AN: Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter! I really appreciate the support from you guys and I love hearing from you. If you come across any mistakes let me know in a review and I'll fix them. Thanks!

Recently Re-edited: 5/13/19

Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or its characters.

Crossed Wires, or, "Negan reveals more to Samantha than he probably intended".

~O~

Samantha didn't know what she had done to compel Negan to grant her a night without music blaring in her cell, but she should have known that it wasn't done out of sympathy or the goodness of his heart, nor that he would give her those days of careful contemplation like he had said he would. It was the very next morning that had the man banging on the door to her cell with his baseball bat, rudely awakening her with the violent pounding.

"Cock-a-doodle-fucking-do!"

Laying on her side in a position that wasn't comfortable whatsoever but at least allowed her to sleep for a couple of hours, Sam lifted her head from her arms as her door swung open, the horrible crink in her neck making her wince. Her dirty hair hung in her face as she squinted against the glare of artificial lighting pooling into her little first circle of hell.

Negan stood in the doorway in his full 'leader of the Saviors' garb; black leather jacket and scarf with his dark hair slicked back. He held his signature weapon in one hand while the other balanced a food tray with a domed lid. He looked down at her with a dazzling smile that had her face twisting up in an ugly expression of contempt from behind her hair. She felt like death warmed over, grumpy from being woken up from the most decent night of sleep she has had in days and already frustrated with Negan's presence.

"Wakey-wakey, Sam I Am, I've got some green eggs and ham for you," he said in a sing-song tone, ending it with a chuckle.

He bent at the waist to put the tray down, pulling off the lid to reveal, not green eggs and ham, but a small helping of regular scrambled eggs, two slices of toast and a half-pint bowl of oatmeal.

A silent night of sleep and an edible breakfast? What a rare state Negan must be in. As Sam blinked the sleep from her eyes, she wondered what he wanted.

She ignored the stiffness in her limbs and pushed herself up into a sitting position. The morning air from the hallway ghosted in from behind Negan making goosebumps erupt along her skin. Suppressing a shiver, she looked down at the food before craning her head back to stare at the man sucking all the space in her tiny room. Negan smirked down at her, nodding towards the tray.

"Hurry up and eat before I give it to fat Joey," he told her. "We've got a long day ahead of us and I don't have time to dick around."

"I thought you were going to leave me in here," she reiterated, her tone not entirely dry because of the lack of water.

"Yeah, well I changed my fucking mind. You can still think about my offer while you fix the shit that you broke because I'm going to make you pay your fucking penance whether you work for me or not, so hurry the fuck up. You've got five minutes to eat before I'm taking you out of there."

He turned and left her doorway. She still didn't have any appetite to speak of, but she forced herself to consume the given breakfast. She didn't know what Negan had planned, but it would be best if she had energy to burn. She would need it if today was indeed going to be a long day spent with the man. It wasn't easy to eat the food, it tasted like ash against her dry tongue. Chewing took effort and it slid down her throat with resistance, almost to the point where she was literally choking it down.

Five minutes later, she was being nudged down the hallway, still only in her black dress with her hands bound and Negan following close behind. He hadn't told her where they were going and it wasn't until Sam recognized the route to the main workshop that she realized he wanted her to fix the Sanctuary's electrical system. The overhead lights still glowed dim and flickered with a weak flow of energy, showing that the compound was still running on a backup generator.

Negan's men weren't able to fix the power themselves so the leader was going to make her do it. The thought made her smirk from behind her hair, satisfaction easing the hollowness in her stomach where her breakfast couldn't.

It was just the two of them with Negan confident that he could keep her in line - which he could.

There would be no spontaneous absconding from her, not with him standing well within grabbing distance. Sam might overestimate her mental abilities from time to time (hence her current ordeal), but she never did so with her physical ones. She knew she couldn't take Negan one-on-one so her chances for escape were very much nil. Of course she had mapped out several scenarios of escape during her time in her cell, but they were more flights of fancy than anything else, something to keep her mind occupied, scenarios that would only work if she had the gadgets of James Bond and the acrobatic abilities of a Russian Cossack.

They made their way through the halls alone, but as soon as they entered common areas, they began to pass other people. Without even having to look around, Sam felt the stares.

Workers and saviors alike watched them, glancing up from their work as they caught sight of the Sanctuary's newest prisoner finally making an appearance. There were a few attempts at being inconspicuous, but most stared openly at her as they passed. Hushed whispers and curious looks were sent her way. The interest glinting in the workers' eyes made them look more alive than she had ever seen them, even with their gaunt faces and ragged clothing. She kept her eyes forward, but she could feel every bit of attention directed at her while rabid-fire gossip spread like the goblin virus.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop as Negan's voice boomed out.

"Hey!" he shouted at the gawking workers. "Am I fucking invisible here? Show some goddamn respect!"

The whispering stopped as everyone in the hall lowered themselves. With a knee to the ground and their eyes downcast, Negan nudged Sam forward again, continuing their trek towards the workshop. Once they passed, she could hear shuffling as the workers got back on their feet and the whispering started again, only louder now that her and Negan were leaving earshot.

Part of her was disgusted by the display of total submission, but another part of her was glad to be out of the spotlight. She wasn't just wary of the saviors; Sam didn't like being a conversation piece for the workers, either. Her loss of anonymity left her feeling more exposed than ever and she didn't trust anybody residing in the Sanctuary.

