Thank you all so much, from the very bottom of my heart for welcoming me and this story back with such open arms. I really cannot describe how much I appreciate all of the kind words and encouragement that the return of this story was welcomed with. Y'all had me looking forward to a free moment to write all week long! I hope you enjoy this slightly longer chapter and after 5 chapters and nearly 3 years a return of Negan POV! Things are going to heat up pretty rapidly in the next few chapters. My goal is to aim for weekly updates, but as I am in my last semester of nursing school, we're gonna play it by ear till this thing is finally complete! Hope you guys had a great week and that you read, review, and most of all enjoy 3

Not a word was spoken to me by the woman as she unlocked my cell long enough to place down the meal tray before locking me back in and making her way up the stairs to leave me alone with my thoughts and my fears. I'm half expecting a dog food sandwich to be waiting for me on the plate, but instead I find a bowl of hot soup, hearty with vegetables and a generous portion of bread still warm from the oven.

You might think that under the kind of stress that has defined the events of this afternoon, I wouldn't have an appetite. But I'm a fucking full term pregnant woman who's gone hungry enough to know you should never skip out on a meal when you have the chance for one, despite who prepared it for you. The food is bland but it doesn't appear tainted in any way. It does little to ease the gnawing anxieties deep in my stomach, but it'll provide nutrients and energy to help my child grow and sustain me through whatever these murderers have in store for me.

True to word, I'm provided with two thick blankets and a pillow before the sleepless night I have on the floor of this cell. Truthfully, compared to the conditions Sanctuary's prisoners were held in, this place is downright cushy. So far. I still don't let my guard down for a second. All night long, I listen intently for the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to harm me in my sleep, wait for the lights to flip on in the dead of night, or a bucket of water to be tossed on me from the shadows.

I can't help but think back to the horrors that Negan subjected Daryl to on a daily basis. How many times did I realign his nose or evaluate him for internal bleeding or a punctured lung after beatings that broke his ribs and left his abdomen swollen and bruised? Concerted efforts were directed towards disrupting his sleep, keeping him exhausted and disoriented, dehydrated and barely fed. I don't question the viciousness of his response to seeing me at the Kingdom. Despite the fact that I tried to help him, and lost my sweet Bailey through breaking the rules to do so, I was still a part of the system that tortured him. That fact alone leaves me all the more confused when the sun begins to peek through the basement window and no one has yet come to inflict any kind of cruelty under cover of night.

Returning to my cell after being escorted to the restroom where I was allowed to brush my teeth and wash my face, I'm greeted by a slightly different arrangement. A folding chair placed in front of a card table with a fresh tray of breakfast waits for me inside, joining the decor of my bed roll upon the floor. Rick waits for me on an old milk crate turned upside down as a second seat outside the cells. It would appear I have his company for breakfast.

When the woman with dreadlocks locks the cell, I am suddenly appreciative of the bars. While they hold me prisoner for the time being, they also offer a buffer between myself and this man staring at me with piercing eyes that scrutinize my every move. Gingerly I take a seat at the card table. "I can eat?" I ask, uncertain of myself, the arrangement, and the odd lack of hostility from vicious enemies.

"That's what it's there for."

I feel self conscious picking up the spoon, and scooping up a dollop of oatmeal. My eyes dart up to the man who is still watching me. He hasn't made a move to reach through the bars and knock over the tray or pull a gun on me while I'm distracted by the food. I chew and swallow the flavorless mush, uncertain as to why he is watching me so intently. It's incredibly disconcerting. I finish the bowl of oatmeal, and the small box of raisins before either of us breaks the silence. "Is this…?" I hold up a large pill that was set beside the glass of water on my tray.

"Prenatal vitamin," the man nods.

What the hell is going on in this place that they would slaughter an entire outpost worth of men in their sleep, yet still give even half of a shit about one of their captive's unborn child? Absolutely none of this makes sense to me. Why rip me out of the Kingdom, cover my head in a bag, hold me in a cell, but take resources away from their own people to provide for me? "I'm confused." I finally break the silence.

"About the vitamin?" The man's brows pinch. "You're far along. Have you not been taking them?"

