or so, Amanda had thought to decline—told them they weren't going to pretty up like his damn wives—they weren't his wives—but on the second thought she'd decided to be a bit—meek. She couldn't fight every battle, and sometimes you just had to give away something before you started gaining some floor as well.
So, she'd taken the damn things, and nodded back.
Then it wasn't already enough, they'd given them an iron curler with a makeup kit. Taking the iron curler she'd heated, Amanda waved at Beth, looking at the iron in her hand. She shook her head, "I can't believe they waste current for these everyday—" she muttered.
Beth sighed in return as well, sitting in front of her, "At least black is your color," the younger woman snickered.
Amanda let out a small laugh. She was clad in another black dress too, long sleeved but not flared, fitting pencil skirted just above knees, and pumps with decent heels, but the distinction between the dresses got Amanda a bit worried. Her no-nonsense dress was for work, simple yet elegant, it was a thing she would've wore for standing in the front of the jury for a case but Beth's—Beth's dress, flared hems adorned with lace and ribbon was more suited for—party. She wondered if the choices had been made knowingly—Negan had chosen to dress her for work but Beth for fun or was she over analyzing things again? She didn't know, but she didn't like it—especially recalling Negan's wives also were clad in cocktail dresses like for a party—goddammit!
She really hoped to hell she was over analyzing, her usual mother hen anxiety getting ahead of her. It just—she didn't know—she just didn't like it. If the bastard had given Beth a pencil skirt dress, too, Amanda would've felt a lot better.
They made each other hair, curling their locks, and fixed it with hair conditioner, burning their hands a couple of time in the meanwhile—and started putting up a little make up too—and suddenly Beth stopped as she dabbed some peachy blush over her cheekbones, and smiled at down at Amanda towering above her as Amanda sat in front of the vanity table on a pouf, "You know—it's started a bit like we're preparing for a girls night out—" she said, still smiling.
Amanda smiled, "Yeah…" she muttered out, but left unsaid she'd never done it before—never had any friend before to prepare for a girl night out, and then Beth said, too—
"Never done it myself, frankly—" She laughed, "I had a friend—Clara—we used to do it together in sleepovers, putting up make up, trying dresses, talking about how it'd be once we start college—live in the city…" She stopped, a lost expression over her face, remembering the old days, now forever lost, and smiled ruefully, "be some dumb college bitches…"
Amanda reflected her smile back, "I wish I could've been some dumb college bitch, too," she said as Beth continued to put on blush on her cheeks, "Life would be so much easier for dumb bitches."
Beth laughed out, "Yeah." Her hands faltered, "Have you ever gone to college?"
She shook her head, "No. Went directly Academia after the high school. Couldn't afford any college."
Beth nodded, and put down the brush on the vanity table, and ran her eyes away, "I always wanted to leave the farm, waiting for the day—feel the beat of the city—the life…" Her eyes found Amanda's, "I wanted to be a singer, you know."
Amanda looked at her back, "You've got a beautiful voice—" she said, remembering her singing for them in their wedding dinner. Deanne's house got a piano no one had used before until Beth had sat down in front of it, and played for them, and Rick had taken her in his arms and twirled her around taking her arm up in the air as she laughed at him—the hem of her white satin dress brushing over the floor—and Rick's eyes as Beth sung for them—
Her back straightened, Amanda pulled back from her good memory, her eyes still at Beth, "The piano—" she told Beth, "The parlor got a piano."
Beth nodded. "Yeah, I saw it."
Amanda stood up. "This's it. How you mingle with people here. Go and play something. People will gather around you even if you do nothing. You do have a beautiful voice,1 she repeated, "Then you start chatting with them. It'd loosen them up more if they'd take the first step, not you."
Understanding her point, Beth nodded back at her. It was always better if you made people approach to you than the alternative. "Go look around," she continued, "Try to find out who is who, what is what… If some of them are pregnant with his child or already has his baby, it'd be clear who's at the top."
Beth nodded. "What about you? What will you do?"
She let out a sigh. "Me?" she asked back, "I'm gonna find Negan," she said and started walking out, "Time to make myself useful."