While some would see enslaving communities and smashing skulls with a baseball bat as horrific acts of violence, Negan would see them as joyful jaunts in the park. That was the kind of man he was, the kind of leader. Sam understood that a leader's perspective of the world didn't always reflect his followers', and that most were just fellow survivors trying to get by. However, you can't spend any amount of time serving under a man like Negan and not have your mind warped in some way. Even if the workers weren't outright brutal like the saviors, she didn't doubt that they would kill if Negan pushed them hard enough. They were already living on the very edge of desperation; it wouldn't take much to send them over.

The whole thing made Sam feel like a lamb among lions, and maybe that was Negan's intention. He could have easily taken another route to the workshop, bypassing everyone, but instead he took her through the building during one of the busiest parts of the day. He wanted her to feel vulnerable and scrutinized. This was all another attempt to showboat his power. She could feel the gratification coming off him and she didn't need to turn her head to know that he was smiling. She wasn't impressed.

She was relieved when Negan pushed open the doors to reveal a workshop empty of its workers. He must have ordered them elsewhere so it would just be the two of them. She let him guide her towards the back where the generator and the power box was. On the ground was a toolbox overflowing with tools, sticking out of the top while some were scattered on the floor. Next to that was her satchel.

Something inside Samantha broke as she recognized it. She walked with quick feet over to it and dropped to her knees, snatching up the bag without asking for permission. Her hands shook a little as she flipped the top open and unzipped the compartment. Inside she saw her ohmmeter, her lockpicking kit and her penlight. She stared in disbelief. It was all there.

When her bag had been taken from her, she never expected to see any of it again. She was able to draw comfort from having it in her hands again. The worn material against her fingertips felt like silk in its familiarity. Reaching inside she pulled out her ohmmeter, the events of that awful night coming back. All of this happened because she wanted to fix it. It felt bittersweet. She was torn between caressing it and throwing it against the wall. She turned the device over in her hands. On the back she saw something carved into it.

Her brow furrowed, she brought the ohmmeter closer to examine the little symbol that she was positive wasn't there before. She swept her thumb over the fresh etching, trying to decipher its meaning. It took her a moment to realize that it was a crude drawing of "Lucille". The comfort she had felt only seconds ago burned up like a dry plain. She reached inside her satchel for her other things, examining them closer only to find the same symbol carved. It was even drawn on the back of her satchel in black marker.

It was a brand, she realized with a flare of rage. Negan had branded her things with the saviors' logo, claiming them as his and making sure that they could never really be hers again. Sure, he could give them back to her to use, but the brand made them a loan. She stared down at the little etching with a strong loathing.

She looked up at Negan who had been watching her.

"Problem?" he asked, his eyebrows rising and his tone light with faux innocence.

"No," she managed to ground out.

"Chop, chop then," he said, motioning towards the power box. "Shit's not going to fucking fix itself."

'Clearly not your men, either,' she almost said out loud.

After he cut the ziptie from her wrists with the bowie knife he kept strapped to his belt, Negan grabbed a fold-out chair that had been left nearby. He propped his bat up against the generator and sat down, sitting on the chair backwards so he was straddling the back with his long legs. The chair was positioned in such a way that he could watch Sam without hindrance. She added the contempt she had for him to the mounting pile of toxic emotions already inside of her. She looked at the tools sprawled out on the floor and then towards power box.

While there were signs of tinkering, the power box didn't look much better from the state she had left it in. In fact, it looked almost worst. Not much had been done to fix it and she wondered who Negan had initially ordered to work on it. Ian could have fixed this. It might have taken some time and careful handling, but he could have easily done it. Before the world had fallen he had been an electrician. Did Negan not know that?

There was a bundle of new wires laying on the ground along with a box of replacement breaker switches. She appreciated the new pieces, but there was no safety equipment to speak of. No lineman's gloves or tools; vital items that would protect Sam from getting electrocuted. She had never worked on an electrical system without the advisement of a professor, nor without being garbed head to toe in safety equipment. She wasn't even granted rubber-soled shoes.

The dead front had already been removed by hers truly. She studied the box, checking for any intrusions that might have happened while the box's interior had been left exposed to the gritty atmosphere of the Sanctuary. When she was sure there wasn't any rust or moisture damage, she set to work removing all the damaged pieces, finishing the job of whomever came before her. She unscrewed breaker switches with a Philips screwdriver and pulled out the torn wires.

Stripping away the damage would be the easy part; putting it back together was where things would get tedious. It was going to take a while to replace all the switches and wires, and that was assuming the replacements provided were even any good.

As she worked, she was all-too aware of Negan behind her. Occasionally she would hear him shift in his seat or clear his throat, but he remained silent beyond that, which she was grateful for. Electrocution would have been a given if he had insisted on making himself a distraction.

The fact that Negan was there eventually slipped from Sam's starved mind as it was finally given the stimulation it craved. All of the Sanctuary fell away as she stripped the box bare. She inwardly remarked on the damage she had done to it. There was more than she remembered, giving evidence to just how panicked she had been in that night. A spark of resentment ignited for the man who had caused her such inner havoc. The soft sound of his breathing gained her acknowledgement and he entered her bubble of concentration again.

Up until that point she had her back facing Negan so she could work and not be distracted, but when she turned around to grab another tool, she realized that he was staring at her. She didn't make eye contact as she lowered herself to her knees and sifted through the tool box. It took effort not to look at him. When he cleared his throat again, she slipped, just for a second, her eyes flickering up and her face twisting into a scowl when she saw what he was doing.

He was staring unabashed at her cleavage, accentuated by the lift and v-cut of her black dress. His eyes stared half-lidded, lazy as his thumb absently scratched at the facial hair running along his jawline, looking almost deep in thought. Sam was incredulous, freezing in mid-movement as she balked at his blatant indiscretion and his lack of shame for it.