"Not about the vitamin," I reply, "about all of this." My hands gesture out from the empty tray in front of me to the decently comfortable bed roll on the floor. "Why are you doing this? Why waste your shit on someone you're gonna kill, or torture, or whatever the fuck you're gonna do to me? Why drag it out instead of just getting on with it."

That's truly it I think. It's less the hospitality that is killing me and more the anticipation of waiting for the tables to turn.

Rick leans forward, eyes narrowing as he does. "We're not Negan. We don't torture or starve our prisoners."

I don't have a response to that so I just take the damn vitamin and swallow it back with a sip of water instead. Up until just a few weeks ago, I would've sworn up and down that Negan's treatment of Daryl was an outlier in terms of the way captives were treated. I would've denied to my dying breath that Sanctuary would ever sink so low as to torture and dehumanize people to the point that death would look like a reprieve. But the face of the girl in her cell, carved up and pus ridden, weak and horrifically ill, beaten till various parts of her body weren't even recognizable is forever burned in my memory. Negan admitting he knew it had happened, trying to pass it off as interrogation that had just gone too far under Simon's supervision as if he wasn't the one responsible for Simon and everyone else underneath him. It makes me sick.

"Daryl explained you were one of Negan's wives. He had a collection of several. Is that true?"

And so the interrogation begins. I give some thought as to whether I should answer at all, but truly it's not anything that wasn't already known. I nod.

"And this arrangement," Rick continues, "It was something you participated in…" he leaves the sentiment hanging for me to finish.

"Willingly." I make no hesitation about it, yet I see doubt in the man's expression and it strikes me as somewhat insulting. It was my choice from the beginning to be there.

"And your pregnancy?"

"It was an immaculate conception," I retort. "What do you think? I was his wife because I wanted to be. It should be easy enough to connect the dots as to how I got pregnant."

The man's nostrils flare and his jaw tightens at my tone but he appears to hold back whatever he initially wanted to snap back. Instead he takes a deep breath and an unfamiliar softness colors his tired blue eyes. "I was a Sheriff's deputy before all this. I went on a lot of domestic violence calls. It was more common than I cared for that it didn't matter what a man had done to his wife, she'd protect him when push came to shove. She wouldn't press charges. She'd lie about what he did or didn't do. She'd make up excuses for injuries even if they were all over her face."

That is like a sucker punch to the gut. My cheeks become hot instantly as my hand covers the scar that disfigures half my face. This guy can fuck off with his assumptions about me and the weak bitch he thinks I am. "Negan didn't do this," I spit. "He didn't force me to marry him and he didn't rape his child into me. He would never do that. He is not a good man, but he isn't the monster you think he is."

"And yet we find you in the Kingdom?"

I see the point he's trying to make, and truly it isn't altogether incorrect. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Everyone's conscience has a limit as to how much they can stomach," I sigh, leaning back in the chair as I fold my hand atop my belly protectively. "I reached mine."

"And that was?"

Jesus christ. The fact this man was once a cop is believable with the relentless way he's prying. "Torture." I admit. "I saw what he did to Daryl. And what Daryl got was nothing compared to what they did to another prisoner."

Rick nods slowly, processing what I've admitted to. "Daryl mentioned that you had helped him, or at least tried to."

"I was serving as a medic. It was my job to help him," I reply.

"It wasn't your job to break into his cell to give him food and water," he says. "But you did. You risked and lost a lot to do so from what I've heard. And then you left Sanctuary because you couldn't stomach what was happening there."

Even the subtle hinting at what happened outside Daryl's' cell, the close call that cost Bailey her life, leaves me feeling just as uncomfortable as the reference to my scar or the insinuation that my baby is the product of force. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm painting you the picture I see here in front of me, Rori." I look up to meet his eyes at the sound of my name. "What I see is a young woman with a good conscience who has been through a lot, who got caught up in something bigger than herself, and worse than she understood. And I'm hoping that I'm not wrong, but it sounds like there's a chance she might be interested in making things right."

I don't appreciate the patronizing tone. "In what way?"

