I waddled along with Negan to my oh so important check up, still irritable. I mean, honestly, who did he think he was? Denying me? His WIFE. And smugly taking my hand and whistling as we travelled through the fucking building. How dare he?

Dr. Carson was smiling too. Fucker. I glared at the examination table, high off the fucking floor, mocking me. I may have growled. The look on Negan's face would make it a worthwhile assumption. Great, I thought, as he helped me up so the exam could begin, I've turned fucking feral.

After being poked, prodded, and squeezed, the good doctor helped Negan get me back into a vertical position. Yep, crane in my near future. I wondered if the Sanctuary had one on site? Dr. Carson was telling Negan that my pregnancy was coming along perfectly and that our wait was almost over. Wait, what?

"What?" I asked, irritation replaced with confusion. "Almost over? I'm only like six months along."

The look on their faces told me differently. "Sweetheart," Negan's voice had taken a turn from deep, dark, and low to the type of tone I imagined he would use for a cornered and dangerous animal. "You're eight months now."

The fuck?! I sat there, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying. How was that possible? We got married like a minute ago. "No." I shook my head. "We were just-"

And then it hit me. He was right. They were right. I mean, duh, look at the fucking huge thing sticking out and making me doubt the existence of my feet. Shit. I felt like I had blinked and we were at the end of a movie. Damn it.

They watched the reality dawn on me. And the obvious fucking fear that was dawning. Nope, I wasn't ready. WE weren't fucking ready. For fuck's sake, the nursery was a pile of fucking wood. "Well, they're just going to have to wait until I'm ready." I stated. Making the decision that little demon spawn junior was going to have to settle in and wait until I said it was time to come out. That's it. They were on my timeline now.

Negan's eyes met the doctor's. Clearly not expecting my decision, but too fucking bad. My body, my choice. "Callie," the doctor, mimicking that freaking quiet and careful tone that Negan used, started. My eyes flashed to his face and I saw him gulp. "That's not how this works."

"Well, too fucking bad." I announced. I held out my hand to Negan, letting him know that I wanted help down from the damn table. "I don't care how 'this works', I'm telling you, this little shitling isn't coming out until I'm damn good and ready for them." Negan had taken my hand and helped me, not willing to fucking try me now. "I'll let you know when it's time." And then, not waiting for Negan to join me, I held my head high and walked back to our rooms.

Negan followed me back. He must have since he was currently tiptoeing around me like I was a bomb about to go off. He found things to do that didn't include the banging of God knew what in the nursery. An unfinished nursery for the baby that thought they could decide when to make their grand fucking appearance. Nope. Not today Satan. Or anytime soon, I might fucking add.

I made the bed. I washed the dishes. I performed all those domestic tasks that would have made me laugh, barefoot and pregnant, oh the fucking irony. I heard Negan's voice, low and quiet, but didn't care. Screw him. Screw him and his fucking forced celibacy. Because, I may fucking want to screw his damn brains out regardless of this fucking situation, but fuck that. And him. Without actually fucking him.

Once the menial domestic chores were done, I lowered myself to our couch and grabbed a book that I had nearby. I managed, through sheer force of will and the urge to do it on my fucking own, to get my feet up on the table. My back was screaming with the damn knot, but I ignored the pain. Screw you, demon seed, screw you.

I fell into my book. Letting it take my mind off of my current state. Horny, huge, and fucking mad. Instead I let the book's story replace my reality. And, like the huge barge of hormones that I was, I fell asleep in the middle of it.

I woke up in our bed again. Alone. Ugh. I wanted up. Whether to sit or to stand, I didn't fucking care, but UP. I turned toward Negan's side and shook my head. The walkie was on his pillow. Grabbing it, I noticed that he'd set it to his frequency, and rolled my eyes.

"Wanna come help my huge ass get up?" I asked, smiling despite myself. Huge, irritating, compassionate worrywart of a husband.

I could hear his smile when he answered that he'd be right here. And he was. I almost wondered if he'd been relaxing just outside our bedroom door, but I highly doubted he'd hovered that close and hadn't joined me.

Once I was more vertical, leaning against our headboard with my back against the pillows for more cushion, he did join me. Sitting back against the headboard beside me, Negan took my hand in his. His long fingers dwarfed my own, shorter and pudgier ones, and I studied them as he linked our hands. Those fingers, those hands, had touched me intimately, gently, comfortingly, and as we sat, side by side on our bed, they anchored me to the reality of our newest ordeal. I sighed.

"I kind of want to see how you're planning on keeping our little one hostage when they want to break out of there, princess." His voice had returned to the low, deep teasing tone I preferred. "Cause honestly, if any fucking one could do it, I'd bet the farm on you."

I grinned. And rolled my eyes. "I may have been a bit distraught." I said, pulling our linked hands to my bump. "We're not ready, Negan." I whispered, my fear so clear in my voice that I knew he'd hear it. "We're not. Not yet." I shook my head at the very thought. "We don't have name ideas. We don't have a fucking clue how to make this work. And-" I stopped myself from reminding him about the disaster that was the nursery.

"Sweetheart, Callie," he used his other hand to turn my head to face him. "Is anyone ever fucking ready?" I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think your dad was fucking prepared when you came kicking and screaming into the world? Your mom?"

When he mentioned Mom a flash of her dying when Judith was born came rocketing through me. He must have seen me flinch because the hand that had turned my face to him, cupped me gently.

"You're going to be fine, honey." He said it with as much conviction as I'd declared that I was going to decide when our baby would be allowed to make their appearance. And I knew how fucking likely that was. "You are." He'd seen that on my face too, the doubt. "I will fucking walk through fire to make sure of it." And I knew he meant it. He'd die to make sure I didn't, but that wouldn't do either. Me and Negan. Forever. Or else.

"We have so much to do," I whispered, forcing my mind away from the fear of my own mortality, to the more obvious issues. "The nursery-" Damn it, I fucking didn't want to remind him.

He surprised me, smiling widely and leaning closer to kiss me. "About that-" he stood and tugged me to my feet. He walked me from our bedroom and toward the nursery. "I think you might like what I did while you were," he cleared his throat. Rage napping? He opened the door and I felt my mouth drop open at what greeted me.