At her pause, Negan blinked and his eyes came up. He realized that she had caught him staring and knew from her tight expression that she wasn't flattered. Careless mirth took over his features and a slow smirk crawled across his face.

"Your rack is awesome," he told her.

She scoffed in disgust and snatched up another screwdriver, climbing back on to her feet.

Negan chuckled, thinking her more adorable than rebellious. She was a huge fucking snot with a cold stare, but he found it hard to take her too seriously. It didn't matter how many dirty looks she gave him, he owned her ass and they both knew it. She was his mouse, running around in his maze looking for the piece of cheese at the end. She could turn away so he wouldn't stare, but if he really wanted to see her fucking tits, then he would see her fucking tits.

And it was tempting. She was a C-cup, and a generous one. Negan liked C-cups. He loved all tits, really, but C-cups were the Goldilocks of the tit sizes; not too small where it felt like groping a plank of wood, but not too big where there was constant complaint of backaches and under-boob sweat. The perfect balance of perkiness and fullness.

Tits aside, Samantha was refreshing entertainment. He knew he had stumbled across something special from the moment he saw her, strutting around his fucking house dressed like one of his women. All it took was a glimpse of her turning a corner for him to know that something was fucking askew, and when he caught up to her in one of the workshops, he knew he had found the intruder that they had been chasing like a ghost for weeks. He recognized the black dress and heels, but the legs he didn't. He distinctly remembered never having those shapely beauties wrapped around his waist, and he took careful note of those type of things.

He liked this back and forth they had going, where he would throw something at her and she would throw it right back without skipping a beat. It was stimulating in a way that he hadn't experienced in a long time. She was almost unpredictable, even he had trouble figuring out what she was going to say or do next. He really had to be on his toes around her and it was exciting.

"So how long do you think this is going to take?" he asked, having enough silence. He leaned forward on the back of the chair, rocking on the back legs.

"As long as it needs to," she replied in a flat tone, not turning from her work.

"And how fucking long is that?"

"It depends. Do you want it to work?"

"What kind of stupid ass question is that? Of course I do."

"Then it'll take as long as it needs to."

"Don't get fucking smart with me, Mouse, or you're going straight back into your box."

"Then who will fix the power?"

The front legs of the chair hit the ground. Sam turned her head to see Negan frowning at her.

"You've got some pair of balls on you, you know that? We've been doing this not even a fucking week and already you think you're hot shit."

She turned back towards the power box, not responding.

"Let me make this as clear as fucking crystal for you; you're nothing right now. Fuck it, you're less than nothing. Just because you know your way around a fucking tool box doesn't mean shit if I can't get anything out of it. I don't care if you're the reincarnation of Thomas fucking Edison, if you don't make yourself useful to me, I'm going to put you on my fucking wall. That's where the useless fucks and cunts go in my house."

Again, in lieu of a response, Sam pulled out another breaker switch and tossed it aside, not taking her focus from the box.

"You think I fucking won't?" he asked.

"I know you would, but threatening me will get you nowhere, and I think you know that."

That wasn't her being cocky or calling his bluff. Threats never did effect Sam much, mostly because she never had anything of worth to take away. He could threaten to kill her of course, because while she didn't have much she always had her life to lose, but he made it clear yesterday that killing her would be a waste of potential.

On top of being a ruthless leader, Negan was a recruiter. He could read people well enough to know how to effectively use rewards and punishments, and who would respond better to which. It was how he determined who became a savior and who became a worker in his apocalyptic hierarchy.

If a person could provide something for him beyond free labor, then he would try to buy their loyalty by offering anything he thought would tickle their fancy; material items that couldn't be purchased with points, private living quarters, power over the workers, violence, sex (with the man's very own wives, even). Those individuals were promoted to saviors and Negan's influence would become that much stronger. He would gain another faithful soldier who would carry out his rules without him having to be there.

Sam had to admit that he had an impressive understanding of psychological conditioning and the concept of self-policing. She wondered, not for the first time, if he actually knew what those were and consciously chose to employ them.

"Then what will?" he asked. There was a note of curiosity in his tone that sounded genuine.

She responded with silence as she continued to work, letting the sound of metal tapping against metal fill the lapse.

"How about a little incentive then, hmm? If you fix this thing by lunchtime, I'll have Fat Joey stop zip-tying your hands from now on," he proposed. "How does that sound? No more trying to piss with your hands tied together. Hell, I'll even throw in a free lunch since I'm such a nice fucking guy."

She heard the chair creak as Negan went back to rocking on it.

The incentive wasn't necessary. She was still going to take as long as she needed to. These things took time, and if he didn't want any of the breakers short-circuiting, or risk further damage to the Sanctuary's electrical system as a whole, then he was going to have to be patient.

With careful hands, she removed all the damage parts and prepared to replace them with the new ones. She unbundled the new wires and left them sprawled out on the ground in neat rows until she was ready to connect them. She made sure not to arrange them in any particular order, especially not by color, so that Negan wouldn't pick up on the fact that she was colorblind. It probably wouldn't matter otherwise, but she didn't want him knowing, just for the fact that it was a weakness of hers and she wasn't eager to reveal any of those to him.

She used her ohmmeter to test the new circuits. Her device measured how much electrical resistance there was. If a circuit had zero ohms then the electricity would flow freely and she could replace the old breaker with the new one. For each new circuit she put the leads of the device in place and mentally recorded each reading they gave, setting aside faulty ones until all of them read zero. It was a hassle because most of the new breakers weren't even the correct brand for this particular box, making them useless.