"Help us," Rick states plainly. "As someone who was not only Negan's wife, but his doctor, you have information. Locations of outposts. Numbers of troops. Equipment and weapons available. The kind of training his soldiers have. Prove we can trust you and you could become one of our own, have a safe place to raise your child."

I had a safe place to raise my child before these people ripped me out of it. I escaped sanctuary and distanced myself from the bullshit that was going on there. I don't feel like I owe these people anything. "Why would I help you? You're sitting there trying to pretend you're any better than Negan when you murdered an entire outpost for no reason. You're talking like I should help you fight a war that you started. How the hell does that make any sense?"

"You consider beating individuals to death in cold blood and extorting free communities out of half their supplies as 'no reason?'"

I look at this man like he just grew a second head. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't know?" He sneers before the words become a realization. "You really don't know. Do you?"

"Know what?"

"How do you think a compound like Sanctuary keeps itself afloat? Where do you think all your nice things as a wife even came from? You really think your men scavenged everything you had?"

... What does he mean? Of course. "Yes."

"Then you are more naive than you look, girl." Rick shakes his head. "Your husband busts into completely independent communities, beats someone to death in front of their loved ones with his goddamn bat, and lays claim to half of everything they have, and half of everything they find every single week. All under the threat of watching another person they love die in front of them if they don't. It happened to Hilltop. It happened to other communities that were decimated for trying to fight back. And now it's happening to Alexandria because we tried to fight back by taking that outpost."

I am completely dumbfounded. Every word this man says makes sense, but I cannot force myself to believe it. My chest tightens and my eyes burn as the betrayals I'd already felt at the hands of Negan deepen. I knew nothing about the man I loved. Nothing. He'd lied and kept every horrifying thing about the world he created and crowned himself dictator of hidden from me. Jesus fucking Christ. How could I be so goddamn foolish? "I didn't know," I admit with shame.

"Now you do. And you can do something about it."

"And if I do?" No scenario I can imagine here plays out well. "What happens then?"

"We fight the war that we all know is coming," Rick says without emotion. "We win and we take out Negan."

My heart sinks. "By taking him out, you mean…?"

"He needs to be killed."

In that instant I truly understand how weak of a woman I am. Negan has lied to me and hurt me more times than I can count. He has betrayed and humiliated me over and over. And still, "I can't help you."

Ricks' features harden instantly. "Why not?" he pushes.

"Because I won't." I carefully rise from the chair, unable to look this man in the eyes as I turn toward the window of the cell. I can't admit aloud the real reason for my cowardice.

"Just think about it." I can hear the man rise from his seat behind me. "Please, think about it. A tray will be down for lunch. Knock if you need the restroom."

I don't have to think about it. I already know that my answer isn't going to change. I already knew I was a despicable human being after everything that I've done, so this only confirms it. My hands rest atop my belly as I look out at the sky through the frosted glass of the window. Kicks meet my touch as the baby blissfully fidgets about. I won't change my answer to Rick. I won't be the cause of the death of my baby's father. I can't sell out Negan because as much as I hate him, in the depths of my heart I still love him. The very idea of a world without him in it, despite that it might be a better world, is one that is unbearable to me.

Negan's POV

I fill my lungs with a big deep breath and lean back in my chair as I tune back into the conversation. "Simon," I swing Lucille around to point at the mustachioed motherfucker. "I'm gonna need you to go ahead and repeat every fucking thing you just said because I was not listening." It's not my fault his fucking war plan is boring as shit. It probably is my fault I showed up to the war planning drunk off my giant ass, but that's a whole different subject.

Simon's eyes dim. "Yes Sir," he replies with thinly veiled exasperation. "As I'd said, we know the central location is going to be Alexandria. The junkyard crew has the deal lined up and has already given us the numbers and weapons system's we'll be -"

"- You know what? Still fucking boring," I cut the bastard off as I sit up, unable to stomach much more of this goddamned strategy bullshit tonight. Especially when it's taking every fucking ounce of willpower in my pathetic flesh sack to not drive a fucking tanker through the front gates of Alexandria and just start mowing down motherfuckers till they bring my wife out to me. "You work on spicing this shit up. I'm gonna play a round of twister with the wives. We'll reconvene in the fucking morning." I do my damndest not to trip out of the conference room and make my way back to my quarters. I've got a fresh bottle of whiskey and a coin the girls can flip for which one wants to suck my cock tonight.

