... and here's the fully updated version. Happy Reading!

Chapter 10: The Art of the Deal, Pt. I

The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Negan's convoy pulled up to Alexandria's gates. Instead of everyone parking at the entrance, Negan's truck drove straight down to the main storehouse while the rest strategically spread out throughout the safe zone. As far as Rick was concerned, the rain was actually a blessing in disguise, as it was keeping all of Alexandria's residents in their homes and, by extension, away from the Saviors. It also seemed to be keeping the Saviors away as well. Rick watched as only Negan and Daryl got out of the truck to join him and Olivia, already waiting in the open garage next to a shelf of new binders, neatly arranged and labeled with the addresses on the spines.

On the table in front of them was the largest binder, already open. Negan was all smiles as he sauntered into the double-car garage and took off the baseball cap he'd been using to shield his face from the worst of the weather, shaking it out before casually hanging it off the corner of a nearby shelf. Daryl, of course, had no such protection, and was also not invited under the shelter of the garage's roof, but made to wait in the rain while Negan surveyed the newly-expanded inventory. Rick forced himself to keep his eyes on Negan and not on Daryl's hunched frame hovering just outside the garage entrance.

"Very nice," Negan murmured as he perused the largest binder, which was a master index sorted by category and then broken down into individual items, with a list of homes and notes about how many of each were available at every address. "Olivia, I am fucking impressed. This was a massive fucking job, and you have clearly stepped up your game."

"It's not quite done yet, I'm still compiling everything," she admitted with some nervousness.

Rick took a step forward and put a discreet hand on her back to steady her while addressing Negan, "Everybody's taking responsibility for their own homes, but Olivia wanted to go behind and double-check everything herself. That's going to take some time."

Negan nodded, "Of course it is. There's a ridiculous pile of shit to go through in each and every one of these McMansions, and it would take a hell of a lot longer than one little old week to be absolutely sure you didn't miss a single thing. And I'd expect nothing less from somebody as thorough and organized as our friend Olivia has already proven herself to be. I've got no complaints here, Rick, this is exactly what I was hoping to see." He turned his attention back to the ledger, flipping back to the section he needed and noting on a spare sheet of paper what he wanted and where it could be found. "I assume you'd rather we pulled from the vacant houses first whenever possible," he observed without looking up.

"If it's alright with you," Olivia responded.

Negan grinned, "Doesn't mean shit to me, as long as we get what we came for. Daryl!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor next to him. Rick couldn't quite help his chest tightening to see Daryl obediently shuffle into the garage to stand next to where Negan had leaned Lucille against the edge of the table, head down and water dripping off his hair, nose, and chin as Negan gave him orders on what to take for Alexandria's "contribution". The words washed over Rick – it didn't matter what Negan decided to claim from their community. He was too focused on his friend's deteriorating condition.

The sweat suit was the same from the last visit, but now filthier and soaked through, the water weighing the grungy cloth enough to pull it down from around Daryl's neck, exposing chafed and raw-looking skin under layers of filth and grime. There were spots of old blood showing through the material at the shoulder where he'd been shot, indicating the bullet hole had reopened at least once since Rick last saw him. Daryl's complexion was paler than Rick could remember the normally tanned redneck ever being before, with heavy, dark bags under his sunken-in eyes. He was losing weight, clearly burning off a lot more than he was taking in. That part wasn't necessarily new; the last year had been rough on their whole community. With the crops failing and food storage running dangerously low, strict rations had cost everyone more than few pounds. Even the children's portions had been cut back, though not as much, and Rick knew he wasn't the only one to call Daryl out on slipping his meager share to the kids on multiple occasions. But this was something more – maybe because Rick wasn't seeing Daryl every day, which made the changes seem more dramatic, maybe the combination of all the rest and the added stress of not knowing what Negan would do to them next.

"Have Tyler follow you with the truck. Don't want our shit getting ruined in all this rain," Negan directed.

This can't last, Rick thought as he watched his best friend trudge down the street with one of Negan's trucks slowly rolling along behind him. He can't last, not like this.

Squaring his shoulders, Rick eased around the table to stand next to Negan. "We can get some of our people to help – " Negan raised his hand to cut Rick off mid-sentence.

"Nope. Not fucking happenin', Rick. Either Daryl can handle it, or he can't. And he knows what will happen if he can't."

"He'll be no good to you if you keep wearing him down like this."

Negan tipped his head as he stared Rick down. "You worried about him?"

Rick went for honesty, "I'm worried about all of them."