She cut the wires with a pair of cutters so that they were only inches in length, allowing them to fit. It took some careful maneuvering and patience, because handling wires could be like stringing thread through a needle, but this was where Sam's small hands and slim fingers came in handy. After all the new wires were in place, she used an old Cen-Tech voltmeter from the toolbox to test the voltage of each wire, making sure they all worked. She attached the ground bar with one hand and used the lead to test each breaker with the other.

A multimeter would have been more ideal because it was a more modern device for electrical work, a voltmeter and an ohmmeter rolled into one, but it didn't seem like the workshop had one. It was just as well, though. Sometimes it was nice to go back to the basics, enjoy the throwback, like choosing to listen to an old vinyl instead of an iPhone.

For the most part the replacements worked and there weren't any complications. She had it put back together and fixed before her deadline. Negan smiled big, his tongue pressing against his teeth in glee as she switched on all the breakers and the main power came buzzing back to life.

"Now this is what I'm fucking talking about!" he beamed as he stood from his chair.

Sam put the dead front back in place with an electric drill. Negan had a look of childish glee on his face, showing off all his teeth and making the corners of his eyes crinkle. He motioned with a swipe of his arm for Sam to follow him, grabbing his baseball bat.

"Come on, let's go get some fucking grub. I'm starving!"

He bound her hands with a ziptie again, this time only for show. She bent down to pick up her satchel, but a whistle and a noise of disapproval from Negan had her reluctantly leaving it behind. The trip to the cafeteria lacked people to gawk and stare because it was lunchtime and most were in the cafeteria by now. Once they reached the cafeteria the attention on her would increase tenfold. Negan marched them forward with her in the lead, fully aware of this.

Again, he could have easily avoided this by having a lunch sent to her cell, sparing her the scrutiny, but he didn't, and she expected nothing less. He used the flat top of his baseball bat to nudged her whenever she lagged in step. She could feel the barded wire snagging on the material of her dress every time it pressed into the small of her back.

There were people lingering outside the cafeteria doors talking idly to each other, but as soon as they saw Negan coming they dropped. He pushed the doors open with a flourish, using his bat like a judge's gavel to demand the undivided attention of everyone inside. The talking died down at the first impact as heads turned.

It was easy to tell the saviors in the crowd apart from the workers because of the clear difference in class. The saviors stood proud and arrogant with their status, in clean clothes and with good hygiene. They exerted their power in the serving line by taking cuts and among the tables by forcing workers from their seats so the saviors could group together and laugh as if there wasn't a care outside of their compound. The workers took the abuse; the long, unforgiving hours of difficult work for little reward causing them to sink into a quiet degeneracy. They were the ashen faces among the dominating denizen of the Sanctuary, and they were little more than bona fide human livestock.

Negan waited until the cafeteria fell silent. His dark eyes swept slowly, calculatingly, over the room. Sam stood behind him closer to the doors with her bound hands hanging in front of her. She tried not to make eye contact with anybody and hoped that she would go unnoticed in the all-consuming reach of Negan's shadow. Nobody even dared to cough as they waited for their leader to speak.

Once he knew that all eyes were on him, he spoke.

"Let me start by saying that I hope y'all are enjoying this fine meal prepared for you today." He put a gloved hand against his chest as a gesture of sincerity. "I think it goes without saying that you deserve it after how batshit crazy things have been around the Sanctuary lately, and an apology from yours truly is probably in order for that. There's been a lot of speculation and no straight answers about what happened, and what's being done about it, but I'm here to finally put your minds at ease."

He began to pace, his bat tapping against the concrete ground with each step as if it were a walking cane.

"In case you haven't heard by now, there's been a shortage in our inventory numbers. Nothing major, nothing you need to be worried about, I assure you," he insisted before taking a pause, his eyes dancing around the room again, "but we have rules here, don't we? Rules that each and every one of you are expected to follow to a fucking tee. Rules by which this whole operation depend on in order for us to build back up what this fucking horrible calamity has torn down. You earn what you take. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no stealing, there is no lying, there is no dishonesty of any kind while I'm in charge.

From the moment you step inside the Sanctuary you know the rules, and fortunately I'd say most of you follow them. But I think we all know what happens to those sneaky motherfuckers who think they can help themselves without giving so much as a fucking crumb in return." He held up his baseball bat and pointed at the deadly barbs, smiling wickedly. "They answer to Lucille, and Lucille doesn't forgive liars. No siree bob, she doesn't. The only thing she forgives are the stains their fucking grey splatter leaves on her beautiful floor."

Behind him, Sam looked at the crowd as they listened to Negan's oration. He spoke with a dramatic presentation worthy of a Shakespearean soliloquy.

"Is that harsh?" His tone was light with mock inquiry before he pointed his bat, his expression hardening. "You fucking bet it is. I don't make up these rules for shits and giggles because I like being the ball-busting boss man. There's a point to it all."

Pausing to let his words sink in, Negan's expression softened until the lines around his mouth weren't as pronounced, showcasing the aggression boiling just under the surface. He took in a breath, his eyes blinking slowly, before letting it out and pacing the room again. Sam could tell that the people have heard this all before, or some variation of it.

"Now, a few of you may have noticed a curious little betty wandering the halls lately. Dark hair, pretty blue peepers and an attitude that stinks worse than a shitter tank on a hot summer's day. Well, long story short, she isn't one of us. She may play the part, a fucking amazing performance, but she's the sneakiest motherfucker I have ever caught trying to steal from me, pre and post global shit storm."