"Shots on the house tonight, bitches," I slur, stumbling into the common room to find all my wives looking bored as fuck and not in the least goddamn bit happy to see me. I don't fucking blame them, but they could at least try to pretend.

"Negan, it's 2pm," Emily says gingerly.

"Early bird catches the worm," I grin. I push their makeup fuckery out of my way on the coffee table and set up four shot glasses, one for each wife and myself, though I just take a swig from the bottle first anyway. Jackie, Amber, and Emily all come over and take a shot glass, but don't even drink as they share some kind of girl telepathy bullshit glance. I down my glass and take an extra swig from the bottle for the fuck of it.

"Negan," Emily starts again.

I shake my head because I don't want to hear it. "If you're opening your mouth, it better be to down your shot or suck my dick." Three sets of judgemental bitch eyes stare back at me. "Well fine then. If we're not drinking, then we're fucking. Who's up first?" I've taken turns with a different one of their pussies every night since - but all three in one sounds like a nice way to shake things up. I might stand a fucking chance at actually firing one off inside one that way.

"I'm not okay with that. Negan, are you okay?" Jackie offers instead of a real reply, but I'm staring at her tits more than the concern in her expression.

Evidently Emily has a bigger set of balls than most men in this joint because the bitch actually takes the booze bottle out of my hand and sets her hand on my back as she sets it down. "No, he isn't. And we're not fucking today. We're gonna drink a big glass of water and go lay down to sleep. That's what we're doing."

"Fuck that shit, that's boring as hell," I jerk away from her touch, pissed off to be rejected by the all three broads I've given the good life to. "I'll fuck my own right hand and go to sleep when I fucking feel like it." The door splinters as I slam it behind me. I hold myself up against the wall, my vision spinning as my balance pitches almost sending me to the ground. Who the hell tilted the entire fucking world on it's axis like this? I slither along the drywall to my bedroom door and manage to make it to my bathroom to piss without breaking anything other than maybe a lamp I heard go down but didn't bother to look back at to see.

With a couple shakes, I rid myself of the drops of piss on the tip of my dick and it's the start of trying to get off. Stroking myself violently with the death grip of a teenager who just discovered porn can barely get me hard. My mind floats to the memories of beautiful blue eyes staring up at me from down on her knees, her warm tongue teasing the head of my dick as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could.

Yes! Fucking Yes! It's working! My dick fully hardens and stays that way this time. I work myself harder with long, fast strokes, panting as I let the filthy fuckery in my head carry me further. Sweet soft pussy wrapping around my cock, as sweet soft lips crushed against mine, moaning shamelessly when I'd reached between her legs and played with her clit.

So - Close. So fucking CLOSE! My breath hitches and my hips thrust forward as my arm almost cramps from jacking it so goddamn hard. Out of nowhere, from the very depths of hell inside my skull, my mind calls forward the image of the look on her face as I tore the fucking wedding ring off her finger and chucked it in the furnace. Tears streamed down her blotchy cheeks, desperation and fear mixing in her eyes as the thought that I might actually fucking Iron her face still lingered in her mind.

My dick goes soft as a fucking gummy worm in my hand as all the pent up frustration and horny desperation are left throbbing in my balls while guilt deflates my dick and eats me alive. "Son of a FUCKING FUCK!" I slam my fist against the wall, leaving a matching hole beside several others. Sinking to my knees, I don't even stuff my cock away while I bury my head in my hands. I need her back. I need her back so fucking badly. The world is off kilter, my stomach can't stop roiling, and I can't even make my dick work without that fucking woman. I need her back.

Really, I need to get my fucking shit together long enough to fine tune the plan that even lets me get her back. There. That's the stability I can cling to and get my ass in gear for this war. But that's a problem for tomorrow. The problem for today is that I forget to put my fucking dick back before I barf all over it.