Did I manage to make you believe that Liam would get a redemption arc?
Danni2016, you were not fooled ^^
Negan ended up doing what the twins never could... But was it too late?

EPISODE 91 – The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

The sheer panic suffices to shoot me with enough adrenaline that I manage to get on my knees. One of my arms is broken, or maybe a dislocated shoulder, and a twisted ankle at least. I'm blinded by the blood flowing from my hairline. But I don't fucking care.

Negan finally stops his butchery to stare at me with fogged eyes. His own black hair in disarray. Red drops splattered on his white tee-shirt. He looks positively lost. As if he was slowly coming back from a state of trance.

"It was moving before-" I cough and spit some blood. But I dare hope that it's only my teeth.

Though I'm suddenly lifted from the floor, and it fucking hurts everywhere. I find myself in Negan's arms. He's carrying me out of the room and through the factory's corridors as if I weighed no more than a feather.

I'm not sure he's completely there. Though I'm certainly not complaining. I'm holding onto him desperately. I need to see the doc. Right now. And I'm in no condition to walk there. Because the kicking has stopped. And my mind is blank except for that sole thought. The kicking has stopped.

We burst through the doors. Sherry was there, on Carson's table, but she gets unceremoniously thrown out of the room. The rigging in my ears doesn't let me hear what is being said. There's now a black cloak hindering my eyesight. I don't feel anything.

Until… After what seemed like an agonising eternity…

A heartbeat.

The fast-paced rhythmic sound of a heartbeat rises from the dark.

I recognise my baby's tiny heart pulsing inside of my uterus. I've heard it before. I used to be fascinated by it. But now, it's taken a whole new meaning. It's the sound of life.

I blink a few times. Focusing on Carson's machinery over my distended belly.

And I hear Negan laughing with relief. His arms wrap around me. Delicately. And I feel his lips on my forehead. My eyes close. Before I know it, I'm leaning into it. Into his embrace.

In this instant, we're linked by a sudden intimacy that transcends every difference and hostility. We're basking in the same sentiment of utter bliss, after the abject terror borne by these last few minutes.

The doctor is talking, but I still don't understand any fucking word he's saying. Something about a new machine the men brought back. I don't care. I lay on the table. Breathing with difficulty. Feeling the extent of my injuries starting to protest the lack of attention I'm giving them. Although all I manage to feel is a dull blitheness.

Then, the image of my brother's shattered skull springs back up into my mind, unexpectedly. My body jolts and aches at once.

"Don't move! You've got enough damage as it is. Here, it's going to feel cold."

I come back to my senses, just enough to understand what he's doing. He's rubbing a little machine over my belly and, soon, is showing me a small screen.

"There. Your baby is fine. Look."

I open the one eye that can as wide as I can. There it is. My little bean…doesn't look like a bean at all. It's got a fully formed head. An actual face. Arms and legs.

My mouth falls agape. Of course, it's not my first time; I should have known. But, somehow, I still thought about it like a shapeless, abstract thing. I instinctively turn to Negan, and we exchange an excited glance. This is becoming real.

"You want to know the sex? Maybe then you could stop calling the baby 'it'…" the doc mutters at me.

"You can tell?" Negan eagerly asks. "What is it?"

"Well, it's a boy, Negan. Congratulations!"

A boy. A baby boy. Negan's- No! Fuck. Daryl's son.

This is crazy. I can't wrap my fuzzy mind around it.

I'm still blank. But Negan is more than elated. He's ecstatic.

He launches into one of his monologues, ranting about how he will teach him everything, about how he'll protect him. It's truly endearing to see him so happy. It's like the walls have come off, and his pure joy is showing me the light that I used to know was hidden behind.

However, when he pronounces the word 'heir', I can't help but shudder. Is that what I'm doing? Producing an heir for Negan? A little boy that will grow up to be just like him, following his footsteps?

I can't let that happen. Never.