# # #
As he slumped back against the couch alone, a headache nailing behind his eyes, Carol climbed down the staircase, holding Judith in her arms, and stood in front of him. Their baby girl's lips were pursed in a pout, in a way really reminded Rick Amanda—He closed his eyes for a second, sharply breathing out—everything—everything reminded him Amanda—the way she'd been pleased with herself, declaring that Judith pursed her lips in the same she did—Rick opened his eyes and looked at Carol.
"I'm taking Judith—" the older woman told him, "You go and find Daryl." She paused, "You know you're right, Rick, but you have to learn to cool it down if you want to deal with them."
With that, Carol turned and left the room, and Rick was truly alone.
He bowed his head and looked at his tore jean shirt, missing buttons and damaged fabric leaving his chest open and he shook his head, blood drops at his collar, and over his knuckles. Carol was right. He—he had to keep it together. This—this was no use to neither to Amanda nor Beth.
The words had boiled his blood—painted everything red, but Rick wasn't sure anymore with who he was angry the most. With the damn Monroe, or Daryl, or Carl, or with himself.
Wherever you go, death follows, the man had said, and he'd been right. Death followed his footsteps. We're all in this shit because of her, he'd also said, and he'd been once again right. He'd accepted to go to Hilltop only because of Amanda—only because of her…
You failed again, Carl had said, and his son had been right too. He had failed. You can't protect anyone, he'd said, and Rick couldn't have. He'd let them take her away from his arms…
He hissed sharply again, recalling how they'd pulled her back—and her eyes looking at him as the jeep carried her away… With guttural scream, Rick pushed up his feet and kicked the coffee table in front of him—the same coffee table that Amanda had sat down in front of it, covering its every edge with plastic so their baby wouldn't have gotten hurt… the same coffee table she'd made her last groveling after their last fight…
Her home—every part—every corner—every inch having her touch, her mark—like the marks she'd left over his back with her nails or over his shoulder and neck with her teeth and lips—everywhere—she was at everywhere—yet she wasn't there. Not where she belonged—with him… Always with him…with her family.
With another scream, Rick started trashing the room.
# # #
As Amanda walked out of the parlor, leaving Beth behind, she realized that two men and Arat was going to be her—retinue during her stay at Sanctuary. She'd asked one of the women who she thought as the leader how she could go out, and the woman had sent a young blonde girl out. Amanda caught the young girl's name as Amber and felt—sick. She looked even younger than Beth, having the same sunshine kissed hair and blue eyes. Her latest worry found her again as she walked along the corridor, and Amanda pushed it down. There were a lot of women in Negan's apartment suit, she'd counted at least fifteen of them since yesterday, they were in all ages and types, though Amanda must be one of the oldest of the girls…
She kept a sigh inside her. The wives seemed to be there by choice, but what kind of choice was that anyway? She knew Dwight and Cherry had escaped when Negan had wanted to take Tina—Cherry's little sister as his wife for her meds. She scoffed inside, her own bitter thoughts finding her again—all in frankness, Negan didn't look doing with his wives something different what Amanda had herself done with Joan—finding women who wanted to live a bit better, safer life… and Amanda still knew, given the chance, a lot of women still would've preferred to stay with Negan despite everything. It was just the way of the things too, and that was why they had to be the most careful.
Her retinue, though, seemed to be another story.
Arat wasn't one of the wives, but Amanda was already quite sure the woman worshipped the ground Negan was walking. The other two—well, it was hard to tell. They had that glint in their eyes that made Amanda's hair on her back stand up, a sick leering gaze, and she felt that if they'd been there at those cells, one of them would've tried something with them. She couldn't explain how—but she still did, perhaps her intuition of a lifetime of waiting to be abused or something, or her experience as a cop—she didn't know, but she knew what she had felt.
She'd done the right choice, had protected themselves.
She made a mental note to look further into that—found some angle she could twist back with those men, but for now, her priority was Negan. They needed to get back to Alexandria. She needed to talk with Rick before they did something stupid…like…like trying to infiltrate into this place.