Negan stepped into Rick's personal space, "What I do with Daryl is my fucking business. He's mine, now, remember? You all are. That's what you promised me. You haven't forgotten that, have you? Maybe what you need is for us to take a stroll down to your home, get ourselves a little reminder of where your priorities should be." Negan tapped Rick's axe handle so it knocked gently against his leg from where it was situated in his belt. "Is that what you need?"

Rick looked down as he shook his head, his words choking in his throat as he remembered the feel of the axe handle in one hand, Carl's wrist in the other. It had been the single worst moment of his life, worse than losing Lori, he was ashamed to admit even to himself. Maybe matched only by the day he'd woken up in the hospital and found the world had gone mad, found his house empty with no way of knowing how he'd ever see his family again. But even that had carried a small flicker of hope, the missing picture albums a sign that they'd left by choice, were out there somewhere. Even when Negan had put Judith in his lap last week, Rick had been fairly confident that she would be alright, that he could get her away from Negan without any harm coming to her. Facing the reality of not just seeing his son bleeding and in agony, but being the cause of it… Rick still couldn't process, couldn't swallow around the idea.

"Say the words, Rick," Negan whispered barely an inch from his ear.

It took a couple of deep breaths before he could manage, "We work for you. We provide for you. We belong to you."

"That's right. Now, Daryl is out there doing his part. It'd be a fucking shame if you went and tried to take that away from him. Come on, walk with me," Negan suddenly straightened and slapped Rick on the back, "All this rain we've been getting has left me feeling downright shitty. A visit with that pretty little angel of yours is just the ticket."

Negan cheerfully swung Lucille over his shoulder and shook out the ball cap before tugging it back low on his forehead, but Rick stayed rooted to the spot. "Please," he ground out in a near-whisper.

Negan turned back grinning, his white teeth gleaming from the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, "Rick. Walk with me."

There was no choice but to follow him out into the storm.

Abraham knew that a lot of people assumed that, being as large and in-your-face as he was, that he couldn't be stealthy. Being small-statured like Glenn certainly helped when it came to sneaking around, but the ex-army sergeant knew it was more about the way you carried yourself. Creeping slowly between buildings or darting quickly across open space often drew more attention because the movements were unnatural, and people's instincts honed in on things that weren't part of the everyday. So Abraham often found that, if he just walked casually, head high and eyes forward, that it didn't matter if he was seen, because his movement was dismissed as being routine. If you acted like you didn't care if you were spotted, then the people who spotted you didn't care about what they saw.

Which is how he found himself waiting in a vacant house on the edge of Newbury Lane's cul-de-sac, waiting for Daryl and his accompanying truck to finish next door and come to him. The rain helped, too, of course. Nobody wanted to be out in it, and those who had to be were looking down to avoid getting water in their eyes. Abraham had bigger things to concern himself with. Like getting a few minutes alone with Daryl on what might be the only occasion where the Saviors weren't dogging his every step.

Abraham was careful not to lean against any of the walls as he hovered in the dark hallway that led to the downstairs master suite, afraid his waterlogged clothes would leave marks on the dusty drywall. There was enough foot traffic in the months-worth of dust and dirt on the floors that no one would likely notice yet another set of muddy boot-prints. From his position, he had good access to both the kitchen and living room, depending on which entrance Daryl used, or could slip silently to the back of the house if Daryl had a guard with him. And being in the hallway meant there was no chance anyone outside would see his silhouette through the windows.

The front door hinges made a low-pitched creak as the door was pushed open. The owners of this home had died years ago and no one had since been assigned to fill the space, but it was still fully decked out with dusty but still high-quality furniture. Daryl was the only one to enter the house and Abraham noted that he paused just for a second, glancing in his direction, before walking deliberately past him to the open kitchen/dining area and grabbing the two nearest high-backed wood chairs from the dining room table set and starting to move back to the door.

"Slow down for two damned seconds, Dixon," Abraham tried to keep his voice low but still audible over the rain.

But Daryl acted as though he hadn't heard anything, pausing only long enough to readjust the burden in his arms before turning sideways to get both chairs through the open front door. Abraham huffed, frustrated, but he got it. If Daryl took too long, someone was likely to come check on him. They'd have to do this in short bursts.