Although, I'm struck now, by the realisation of how much this man is invested into this. How much he will hurt when he learns the truth.

And the danger we're in.

If he ever found out that Daryl is the father. There is no saying what he would do.

But I'm guessing smashing a head through the floor would be nice in comparison.

I probably lost consciousness at some point, because I wake up in my bedroom, lying over the covers of my bed. My injuries are dressed up, the blood cleaned, the pain subsided a little. Although, Negan is still here with me, pacing anxiously around the room.

"Hey, you're up!" he cheerfully exclaims, which makes my head throb.

"Barely…"

"How are ya feeling?"

"Em… Like I've been run over by a truck…"

He chuckles anyway. Then, he sighs deeply and sits down by my side on the bed.

He's still smiling, like always, but I notice easily the worry rooted in his eyes. And the respite he's getting at seeing me awake is emptying the remaining of his strengths. He looks exhausted.

"Was I out for long?" I inquire.

"Only a few hours. We're sometime in the afternoon. But I feel as if I'd pulled an all-nighter!"

He laughs at himself this time, and lies back on the bed with me.

Only this morning, I would have recoiled and leaped away to the other side of the room, but now, I don't know…it's almost comforting to feel him close. Not touching. But close.

"Did he tell you something? Your brother."

"Just that he holds- held…held me responsible for his wife and his kids' death… She left him because of how poorly he treated me."

"If I had known, I wouldn't have left him alone with you."

"I didn't think-… I thought things ought to have changed…"

"Well. He can't harm you anymore."

He surely can't. But I can't untangle the mixture of relief, sadness, rage, gratefulness…and the shock of it all.

Negan turns on his side, and his hand comes to rest on my baby bump, next to mine. I let him. I almost welcome his warmth.

My breath is still ragged and quavering. My throat is constricted, and the tears in my eyes won't flow. I don't know anything any more.

"So, a boy, huh…" Negan mumbles.

"A boy."

"Negan Junior."

"There is absolutely no fucking way we're calling him that." I state with honesty, and Negan laughs.

"Your turn then."

"Em, okay… Something Irish?" I muse. "Or are there typically southern American names?"

"No. I want something unique."

"Right. Like 'Negan' is. Did yer parents really call ye that or did ye choose it for yerself?"

"Just tell me the first thing that pops into your head," he impatiently answers.

"Arley," I suddenly say. Without any idea where that's coming from.

"Arley?"

"It's not unique. But it's rare. Anyway, it's yer turn now."

"Does it mean something?"

I have to think about it for a second. It does strangely remind me of a bowman; it could also almost be an anagram…but I keep that to myself and answer truthfully:

"It's Old English. I think it's a meadow of some kind…"

"A meadow… I like that. It's peaceful…" he murmurs, closing his eyes.

I don't recognise him. But I also feel like he's being completely himself. Maybe for once in his life. And his breathing gradually slows down.

After a while I realise that he's fallen asleep. He looks so relaxed, genuine, even innocent. Utterly abandoned. The emotions of the day really took their toll on him. It's almost sweet.

However, before lying back in turn, I notice that he has leaned Lucille at the foot of the bed. And when I shift on the mattress, he doesn't even stir.

Shit. This could be my chance. I could merely reach for her, muster all what's left of my strength, and do exactly what he did a few hours ago. Simple as that.

But… What then?

It's not like I'm in any state to run. And without Negan's protection, I'm no one here. Simon would probably have a field day with me. Even Daryl might not survive.

I lie back on the bed and shut my eyes as well, listening to his calm breathing.

No. Killing him would be another fucking bad idea, that's all.

Plus… Who am I kidding? Right now, I just don't want to.

End of Season Seven!

I really loved writing these lasts two chapters (yeah, I guess I truly am a sadist and a masochist wrapped into one...)
Did anyone out there like them too?

A review would be lovely,
I do welcome criticism,
And in anyway, I won't make you wait too long before the next season starts... :)