They stopped in front of another wooden door at the end of the corridor, and Amanda understood they'd arrived Negan's personal living quarters.
Arat knocked on the door once, and a second later it was opened—by another blonde girl, barely in her twenties, and she walked out of the room before she stepped inside, leaving her own bodyguards outside the door as well.
Negan was wearing his leather jacket too, and Amanda held back another snort inside her—interior the building was quite warm, despite the late winter chill—another…miracle Sanctuary had managed to make. She wasn't even feeling cold with only her dress. But Negan seemed to like, quite going well with his overly-exaggerated-cult personage—keeping up appearances.
Speaking of which, he turned aside to look at her, zipping himself up, then his hand halted for a second seeing her all dressed up. Beth hadn't put up a lot of make-up, only a faint blush, mascara, eyeliner and lip balm, but still with her hair done, and with the dress it made a lot of change. "Wow, black rather suits you well."
She only stared at him back, not dignifying an answer, or not to encourage him further. All in frankness, all this dressing up was getting on her nerves, especially thinking what Rick would feel seeing her like this beside the damn psycho… She held back a sigh this time… and how much she had wanted before Rick see her pretty when they'd arrived Alexandria—even wore those ridiculous heels for him.
She grimaced, her lips setting in—and barely held herself not to glare at the man. Goddammit! Perhaps she just should slit his throat and be done with it! Right now, it really didn't sound like a bad idea.
Except she could get herself and Beth, and her babies killed—if she managed it, that was it. Besides, they really shouldn't do anything before Amanda really understood what was going on with these people. This Simon was also giving her creeps.
"Come—" Negan said then after the brief silence between them, "Let's get you show up around."
Let's get you show off around…more likely, like…like she was a pretty, dressed up doll… Rick Grimes's pregnant wife, lapping around the mighty Negan. Her stomach heaved again with the thought, and she thought if she would get away with it if she…accidentally threw up on him.
She'd already thrown up twice this morning—but it seemed soon she was going to have her third time.
He took her elbow to steer her out, opening the door, and she snapped it back, and sent him a look, "I said I don't want to be touched," she hissed.
The maniac shook his head, and raised his hand up in the air, palm turned at her in peace sign, and took his bat next to the door.
"Lucille—you see how…uncivilized she is…" he talked to his bat mockingly, rising the barbed head up, and Amanda saw it clean…then her mind filled with visions of Glenn—the bat falling on him…
She closed her eyes—and her stomach turned upside down, and she rushed further inside to find the bathroom, holding her stomach— "It's the last door at the corridor—" the bastard shouted behind her.
When she was out of the bathroom, they left the room without further…complication. Arat and the other two guards were still waiting in front of the door, and they fell behind them as they started walking, "Where's the tweety?"
Amanda scowled, "She's at the parlor—" she said, and turned to her head to him, "She isn't involved into this. It's just me."
His eyes skipped at her, and the bastard gave her a sleek smirk, "I see."
They exited out of the corridor and the rush of the morning in the rest of the compound hit her like a tsunami wave. Above the railings of the top level, Amanda looked at the below, the community that lay over her feet.
There were really people everywhere. Negan titled his head their guards, and started walking again, but this time they didn't follow. Amanda decided it was a good thing, and she guessed the man also wanted to show her around without any intrusion.
Then it happened… as they slowly walked in the metal platform staircase, whenever they passed by someone, the person dropped on one knee, bowing his head. The first time she faltered at her steps, her eyes drawing at the scene—couldn't fucking believing it—and it just kept going… Each person they passed by dropping on their knees.
She couldn't fucking believe it!
"I don't ask for it—" the megalomaniac psychopath commented beside her as they walked by another two on their knees, head bowed, "They just do it."
She kept her eyes ahead and muttered, "You're not stopping it." No. He wasn't. There had been a pleased, accomplished timber in his voice when he'd said they just did it, and they possibly did to…please him.
Goodness, what kind of madhouse they had been brought in?
And under the bow heads, Amanda could also feel the stares—just like she'd presumed… Rick Grime's wife—all pretty and black, walking beside Negan. The talks would start soon, she knew.