Negan turned and reached for Sam with a stern "com'ere", wrapping a hand around her bicep and pulling her to his side. She tried to pull away, but the fingers curled around her arm tightened almost to the point of pain in warning.

"This, is Samantha," he announced, holding up her arm as if he was trying to dangle her in the air for all to see. "Some of you might recognize her and some of you might not, but I'm sure as hell y'all recognize what she's wearing. She's our little thief."

Nobody was surprised by the revelation, already guessing who she was just by the fact that she was with Negan, but there was still whispers that rippled through the crowd, as if the confirmation from their leader about Sam's identity was what kept them from openly talking about her.

Negan smirked at this, his eyebrows raising up towards his hairline. "I know, right? I couldn't fucking believe it myself. This is the master thief who breached our perimeter and managed to outsmart every one of my saviors? Fucking in-sane, man. But I shit you not, people. This is definitely her. Caught her fucking red-handed myself."

He released her arm and began circling her like a shark in one smooth, fluid motion, staring her down as he stripped her for all of the Sanctuary to see.

"Samantha has stolen from us, lied to us. She has taken advantage of our good will and hawked a nasty loogie right in our faces for good fucking measure. That's grounds for an automatic trial by Lucille. No judge, no jury - just the fierce hand of the executioner. Nobody has ever pulled the shit that this bitch has pulled and lived to fucking gloat about it, so why the fuck should she!"

There were murmurs of agreement through the crowd, mostly from saviors. Sam could see them nodding theirs and crossing theirs arms. They craved retribution. One of them even shouted out, telling him that they should "string the bitch up", drawing more shouts of agreement.

He let it go on for a few moments. He smirked and nodded his head at their calls, then raised his hand.

"However," he held up a finger, silencing them. His eyes scanned the room again as he let his theatrics fuel the tension. "I'm going to let her live."

There were murmurs from the workers while the saviors kept quiet, knowing that any protest wouldn't be wise. Some stared in disbelief while others shook their heads and mumbled.

"I know, fucking bullshit, right? But since Samantha hasn't caused any permanent damage, I think this is a perfect opportunity to show you all my more forgiving side, because while I can be a downright mean fucker sometimes, I believe everyone gets a second chance. Don't worry, she'll still get her punishment, I fucking guarantee you that, ladies and gentleman," he promised.

He leaned in closer to Sam then, his chin hovering just above her shoulder as he spoke with a deeper baritone into her ear.

"Let's just see if we can domesticate her a little first - bring her around to our way of doing things. The Saviors' way."

He let out a chuckle and pulled out of her space before patting her roughly on the back, making her stumble forward a step.

"Now, moving on. Sammie here has delivered us from darkness, isn't that fucking fantastic?" he smiled, "but since she was the one to break the power in the first damn place, I think we'll hold the applause. The emergency curfew of seven o'clock is over and the usual curfew of ten o'clock will be reinstated tonight. As you were."

And just like that he dismissed the crowd. They turned their heads back to their trays and picked up their conversations like it was business as usual. Negan swung his bat up on to his shoulder and walked forward with a spring in his step. He motioned for Sam to follow and she did, padding barefoot after him as he made a beeline for an empty table at the very center of the room.

He snapped his fingers and pointed to one of the chairs.

"Sit down and don't fucking move," he instructed, waiting until she did before striding off towards the kitchen. She waited until he disappeared behind the swinging doors before looking around.

She was suddenly back in elementary school, when she used to frustrate her teachers until they were red in the face and sent her to the classroom next door so they could get five minutes of peace. The students in the neighboring class would stare at her as she sat in an empty desk, wondering what she had done to get sequestered. It happened often enough, before she entered middle school and detention became a thing, but it always made her feel awkward and singled out.

There was the whispering again, and the stares. Sam curled into herself as she rested her bound hands on the table top, her shoulders drawn up to her ears and her hair blanketing her face. She waited, blocking out the deafening hum of words spoken about her, for Negan to return, but he was taking his time. Gradually, her head dipped further between her arms in an effort to be invisible until it almost touched the table. It wasn't until she heard someone sit down in the chair across from hers that she peaked out through her bangs.

She expected to see Negan, but was surprised to find Ian instead.

"Hey, play bunny," he smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. "How goes it up in your ivory tower?"

"Swimmingly," she replied out of habit. Her eyes flickered towards the kitchen, expecting Negan to come swaggering back through any second. "You shouldn't be talking to me."

"Why not?"

"If Negan finds out that we're acquaintances, he might think you knew and punish you for not reporting me."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, waving away the concern. "His men already questioned me, along with anyone else who might've been involved with you. We told them the same thing that they told us when we were first brought in: 'never question someone who ranks higher than you'. It's Sanctuary Living 101. They know that nobody here is ballsy enough to test the pecking order by not giving Negan's wives whatever ridiculous thing they want. Nobody's going to risk showing up on Negan's radar because of something stupid like that. If a woman walks up to you wearing a black dress or skimpy outfit, asking for a spark plug or a blowtorch, you just assume Negan is into some really kinky stuff and give it to them."

Sam didn't bring up the fact that she suspected he knew early on that she wasn't really a wife. Now wasn't the time to get into that, especially with so many potential eavesdroppers around. She was just relieved that Ian wouldn't be punished for her mess. Negan wasn't going to harm her, but she knew he wouldn't hesitate with Ian; a dime of dozen worker who could easily be replaced.

"Did Negan order you to fix the power?" she asked.

"Yep," he nodded, drumming his hands against the table. He seemed hyper today, more hyper than usual. She wondered why.

"Why didn't you?"