As soon as Daryl was through the front door, Abraham wasted no time, "Aaron's getting us coded messages through his letters, but it's not enough and too fucking vague to be of any damn use. We need numbers, a location, security layout, guard rotations, anything you can give us so we…"

But, again, Daryl didn't slow down, didn't even glance in Abraham's direction. Maybe he knows he's still not clear to talk. Abraham listened for a moment before risking moving into the kitchen to verify – there was no one around the back of the house to catch sight of him. He already knew there was no one on the front porch. Were they timing him, maybe? More than 60 seconds per round trip and we'll take it out on one of the others? Abraham knew Daryl well enough to know that, if it were only his own life on the line, the surly redneck wouldn't bother taking shit from anyone. The two of them might never have fully seen eye to eye on much of anything, but they had that sense of duty in common and respected each other's willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. But this was too damned important. Negan had to be stopped, had to pay for what he'd done to Eugene, to Denise… and gathering real, useful intelligence on his operation was priority one. Hilltop clearly couldn't be trusted to deliver the goods, and Aaron's code, while it showed a certain ingenuity that Abraham hadn't expected from the passive man, wasn't designed to hide the kind of information they vitally needed to take down Negan's stronghold.

And that was the only option now, from where Abraham sat. Going after individual outposts was a waste of time and resources they didn't have. They needed to hit Negan hard and fast, in his own home and when he least expected it. And to hell with low-grade, cutesy little cherry bombs like they'd used at the satellite station. No, they'd need to execute any guards on duty, move in fast, and set real explosives to bring every building in the Saviors' compound down with them inside, and be done with them once and for all. Yes, there were civilians in there who would end up casualties of war, but anything less than total annihilation of Negan's forces would mean a counterstrike, and they didn't have the man- or fire-power to withstand an attack on Alexandria. Abraham was confident he could get Rick to see reason, but not while Negan held three of their own hostage. And these three in particular. If it had been just Daryl, Abraham was fairly certain he could have made Rick realize that Daryl would be just as willing to give his life to see Negan brought down as he himself would be if their positions were reversed. But Maggie with a bun in the oven and Aaron with his doe-eyed family… Abraham had to show Rick at least an attempt at rescuing them, and the key to making that happen was tromping more mud through the living room to pick up the last two dining room chairs.

Abraham reached out and grabbed Daryl's grimy sleeve, "We're clear to talk. Come on, what have you seen?"

Again, nothing. Daryl kept his gaze locked on the furniture and tried to pull away, but Abraham wasn't having it. "What, has he got you wire-tapped or some shit?" He held on with one hand while roughly patting Daryl's back with the other, searching for some kind of battery pack or recording device secured under the sour-smelling jump suit. That, at least, got Daryl to react, flinching and violently wrenching himself away, heavy breaths through his nostrils. Both men heard the ripping of fabric as part of the sweatshirt's stitching tore at the collar, not significant, but enough of a hole that someone was likely to notice. It gave Abraham pause just for a second, but that was all Daryl needed to push past him and silently pick up the last two chairs.

But just because he wasn't physically reaching out anymore didn't mean Abraham was ready to let go of his quest, "The hell's wrong with you, man? It's your life we're trying to save here. And Maggie. And Aaron. Negan's got Rick by the short hairs as long as he's holding prisoners, and I can't get him to budge until I can give him some kind of reasonable plan for getting at least one of you out alive. Help me out here, Dixon, give me something I can use!"

But Daryl was out the door again. Based on what he'd observed at the other vacant homes, Abraham figured he had one last opportunity, when Daryl came back for the table. Maybe that's the chance he's been waiting on. He knew the chairs were a quick in-and-out, but hefting a solid wood table for six people by himself was awkward, took time. Maybe he knows that's his best chance to pass intel along, because he knows he can afford the extra minutes.

When Daryl returned for the table, Abraham was ready, moving to the end nearest the living room and resting both hands, and most of his weight, on the solid surface. He said nothing, just stared at Daryl as he tried to wrench the other end, but Abraham's burly weight held the table firmly in place. He could see it was annoying the smaller man to be physically outmatched, jaw clenched and neck muscles taut both from exertion and frustration. Finally, Daryl glanced up, two sets of blue eyes flashing as they met before Daryl dropped his stare back to the tabletop.

"The fuck did he did to you, huh? Did Negan break you? Knock you around a bit, call you bad names, and now you're his bitch, is that it?" Abraham only said it as a jab to get a rise, and hopefully some words, out of Daryl, but now he wasn't so sure it wasn't the truth. He could see his questions clearly rankled, dug under Daryl's skin, but here they were, alone and with what might be their last opportunity to share intel, and Daryl wasn't giving an inch.

"Does loyalty mean nothing to you? Honor? I thought you and Rick were thick as thieves. Is this all it takes for you to turn on your own family?" Abraham kept digging. Anything he could think of to get something out of the man in front of him.

Daryl seemed to consider his options for a moment before letting go of the table. Abraham did the same, side-stepping to block the path to the front door with his considerable frame. "I'm not moving until you give me something. So either help me out or get us both caught and probably killed – your call."