Anger flared in her insides again, even the notion of it… but she pressed it down. She had to do what she must. "How did you find Hilltop?" Negan then asked.
And, the questioning had started. She forced herself to calm down, sorting out her thoughts. She'd prepared herself for this. She didn't suppose the maniac knew much about them as they hadn't told anything about Dwight and Cherry at Hilltop, even to Jesus, but there was also the men Daryl had killed with that rocket launcher. Yet, they hadn't told no one how they learned about Negan, so she just had to spin her tale, and make it countable.
"People have collective memories," so she started with truth, taking a step at the staircase as they started descending the first floor, "I was making a list of historical places in Alexandria to find other communities—" she explained, "People also follow patterns, so I thought they're the best places to find other people."
The man gave her a look, "And how did you find out about us?" His eyes grew sterner, his lips losing his usual sick smile, "Kill my people?"
Well, here the tricky part. "We didn't know they were your people. Daryl and Abraham were on a supply run, then found this truck and guns. Their way was cut by your people asking their goods…so well—you must've heard the rest of the story."
And he had, she was sure of it but the there was a lot of blank points in her narrative, so she continued before he could question her for more, steer the topic away from Dwight and Cherry— "We learned they were actually yours when we came to Hilltop for trade. I was also looking for a doctor to see if I could get pregnant—" she added that part as well. The doctor had told them about it, so slipping something true in her words must build more credibility for her tale, "Gregory—" and she continued—putting the blame on the already dead man, no harm done. "He wasn't happy with your deal, talked about you. We understood then it was the same people." She paused, tossing a glance to see his reaction, but he was in silence, listening to her.
She stopped her descend and rested herself against the railings. On instinct her hand moved to her stomach too, feeling the slight bulge—the fitting dress had revealed her gentle bump more, and a part of her still like it—the feel of her hand over it. She pulled her hand back, and went on, "When Gregory saw us, he saw the opportunity," she went on, building the frame of the story more. Gregory was a sleek, slithering snake of a man, and she believed he was capable of doing something like this, and by the slight curt nod Negan gave her, Amanda realized Negan was also sharing her belief.
Relief washed her. "We made a deal—" she then said, "We were gonna help him with you, and in return he was going to give us supplies."
The man scowled back at her. "The doctor said you came first at the beginning of the winter—and you took my supplies-" he questioned, "Why did you wait until now?"
Well, shit. She'd fucked with time slots again. Thoughts raced in her mind quickly, and she grasped the first thing that came to her enough reasonable. "It was winter—" she said back, "Not a good time for—venturing outside."
"Hmm—" Negan grunted, taking his bat against his shoulder, and she wasn't sure if the gesture was a simple habit or an intimidation.
"And the supplies was for the down payment—" she added, and despite everything, the curt words left her mouth before she could stop herself, "Excuse us for not thinking your people would get that murderous over some shit."
Negan gave her a sick smile, "Simon and I—we've got some differences handling disobedience."
She glared, "I noticed."
"Did you, didn't you?" He laughed, and took a step closer to her, "It was a good very thing that I came down last night to deal with you, doll! Imagine how it would've been if it wasn't me. Simon probably wouldn't have stopped unless he killed a great deal of you. He got very angry when you killed his buddies." He paused, leaning over her even further, "So instead of glaring at me, darlin'," and bounced on his feet a bit, "you should be thankful to me."
She pulled back from him, holding the railings, and shook her head, her stomach turning— "Yeah…you're the fucking savior of us," she seethed between her teeth.
"But I am!" the man exclaimed, throwing his empty hand in the air beside her shoulder, "We got seven outposts and three hundred fifty-four mouth to feed. We serve. We provide security. We bring civilization back to this world, doll. We're the Saviors."
And Amanda decided, among other things the bastard was also delusional. But… seven outposts, and three hundred fifty-four people!
Fucking great.