"I figured it might give you the opportunity to show off. You know, show Negan that you can be useful so he doesn't melt your face or murder you with a baseball bat. Pretending to not know how to fix the power really dealt a blow to my reputation around here, so I think I deserve a title better than 'acquaintance', don't you think?"

"What should I call you then?"

"How about a friend?" His tone was hopeful as he looked at her with something akin to puppy eyes.

She frowned. Sam never had a friend before. The closest she ever got was her cousins' dog, who liked her better than anyone, but most would say pets didn't count. She didn't mesh well with other people. Her personality and mannerisms kept her from relating to others on a general level and she had accepted a long time ago that being alone was probably for the best.

"Why would you want to be my friend?" she asked.

Her honest confusion must have shown on her face because she saw a flash of pity flint across Ian's face. His smile dipped for just a second.

"Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?" he countered. "After what happened, I'm pretty sure everybody in the Sanctuary wants to be your friend. Well, the workers, at least."

"What?"

"In case nobody's clued you in, you've become pretty popular around here, Miss Priss," he winked at her.

"What do you mean?"

Ian opened his mouth, but a tall shadow fell over the table. They turned their heads to see that Negan had returned, both hands holding trays. He stared down at Ian with an annoyed look, making the younger man drop his eyes to his hands in submission.

"Beat it limpdick," he said gruffly, jerking his head to the side, "this is my lunch date."

Ian was out of his seat and retreating from the table before Negan could finish speaking. He kept his head down as he went, trying not to challenge the alpha while Negan watched him go. To Sam's surprise the frown on his face remained, instead of curling into that mean, satisfied smile of his whenever he dominated someone without effort.

He let out a deep-throated huff at the pipsqueak's gall as he placed his and Sam's trays on the table. He sat down across from her and dug straight into his lunch while Sam looked down at hers with a blank look. The meal on the tray looked like a generic school lunch, with a grilled cheese sandwich cut into two triangles, a small helping of canned peaches, tatter tots, a carton of chocolate milk and fresh vegetables. Negan had given them both the deluxe lunch package, complete with the ever expensive, point-wise, helping of vegetables.

She looked around at the tables neighboring theirs, taking note of how so much little the other diners had on their trays. Negan glanced up from his food and frowned when he saw her just sitting there.

"What are you fucking waiting for - fucking parsley? Eat your damn food."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Doing what?" he replied around a mouthful of peaches as he chewed ferociously.

"You know what."

He glanced up to see the frown on her face and let out a sigh, putting his spork down and reaching for his napkin. "I'm just giving you a little taste of how easy things can be if you would just let them."

"You mean how easy they would be if I worked for you."

"Tomayto, tomahto," he replied, flippant. He picked up a baby carrot and bit into it. The sound of it crunching under his teeth cut through all the other noises in the cafeteria. "Like you said, threatening you isn't going to get me anywhere and I figured you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, right?"

"I'm not an insect."

"You sure? Because you sure are bugging me."

He laughed as his own joke, slamming his palm down on the table and drawing the attention of everybody in the cafeteria. They turned their heads and stared, some even flinched. His carefree laughter seemed to disturbed the diners more than reassured them that he was in a good mood. Sam supposed that the man's distinguished chortle could very well be a herald for pain for the people who were used to seeing him turn violent on a dime.

She, however, was more annoyed than afraid. Her nose curled up in frustration. She leaned forward, keeping her voice low so that their conversation stayed between them. That was the only way she could get away with snapping at Negan; if no one was around to witness it. He would tolerate it because it amused him, but she knew he would pull rank if her opinionated speech caused him to lose even more face.

"If you could just stop patronizing me for one second-"

Negan held up his hand as he stuffed another peach slice into his mouth. "Okay, okay, calm your tits. I was trying to lighten the fucking mood, sheesh."

He waited until he finished chewing and wiped his mouth with his napkin before continuing.

"I'm being totally serious when I say that I think having you here would be a great fit. You made me look like a jackass, but I'm willing to let all that go because you're smart. Intelligence is not a fucking thing to be wasted, especially not in this world. Smart people are fucking gems to me. They're awesome finds and it doesn't happen often. I'd give my left nut for a worker half as sharp as you."

Sam was skeptic. "And why would you value that so much?"

"Because intelligence fuels progression, Mouse, and that's what I'm aiming for here; progression. I might not be the hardest dick in the orgy, but I know that any rise of any empire ever was built on the back of smart motherfuckers."

"I'm positive that any empire ever was built on the back of slaves; not philosophers."

"Isn't any poor, starving fucker who can string a coherent sentence together considered a philosopher? Wasn't Diogenes a fucking hobo?"

That was not the best example to prove his case since Diogenes lived in poverty completely of his own volition, but knowing that it was rhetoric, Sam looked down at her tray, finally picking up her spork. She was tired of talking to him and wanted to eat her lunch in silence, but he pushed his argument.

"The 'slaves', as you call them in this little scenario - which I do not appreciate what you're implying about me, by the way - do the manual crap, yeah, but what's the point when there's no vision behind it? What's the point of anything? Without a vision you just have a bunch of mindless pricks trying to hump a doorknob. We're no better than the dead-o's like that. Any asshole can learn how to grow crops or shoot a gun, but it takes a lot of fucking time and resources to teach someone something of true, unique value, and even then there's no guarantee that any of it will even stick, because at the end of the day, you can't fix stupid." He pointed his spork at her. "Take my fucking word on that, Mouse. I know what I'm talking about."

"Obviously."

"Scientists and inventors," he declared, "if you want your operation to go anywhere, those are the people you have to have on your side."