Abraham watched as Daryl chewed on the inside of his lower lip before seeming to make up his mind. Instead of reaching for the table or moving towards the man in front of him, Daryl abruptly turned his heel and walked empty-handed through the kitchen and out the back door. Abraham blinked – he honestly hadn't considered that possibility. But now he moved quickly towards the front of the house where, sure enough, he could see Daryl was talking to the Savior in the truck through the open driver's side window. There was no way for Abraham to make out what they were saying both from the distance and from the pounding of the rain on the roof overhead, but it didn't matter. He knew he only had a few seconds, and he used them to move quickly out the back door and around the side of the adjacent house to avoid being seen. From there, he was able to circle around and watch unnoticed as Daryl and the Savior carried the table out the front door together.

Jesus Christ, he's a goddamned traitor.

Rick made one last attempt as he and Negan stood on the front porch, wiping the worst of the rainwater from their jackets and faces. "You don't have to do this. I get it, I really do."

"I believe you," Negan replied, edging closer to Rick. "Fuck, Rick, we're not here for punishment. If I decide to punish you, believe me, you'll fucking know you're being punished, and you'll fucking know the reason why. But you know the old saying about actions being louder than words. So, I fucking hear you saying you fucking get it, and now, I need to fucking see you fucking getting it. Show me that you remember just whose fucking door this is, whose fucking people these are."

Rick nodded and kept his eyes down, "It's your door. They're your people." But when he grabbed the knob to turn it and invite Negan into his home, the door was pulled away from him from the inside.

Michonne managed to look simultaneously both completely relaxed and entirely battle-ready as she stepped into the door frame and presented a rolled-up piece of faded yellow construction paper to Negan. "Judith remembered your promise to take another drawing to Daryl. She's already got one picked out for you."

He smiled brightly, "Well, good morning, Mrs. Grimes! We missed each other on my last visit. I was worried with all this fucking rain I might not get to see you today, either, but here we are."

"Here we are," she deadpanned, "And here you go." She thrust the paper closer to him.

Negan didn't even bother to unroll it, "Ooh, mama is out in force today, protecting her cubs. But I think we all know this isn't going to fucking cut it. Come on now, let's keep things pleasant. You know, for the kids," he winked. "May I come in?"

Only after a meaningful look from Rick did Michonne wordlessly stand back just enough to allow both men to enter. Negan flicked the light-switch a couple of times with no results. "Fucking I thought I remembered seeing a cluster of solar panels. Was all that shit just for show?"

"It's been raining for a solid week. Without a break in the clouds, the power cells are drained," Rick supplied as he hung up Negan's leather jacket on the hooks by the front door before removing his own.

"Well, that's a damned shame. We're on geothermal power ourselves. That shit's fucking awesome, supposed to never need replenishing. Unless shit breaks down, of course, but, knock on wood, we've done alright in that department. Still, fucking boy scout motto, be prepared… thought about setting up solar panels as a backup but this definitely has me second-guessing."

Rick's ears pricked at the casually-dropped reference to the Saviors' home base but did his best to remember his police interrogation training and give no outward sign of increased interest, "That's got to be an interesting challenge, at least from a maintenance perspective. Not too many people who would even know how to go about checking for issues, unless you've got some of the original engineers."

"Not the original builders, but I got a crew who knows their shit." Negan surveyed the main room, "I didn't get to fully appreciate the space last week, what with Carl's little cowboys-and-Indians shtick, but this is one hell of a collection you've got going on, new world version of the fucking library of Alexandria," he chuckled as he perused the bookshelves, pausing now and then to hum appreciatively at various titles, "And not just for impressing the neighbors, either, spines are cracked, these are well-read. Who's the bookworm? Michonne, I'm guessing? Not that you couldn't be an avid reader, Rick, but… Toni Morrison? Voltaire in the original French?" He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "Not exactly what I picture you reading when you're all cozied up together by the fireplace."

Rick glanced to Michonne as she responded, "Nothing wrong with a little light reading at the end of the day."

"Nothing wrong with that at all," Negan agreed. "As long as there's some good company to go with it," he grinned lasciviously. All three settled in the living room, Negan sprawling casually in the armchair with Lucille at his side, Rick and Michonne taking up uneasy perches on the couch as Negan took off his baseball cap and shaped it to fit on the end of the overstuffed arm of his chair. "Relax, you two. It's gonna take Daryl more than a few minutes to haul all that shit for me, and we gotta pass the time somehow. Might as well make conversation, if it's all the same to you."