"Why did you look for the doctor?" the man then suddenly asked, looking at her eyes, taking a step back from her personal space, "Dr. Carson told Simon you were very—relentless to get pregnant. Why?" His eyes lowered at her abdomen, toward her bulge, "Why did you want a baby?"
Really fucking great. That question again?! For a second she wanted to open her mouth and screamed at him because she was fucking in love, and wanted a piece of her husband, the man she loved, grow inside her, but the truth really wouldn't work here once again. She sighed, and drew her eyes away around and asked, "How many wives do you have?"
"Eleven."
"And any of them ever got a child?" she inquired, turning to him.
"No. Not yet."
She nodded. "Rick—Rick doesn't have wives. He's a good, honest man, a family man—protective, providing, serving—" she used the adjective Negan had used too, "he can get—a bit…heated sometimes and goes berserk and whatnot—" She added with a little smile, angling her eyes towards her chaffed wrists to get her point across him, "but well, no one's perfect." She paused, and clinked her tongue, "The other women know it, too. He doesn't have wives…but you see…there was a lot of competition around for him." She lifted her eyes back at him and stared at the man openly, "I didn't want to be a wife," she then remarked slowly, "I wanted to be the wife."
And it wasn't even a lie—she wanted to be his wife—only one for him—the love of his life—She remembered how she'd felt—melting inside when he had told her he'd never loved anyone the way he loved her—even Lori… She was the love of his life as he was hers. But Negan didn't need to know that. Nope.
Let him believe that she'd tricked him into the pregnancy to bound him to herself. "You see-" she continued, and smiled, "I'm not only his wife, Negan, I'm the mother of his unborn children."
Negan bounced at his feet again, smiling at her, "Wow! You're really one hell of a cold-hearted bitch!" the man barked out with a laughter.
She held his eyes, "I'm adaptable."
"Yes, you are," Negan repeated back again, and shook his head, "Snake of a woman." He snickered, "I might even try to kiss you, but I fear your lips might be poisonous."
She rolled her eyes. He leaned forward, "But—but don't you love him even a bit, woman?" he asked, still smiling.
At her tongue came a retort, tell him love was for fools and suckers, and she almost shot it back too, but something held her lips—she just couldn't say it—Words couldn't just leave her lips. Goodness, she was the biggest sucker in the world… For Rick. So, she only shrugged with a little smile, and let the man read whatever he damn pleased into it.
And he did, and he did, shaking his head at her, he told her, "Yeah, no one is perfect, doll."
And she was far from it.
# # #
In the middle of the wreck he'd created with his own hands, Rick sat down on the floor, his back against the couch, his hands over his knees, trembling…trembling…trembling…
Everything was in ruins… he'd ruined everything… Couldn't protect—
"What're you doing?" her crisp yet clear voice suddenly asked, words curt and dry like fallen leaves.
Rick lifted his head and looked at her—Amanda—Amanda was standing in front of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, clad in her white satin dress, a pinched expression over her face, her lips clenched down, and he knew once again he was the source of her displeasure.
No… Not again… He shook his head… Not again.
"Yeah, honey," she mockingly called out at him, "You've started hallucinating again—" she told him, "So…what the fuck are you doing, Rick?"
Bowing his head, he shook it, "I—I—"
She cut him off, "Remember the barn, Rick—" she ordered at him, "Remember what you told me." Her eyes held his, "Remember what your grandpa told you, Rick."
The memory flashed at his eyes… She was sitting beside him at the barn, her hair tangled and dirty—with brain pieces… her uniform dirtied and tore at the side… her arms hugging her knees…
But every day is a new day, and he told her… and she said back…
Rick lifted his head and looked at her figure clad in white, "Every day is a new day."
"So, get up and fight."
She disappeared, and then Rick knew.
Oh my god, so many accomplishment I managed to do with this chapter. I was wanting to make Amanda deal with Negan for a long time, and Amanda and Beth preparing as Negan's wives, doing each other's hair and make up, and Rick finally having a hallucination of Amanda... :)
"Get up and fight" is from Rick's infamous "we tell ourselves we're the walking dead" speech.
Please, don't forget to review. I'm still waiting for five reviews :) Thank you.