"Is that what you would call this place?" She backtracked. "An empire?"

"Fuck yeah. What would you call it?"

"Despotism."

He sighed again. "Jesus, you're so fucking negative. I'm disappointed that you're not seeing the bigger picture here, Mouse."

"I do see your 'bigger picture'," she fired back, "and I can think of ten people off the top of my head who have done it before you with much better results - twenty, if I concentrate."

"This isn't about being fucking original, it's about survival."

"I know that. I just don't understand why you have to put so much exuberance behind it."

Negan looked up from his food, incredulous. "Is that what you're fucking taking issue with here? Not that I'm - according to you - Hitler Junior, but that I put flare behind it? That I'm Hitler Junior with a charming disposition? Goddamn, kick a guy in the balls for trying to put a little showmanship into his work. Fuck."

"The world is twisted enough without someone like you cracking penis jokes as they beat people's heads in with a baseball bat," she argued.

He shrugged his shoulders in clear disagreement as he went back to his food. Silence filled the air between them as they ate their lunches. Sam picked up a peach slice and put it in her mouth. It tasted so sweet against her tongue, she almost had to spit it out with how strong it was. It was a jarring contrast from what she was usually fed. It felt cool going down her throat when she finally managed to swallow.

Maybe Negan was right in some way, she thought as she poked at another peach slice. Maybe she didn't really care about the things he did (because even though she felt sympathy for the workers, she wasn't emotional attached to any of them), it was just how he did them that rubbed her the wrong way. She found it...inappropriate, which sounded ridiculous, because what was really appropriate anymore? But it wasn't inappropriate like putting your elbows on the dinner table or talking during a movie. It was the kind of inappropriate that made your skin scrawl and tickled your gag reflex.

"In any case, if you knew anything about history, then you would know that these methods never work in the long-term," she felt the need to say. "Your 'bigger picture' has been like many others' before, and none of them have lasted. "

"Why? Because democracy and power to the people always triumphs?" Negan snorted.

"No. Because people really hate being told what to do, and eventually someone is going to decide to do something about it besides complain. Those methods work better during a crisis when people feel helpless and need direction from someone who seems like they know what they're doing, but once the crisis is over, people aren't as keen serving under absolute power."

"Is that someone you, Mouse?"

"I don't have issues with authority. If things were different, I wouldn't have a problem being under someone's leadership if it meant I could live in a place as secure as the Sanctuary."

"They could've been different, if you had just knocked on our front door like any other sane, rational fucker would have. But the ship hasn't sailed yet. Things can still be different," Negan smiled. "I told you, you can have a wicked setup here if you work for me. You're clever and I like that. I like that a lot."

"So you've said."

"You know, most women would recognize the compliment just given to them and say Thank You. If this is the reception I get for calling you smart, then I'm scared to see what would happen if I called you a nasty bitch or hateful cunt. Although I'm sure you're probably used to that."

"I don't like false flattery."

"You don't believe me when I say I think you're smart?"

"I don't believe you when you say you like that I'm smart," she clarified, despite her better judgment.

"Oh really?" he replied tersely.

She could hear the offense in his tone and see the way his eyes hardened despite the smirk on his face. He thought she was calling him a liar. In actuality, she saw his compliment as misguidance, which was a distinction that would have been enough to pacify herself, but wasn't any better in the eyes of someone like Negan.

"It's not personal," she explained, though she really didn't want to. She hated talking about this. "Nobody is truly impressed with a smart person."

His brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

She shook her head. "They just aren't."

Nobody likes having to admit to themselves that someone is better than them in some way. People may compliment her, say she's smart, but in the back of their minds, they're thinking: 'not as smart as me, I bet'. So they go on being impressed, seeing her intelligence as a neat party trick until they realize they really aren't as smart. Then suddenly she becomes the bitch who nitpicks and thinks she's better than everybody else, and the fact that she could recite the periodic table from memory and complete a thousand piece puzzle in half an hour without looking at the box just wasn't as charming anymore.

Jealousy and resentment set in and they live to see her fail. They would harass her, talk behind her back and purposely exclude her from things but still cheat off of her in class.

"Intelligence is a burden," she found herself saying. "It doesn't guarantee success in life, but people have higher expectations regardless. I'm expected to be the top performer in everything, whether its my area of expertise or just some random subject, and if I'm not, I lose my value. Smart people are more aware of the existential significance in things, and the lack thereof. Everything is moribund because nothing really means anything and we know it. You have to find a way to filter it otherwise you risk becoming a nihilist, which makes it difficult to see the point. Given how the world is now, 'the point' is what keeps the gun out of your mouth and your finger off the trigger."

Negan frowned, his fork hanging forgotten between his fingers.

"Well that's fucking depressing, and wrong. I don't have a habit of saying shit I don't mean just to tickle someone's balls, and I'm not a petty fucker who can't handle playing second fiddle to someone better than me if they really are. If someone is smarter than me, then they're smarter than me. Fucking case closed. I accept it and move on. Moreover, I let them fucking use it because I can't. I can't convince you that I'm being completely fucking serious here?"

Sam collected her trash on to her tray and stood up from the table. She stepped into Negan's space. He had been leaning forward with his elbows on the tabletop while eating his lunch, but once she approached, he sat up straight again with a cool, collected look on his face, sensing a challenge. She braced her bound hands against the table and leaned in, using her standing position to tower over him like he had done to her so many times. Her eyes met his in a hard stare as she spoke just loud enough for the both of them to hear.