"I'd rather not have you under the same roof as our kids, if it's all the same to you." Michonne fired back. Rick tried to keep his sigh to himself. This was going to happen, Negan invading their space, and they might as well take advantage to try and pull some useful information out of him, but for that, he needed Michonne to play along, and a good cop/bad cop routine was more likely to antagonize Negan into shutting down rather than opening up.

"Since we're going for brutal honesty, which is my preferred means of conversing by the fucking way, I'd rather not be under your roof, either. As lovely as your home is, I'd much rather be surveying the progress at my new outpost, having a chat with the people you butchered. Since you took that option from me, you've fucking lost the right to a Negan-free household. But, hey, when life hands you an ass-load of lemons… that reminds me, thank you for that fucking delicious lemonade last week. Some people try to skimp on the powdered shit, make it last longer with a weak-ass flavor, but not you. You mixed it up right, good strong shit that's really worth drinking."

"About last week," Rick began, "Carl was – " Negan waved him off.

"It's done and dealt with. No need to dwell on it. All teenagers are assholes, am I right? The trick is to teach 'em how to grow out of it so they don't turn out to be even bigger assholes when they get out in the real world. From the sound of things," he nodded his head towards the stairwell and glanced meaningfully up at the ceiling, where the three adults could occasionally hear muffled bumps and giggles from the kids playing somewhere above them, "big brother's learned his lesson, at least for the moment. I fully expect him to fuck up again, of course, though hopefully not as badly as last time. Just because I expect it doesn't mean he won't have to pay his dues."

"So Carl fires a shot at your people, aims at you, and you talk him down and make sure he can't do it again, and that's all you need to consider the matter dealt with?" Michonne asked, clearly with her own agenda in mind.

"Yep, problem solved."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, staring intently at Negan. "What would it take for to leave Alexandria alone? For you to consider the outpost 'done and dealt with'?"

Negan tipped his head, "Not a conversation I expected to be having this early on in our relationship."

Me, either, Rick thought. Come on, Michonne, we were going to ease our way into this.

Negan sat forward to match Michonne's stance, "I'm not quite sure you're ready for the big picture just yet. We're barely into what might be our first smooth, uneventful visit. Just learning to crawl here, not even taking baby steps yet, and you want to take a giant-ass leap forward. I just don't know if that won't end up doing more harm than good."

We're all in now, I guess. Rick deliberately stayed in a relaxed position instead of matching the others' intensity, "We're not talking about sharing with the whole world here. Just between us. Just spit-balling ideas. What would it take from us for you and your community to feel satisfied that we've made amends for what we did?"

Rick didn't care as much about the actual answer as he did about the fact that Negan seemed to be seriously contemplating the question. So there is a way out. He made quick eye contact with Michonne to confirm that she was seeing it, too.

They had talked at length the past several nights, lying on the floor of their bedroom after it had been stripped of the mattress on the Saviors' first visit. The night the Saviors caught them and took control of Alexandria, Negan had made it seem as though there was no end to his rule over their family and friends, that they would be forever trapped under his thumb. If that was truly the case, then Abraham was probably right – their only choice was to fight back, and to take out as many of the Saviors as they could in one massive attack. Rick wasn't opposed to bloodshed if that's what it took to protect their family.

But he also saw the flip-side of a full-on assault. Not only would a lot of innocent people die at the Saviors' compound (and, from what they could get out of Aaron's first letter, there were many, including dozens of small children, who would inevitably be caught in the line of fire), but they would likely lose many more of their own. Negan was too well-fortified, well-armed, and well-prepared. They might be able to surprise the Saviors, but that advantage wouldn't hold out for long. From a strategic standpoint, Rick knew that fighting the Saviors head-on was likely to be a suicide mission for many of them. As a husband, father, and friend, Rick wasn't willing to watch his family die, especially needlessly. Because if Negan did have an endgame in mind, and his hesitation in responding indicated strongly that he did, then war might not be the only solution. If Negan were already prepared to come to the table with a resolution, even if his terms were completely unreasonable, it meant that negotiation was still an option. And while Michonne was still leaning a little more towards Abraham's way of thinking, Rick had persuaded her to at least be open-minded to seeing if peace was possible.

Negan seemed to come to a decision as he nodded to himself and then eased back in the armchair, "Alrighty, then, just us and the four walls here, no – "

"Hi, Mr. Negan!" Judith called out happily as she jumped down the stairs, thumping on the hardwood surface.

"Well, hello, Princess!" he was all smiles as he reached out to scoop the four-year-old onto his lap. Rick stared hard at Michonne, willing her to be calm, to at least pretend to be okay with this. He'd been here before and knew first-hand how gut-wrenching it had been to see the same hands that had casually wiped Eugene's blood from his clothes now brushing wavy strands of hair from Judith's face. It was a catch-22: reacting might tip Judith off that all was not right with the world, which may upset her and, by extension, the man holding her. On the other hand, it was almost impossible to see her so eagerly running into the arms of a monster. To Michonne's credit, her only outward sign of discomfort was a tightening of muscles and a slightly tense expression.

"I missed you," Negan gave Judith a quick kiss on the cheek, which she quickly returned with one of her own.

"Your face is scratchy." She wrinkled her nose.

He chuckled, "I'm terribly sorry. I promise to fix that for next time. What have you been up to this morning?

"We're playing hide and seek!"

"That sounds like tons of fun for a rainy day."

"Yeah, but it's always rainy all the time and I wanna play outside," she pouted. Negan started to reply but she jumped down and scurried away with a quick "I forgot!" tossed over her shoulder, barreling into Carl and Enid as she bounced back upstairs.

"To be continued," Negan murmured towards Rick and Michonne as he turned to fully face the teenagers with a knowing grin. "Hey, Big Brother. Looks like you got yourself a rainy day babysitting date." Carl visibly bristled but kept his mouth shut. "And I don't think we've met – you are…"

"Enid," she supplied, doing her best to hold steady eye contact before turning to Rick, "Sorry, she saw the trucks outside and then when she heard voices down here..."

"It's alright," Rick said kindly. "We're just getting out of the rain for a bit."

"Of course it's alright," Negan added with a slight edge to his voice before easing off, "Coming to the Alexandria Safe Zone wouldn't be complete without visiting this little angel," he added as Judith skipped back into the room with her stuffed elephant in hand and a colorful drawing in the other. "and Bethie, of course, we can't forget about Bethie. But what's this? Your Mom already gave me a picture you made for your Uncle Daryl."

"I made this for you!" she announced proudly.

"You did?" Negan took the paper from her outstretched hand and pulled her in for a sideways hug. "Well, thank you so much! Look at everything you've got going on here, you worked really hard on this, I can tell."

"That's me, and that's you," she pointed out different blob-shaped, multicolored figures scribbled on the page, "and that's Ms. 'livia, and that's Bethie and that's your Lucille."

"And that's our lemonade from last week," Negan finished for her, "which I was just thanking your Mom for making, because that was super-tasty. And this is a super-awesome picture. I can't wait to take it home and put it right smack in the middle of my fridge so I can see it every day."

"Yeah, 'cause, um, 'cause you said that, um, you said your little girl doesn't like to draw pictures, so I made you this one."

Negan leaned back with a clearly-impressed expression on his face, "Well, aren't you smart for remembering that! You are absolutely right, my big girl does not have nearly as much fun coloring as you do, so I love that I'm getting a pretty picture today."

"And she's four like me and her name is Jenna and it has a J just like me!"

"Well alright then, look at you and your amazing memory! That is something special," He leaned forward, "Since you're so smart, you wanna know a pretty awesome way to win at hide and seek? Come here, now, it's a secret." He whispered loudly in her ear so that everyone in the room heard, "What you do is, you hide Bethie in Bubba's closet, but you make her trunk sticks out under the door. That way, he'll see it and think you're hiding in there, too. But you really go hide in your room somewhere, and he won't know where to look for you. Got it?"

"Uh-huh!" she giggled.

"Alrighty, then, let's try it out and see how good you are."

"Okay, Bubba, you gotta count!"

Carl obediently started counting aloud as Judith raced up the stairs.

"And that," Negan stretched out in his seat, "is how you trick a four-year-old into leaving you alone, at least for a few minutes. You can stop counting now, 'Bubba', she's occupied for the time being. And I have a job for you and the little lady. Where might Glenn be right about now?"

"Why do you want him?" Enid jumped in before anyone else could respond.

Negan eyed her appraisingly, "Well aren't we Miss Protective. I wonder why that is."

Rick was gearing up to intervene if need be, but Enid held her own with only a slightly shuddering breath as any sign of nerves, "Glenn's my friend. Maggie, too."

"Well, then, Friend Enid, fetching Glenn for me ought to be the perfect errand for you and Cowboy Carl. See, I'm in a good mood this morning. I got myself a nice new piece of artwork, my people are getting some new tables and chairs, and Carl here is minding his manners. Didn't you ever have a dog when you were little? When you teach a dog a new trick, you gotta give it treats along the way. Even if it doesn't do the trick perfectly, you want to encourage it to keep on tryin'."

"We're not dogs," Carl couldn't resist.