"I won't be convinced that you're truly impressed until you can sit there and watch as I pick apart your overinflated ego, piece by conceited piece, and still give me a smile by the end of it."

That was the only way; to acknowledge someone's strengths through your shortcomings. Not even the most humble of men could suppress resentment after being so thoroughly put down, because everybody wanted to believe that there was something good about them, that they were special in some way, but Samantha would shatter that illusion, and for no other reason than just because she could.

She held her gaze with Negan, the tension between them palpable as the rest of the cafeteria fell away. This was the first time she had gone on the offensive since he had lured her into the Sanctuary's basement, the first time she had actively fought back against him since being imprisoned. There would be hell to pay for it at some point, but not right then, because instead of getting mad, Negan stared at her without saying a word. There was amusement in his eyes as they danced half-lidded back and forth between hers.

Refusing to move an inch from her abrasive stance, Sam's heart thudded loudly in her chest as she waited. He sucked on his teeth, deciding how he was going to respond.

"Yep," he eventually said, his voice just above a whisper. He smirked, leaning in. "I am so going to put a baby in you one day."

Sam let out a sound of disgust as she reared back, stepping away the table. She glared as Negan laughed at her. Nervous looks from the diners were sent their way, but they didn't linger once the tension was defused. She was left standing there awkwardly with dejection. His laughter trailed off and he let out a satisfied sigh, standing up.

"Alright, I think you've gotten your fifteen minutes of fame. Let's get you back to your suite before all this attention goes to your head."

After replacing their trays, Negan grabbed his baseball bat and led Sam out of the cafeteria. The hallway wasn't an improvement over the cafeteria, but at least there was the cessation of voices so drained of life that it was causing her secondhand depression. She preferred Negan's overzealous presence over that of the workers any day. At least with him it didn't feel like staring at a goblin with eyes that haven't clouded over yet.

As he brought her back to the cells, she thought about what he had said. Not necessarily about what he had said, but rather why he had.

Through the course of their conversation he had gotten more authentic, becoming more genuine with his opinions and not being so crass, but the comment about the baby had been a hard left turn. It was abrupt and almost, somehow, out of character - or rather, perhaps in better terms, out of context.

He had used his humor to deflate the tension, and from that Sam realized, quite possibly, that he had been uncomfortable with it. Listening to someone self-deprecate themselves usually breeds awkwardness for the listener, and apparently Negan was no exception. Or perhaps she had taken the conversation in a direction he hadn't expected and instead of reacting as "leader of the saviors", he went with reflex and reacted as "Negan" with vulgar humor as a defense mechanism.

Either way, she felt like he had slipped somehow, even though she couldn't pinpoint where exactly. It was a small chink, a revelation that she possibly had the ability to make him squirm in his seat, just like he did with her. Was it something she could use? She wasn't sure, but she stored it away regardless for later analyzing.

When they finally reached the secluded hallway where her little room was, she walked over to her door and waited for Negan to open it for her.

"Do I get my reward?" she asked as he pulled the door open, leaning on it.

Confusion passed over the man's seasoned features before he remembered the other part of their bargain. He smiled. "I'm a man of my word, Mouse. No more binding your hands."

"Good."

Without preamble, Sam tented her bound wrists so that the ziptie became taut and brought her arms down in a swift move around her middle that snapped the ziptie where the connections were. The sound of snapping plastic echoed through the hall.

After the broken tie slipped from her wrists and on to the ground, Sam let her freed hands hang at her sides as she looked up at Negan. He was staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

On the one hand, it had been risky revealing to Negan that she knew how to break zipties, because then he might use something harder to get out of, like handcuffs (which were indeed harder, but not impossible). But on the other hand it showed that even though she could get out of her binds, she hadn't, and it might incite some trust between them. It was her fail safe, a test to see if he truly was a man of his word. One of two things could happen. He either would get mad or he would laugh it off. It was an experiment, done at the risk of worsening her situation. What did Negan value more. His pride or his word?

Sam didn't really care otherwise, part of her just wanted to be a jerk.

When he didn't react, she walked into her cell, passing the man as he held the door open. She could feel his gaze on her back as she went, but he didn't move, even though she half expected him to bury his hand in her hair and drag her back out. She walked over to the wall and lowered herself to the ground, pulling her legs so that they were tucked underneath her. Her hands found her lap and she waited for him to close her door.

She watched his shadow dance across the floor as he finally moved, coming to stand in the doorway looking down on her.

"You know," he said in soft tone, "some of the workers really admire what you did here."

She didn't reply or look up. She rubbed at her wrist where the ziptie chaffed them.

"They think of you as some kind of rebel or modern day Joan of Arc, here to fight the unjust system and liberate them."

She wanted to scoff. That was what Ian must have been talking about. They were going to be sorely disappointed.

"We'll have to fix that."

With those ominous parting words, Negan shut her door, leaving her in darkness with the sliver of space under her door where she could still see his boots. Lingering for a few seconds, they turned and left. She waited until she could no longer hear his footfalls before craning her head back against the wall. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.

She sat in silence for a short while until Meat Loaf's "I'd do anything for love" began to play, drowning out all thought.

AN: Much like last chapter this one was pretty chatty, but hopefully next chapter will be more exciting, since we can't expect Sam to stay put where she is for too long.

Just like in real life I believe conversations determine what kind of relationship you're going to have with someone and I like any eventual romance to feel warranted and natural. I'm a firm believer in proper character development, and keeping canon characters in-character is SUPER important to me, which is why my stories tend to be slow burns. I've found that that's the only way to ingrain an original character into the source material without them feeling shoehorned in.

~Scorpiofreak~