"Aww, and we were doing so well," Negan grinned. "Dogs, bratty kids, same difference really. I don't mind that you've got the balls to stand up to me. I like it, actually. But you gotta fucking learn when and how to use it. Let's try again. Glenn would be…"

"At home," Carl ground out.

"Kid, come on, you can't possibly think I've got everyone's fucking addresses memorized just yet."

"Across the street and two doors down."

"Better! Grab yourselves an umbrella or whatever, and go fetch," he grinned.

He waited until they'd shut the door and he could no longer hear their footsteps on the front porch before turning back to address Rick and Michonne, "Back to what we were discussing earlier. A serious question deserves a serious answer. What you both need to under – "

Rick wanted to groan aloud when a knock at the door interrupted what might be the most important thing Negan ever said to them.

"What, did they fucking fly over there?" Negan muttered as he picked up Lucille and crossed to the entrance with Rick and Michonne following close behind.

Instead of Carl and Enid, a drenched Daryl stood on the porch.

"Daryl! I'd invite you in, but damn, I don't think the Grimes family would forgive having to clean up after you. You done?"

Rick watched over Negan's shoulder as Daryl silently nodded, the slight movement shaking water drops from his hair.

"I get everything I asked for?"

Another nod, Daryl's eyes hidden from view by sopping wet hair and his hunched and closed-in stance.

"Any problems I should know about?"

Rick swallowed a sigh as Daryl gave one slightly shaky affirmative nod. Beside him, Michonne pursed her lips and frowned deeply as Negan made a tsk-ing sound and stepped out onto the porch

"Well, now, that is god-damned disappointing to think we can't even get through one fucking week without someone causing trouble." He tapped the barbed end of the bat rapidly on the wood planks, chipping flecks of paint. "Okay, then, let's have it." A brief pause, then, "Use your words, Daryl."

Rick risked a quick hand-hold with Michonne as Daryl's rough voice hardly registered over the pounding rain overhead, "Someone tried to talk to me. Ain't said nothin' back, though."

"Gonna need that name."

"Abraham Ford."

Negan stepped towards Daryl, giving Michonne and Rick enough room to join them out on the porch. "That'd be the 'roid-raging ginger I met during our little pow-wow on everyone's way to Hilltop, yes?"

Daryl gave another nod, but Rick's eyes were drawn to the three figures jogging in the rain towards them. Negan saw them too, and beckoned with two fingers for Carl, Enid, and Glenn to come up, the group now forming a lopsided circle with everyone's focus on Negan's interrogation.

"And what did our ginger friend say exactly?"

"Wanted to know how to get to the Sanctuary, how big it was, how it's guarded," Daryl was barely audible.

"And you didn't respond? Not one tiny nod, a quick wink? Tap out a little Morse-code memo?"

Daryl shook his head. Negan stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with his prisoner. "Eyes up." When Daryl complied, Rick watched with baited breath as Negan stared long and hard, searching for the lie. Rick stared too, at the dark bags under his brother's eyes and the slight tremor in his clenched fists.

After a tense moment, Negan nodded and stepped back, seemingly satisfied. "I appreciate your honesty." Daryl obediently dropped his head to stare at the porch floorboards once more.

"Mr. Rhee, I am really starting to wonder at the number of people in this town who seem downright determined to fuck you over. First it's Carl with his hissy-fit, now we've got Abraham sneaking around trying to break rules like I'm not going to fucking find out. Beginning to feel like a fucking conspiracy. Do people here hate you that much?" He sighed dramatically and tapped his fingers on Lucille's handle. "Lucky for you, despite Mr. Ford's stupidity, I am still in a good mood. After all, Daryl here is making big strides towards becoming a well-trained mutt, and that, at least, deserves a little treat, don't you think so, Carl?"

From where Rick was standing, there was no way for him to reach out, discreetly or otherwise, to keep Carl from flying off the handle, but Enid seemed to be thinking along the same lines, clutching the teen's hand with a white-knuckled grip.

Negan saw it and chuckled, "Oh, I can see it in your eyes, excuse me – eye – if your girlfriend wasn't holding you back right now, you'd be taking a swing at me, am I right? Or at least telling me to fuck off." He paused to see if Carl would react, but, to his credit, Carl just clenched his jaw tighter. Negan gave it a moment longer before acknowledging Carl's efforts at self-restraint with a nod. "Good boy."

He turned to Glenn, "I had a lovely visit with Miss Maggie, and you'll be pleased to know she's looking much better than the last time we saw her. Now, class," he asked in a sing-song voice, "did we do our homework?"

Glenn nodded, but Negan added, "Oh, come on now, if you want the gold star for the day, you're gonna have to show your work."

Glenn drew in a deep breath before he asked, "Did she lose the baby when the cysts burst?"

Negan tipped his head, "Keep going," he encouraged.

"Did… did the nutrient pack inside her come loose? Is the baby still getting what it needs to stay alive?"

"A little vague on the terminology there, Daddy-to-be, but I'll accept it. The placenta was partially dislodged," he amended Glenn's description, "but you are still well on your way to becoming a first-time father. And her condition happens to provide all of us with a golden opportunity for a little trust-building." He turned to Rick and added meaningfully, "Baby steps, you might even call it."

He turned back to Glenn, "Last time we talked, I gave you the fucking worst-case shit scenario for seeing your wife again. Now, I want to swing things the opposite direction, and let's talk about the best possible way this could all play out. I strongly suspect that we're going to end up compromising somewhere between the two extremes, but I want you to know that this is the deal that's on the table, and how it unfolds is entirely up to you and yours. You do your part, and get everyone to stop with the dick moves every time we pop around for a visit, and everything'll come up aces for you. You interested?"

Glenn nodded to show he was paying attention.

"Good. And we've got the Grimes family and your self-proclaimed friend here as witnesses, so you know I can't go back on my word even if I were that kind of douchebag. Here's where we stand: if Maggie manages to carry the baby to term, she's set to deliver in four months. Now – "

"What, what?!" Glenn interrupted in shock.

"Yeah, Pops, oh? You didn't know how fucking far along she is?"

Glenn shook his head in a daze.

"That'd be because you people don't have shit to eat around here. Which, by the by, is another concern. My Doc's worried that even if the rest of the pregnancy goes according to plan, Maggie's half-starved self might not be able to nurse the little bundle of joy once it's out in the world. So, me not bringing her back to your doorstep is actually in her best interest. And that brings us to today's deal. Due to an arrangement with a certain Dixon, I've agreed for Maggie to have everything she needs not only to have a safe and healthy rest of her pregnancy, but for her to have plenty to eat so that she can nurse the little bugger once it's born. And before you even open your mouths, no, you do not get to know or even ask about what's been done to make that possible."

Rick couldn't help himself from looking to Daryl, standing off to himself on the edge of the porch. Is this what made him surrender so completely on the road? Promise of medical care for Maggie and her baby? He could see that possibility. Negan had turned his attention to Maggie just after his private conversation with Daryl and had sent her away almost immediately afterward. But would that alone have been enough to satisfy Negan? Rick strongly suspected that Maggie's protection and care had cost his brother far more than a promise of subservience.

Negan continued, "Here's my deal for you. One year from today, Maggie gets to come back home. One year exactly, if everyone continues to behave as they have been. And that little clause gives you some crucial gray area. We've had two runs here, now. First one got a little bumpy, missing guns and emotional outbursts and all that shit. This time around, Abraham's little fuck-up aside, you made a concerted effort to correct course, smooth things out. Now that's the kind of behavior I want to encourage. So, if you can get four consecutive weeks that you people manage to have a completely uneventful contribution, I'll take a week off Maggie's time away. And each week after that, we'll take another week off. You play this right, get everyone on board, and you could have her home just a couple of months after that baby's born. And if that does happen, she'll come home with enough rations to keep her well-fed through the winter, because I promised to feed and care for her through next March. Now, that gray area does swing both ways. If someone fucks up, like Carl's little stunt last week, Abraham this week, anything along those lines, that homecoming clock gets set back to zero and we start at a full year all over again. But the ball's in your court on this one. As long as my people can do their jobs unharmed by yours, Maggie's safety is guaranteed. And if you people can get your shit behavior and attitudes together, you'll get her back that much faster."

Rick wasn't going to take chances this time. He stepped forward and reached out his hand to Negan, "Thank you." He made sure to hold Negan's gaze while shaking hands. "Carl, would you please get his hat and the picture off the coffee table?"

Thankfully, Carl obliged without comment. Negan took the proffered items, pulling the cap low on his brow and rolling Judith's gift around her other drawing.

"Does Daryl actually get to see those?" Michonne asked.

Negan smiled enigmatically, "I make sure they get where they need to go."

The group stayed on the porch watching silently until the Savior's convoy disappeared up the road and Alexandria's gates were secured.

"Finally," Jesus' voice startled them all as he poked his head out of the Grimes' now-open front door. "I thought they'd never leave."

Again, there's more to come of Beth and Aaron, Beth and Daryl, Beth and Negan... (a lot of Beth coming up, now that I look at it!), so stay tuned, and please review!