Disclaimer: I don't own "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I'm not sure why I decided this had to be written, but here we are. I thought it would be interesting to tackle the idea of if instead of Father Gabriel it was Maggie who was left behind with Negan.

Warnings: soul-mates, soul bond, fated love, angst, drama, romance, unresolved sexual tension, post traumatic stress disorder, mild consent issues. Negan is not a good person and Maggie doesn't deserve this.

What doesn't kill me (makes me)

Chapter One

"I hope you got your shitting pants on."

She should have been calm.

She'd practiced it enough times in her head.

Gone over what she would do.

How she would do it.

Rationally.

Emotionally.

Some safe middle ground straddling the two.

So, when she got caught in the open after Gregory sped off in the car - shutting herself into the retrofitted office as she checked her clip and braced her back against the door - she hated how she started to shake when his voice rang out.

Every part of her ran cold.

Fear.

Terror.

Regret.

Grief.

Then hot-

Rage.

Anger.

Horror.

Then something worse than that.

Something that didn't even have a name.

She didn't say anything. She just melted deeper into the shadows as he carried on like she had. Talking to himself in that same sick, self-satisfied drone that made her fingers twitch around the trigger of her Glock.

"Your shitting pants. I hope you're wearin' 'em right now. Cause you are about to shit your pants."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Tasting iron-hot and tangy minerals as she watched Negan's outline slowly detach from the shadows. Feeling something in her harden when he swaggered forward, taking shape in the last of the light before swallowing it completely. Just like the worst kind of metaphor.

She swallowed, tasting the dust from the fight through the corridor of pulsing limbs and gaping mouths. The grit was tacky, scraping between her molars. But every bit of it was preferable to being forced to hear him speak.

"The widow...now why am I not surprised?"

She caught herself in the act of turning away. Something so visceral - so close to revulsion - shuddering through her at the thought of him recognizing her that she nearly shot out blindly. Forcing herself to look up, to tip her chin and look the bastard right in the eye. Watching Glenn's ghost flicker longingly over his shoulder as the shadows condensed, then spread. Slanting their dark tendrils across the room like something living, breathing and-

Her gun came up the same moment he tried to broach the space. Hating the smug expression that stretched as he grinned at her. One hand up like a mockery of surrender, the other firm around his bat. The one he'd named. A woman's name.

She shuddered again.

No.

The line of her lips firmed like a bleeding slash. Imagining she could feel her father's hand on her shoulder. Giving her the strength she knew she had look him right on the eye like the pathetic nightmare he was.

She wasn't afraid.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"We haven't been formally introduced, sweetheart," he purred. Surprising her by actually sounding like he meant it. Like he wasn't using the same cat and mouse tone he'd been using when he started that rhyme in the clearing. The one she realized later had just been for show. The moment Abraham had stood straight and tall, gaze unwavering, Negan had already killed him. He just hadn't fallen down yet.

"I know who you are," she snapped into the dark. Proud when her voice came out sounding more or less steady.

"Yeah, you do, don't you?"

The beating limp fists on the other side of the wall beat an irregular staccato. Turning the atmosphere darker - edgy. Edgy like nails on a chalk board only with the complete absence of the , only without the sound. Just the feeling.

"See, I remember. You weren't lookin' so hot back then, but now, damn- I'm liking the improvement. I asked Rick about you, you know?. I was concerned. Aw, don't look at me like that, sugar. I was, I promise. See, it'sIt's happened before, I've had to take care of business and most times, well, business- my business, makes widows. So, I do the only decent thing, I offer them a place here- at the Sanctuary. But see, Ricky-boy told me you were dead," Negan purred starting, acting like he was about to lean back, before thinking better of it. only to wobble. Limping strangely to the side as he hitched his hip, favoring his leg.

Had Rick got him?

"Imagine that," she returned coldly. Pressing down a fraction of an inch tighter on the trigger as he took another step forward. Leering down at her.

"They've been sticking to you like glue, widow. So how did you get left behind, hmmm?"

She closed her mouth, but the name came out anyway. Grudging and breakable as something dark flashed in the back of his eyes. So close to rage it actually confused her.

"Gregory."

Hatred rose again, but this time she wasn't sure who it was directed at, Negan or herself. Gregory was too irrelevant to waste energy on. He was pathetic and weak, but at the end of the day she was madder at herself for letting him get away at her expense. She couldn't afford to make those kind of mistakes anymore.

Why was she answering?

She didn't owe him anything.

Just a bullet.

And even then, part of her screamed even that was too kind. Too quick. Too much like mercy. She hadn't lost herself when Glenn died, she didn't. She hadn't let the need for revenge consume her. But she'd decided a long time ago that Negan didn't get to live. Not him.

"Gregory, huh?" Negan hummed, shaking his head. "The weasel. Remind me to kill him later. It'll be on the house. Just for you, sweetheart."

Something in her, deep and mired in conflict, stretched out- tentative. Tentative and susceptible to being warmed as the thought made tracks. Sinking into her pores like every part of her was suddenly porous and damn near willing.

"Consider it a gesture of good faith. My way of making amends. Maybe we can start putting this ugly business behind us, and-"

The whine of slow-dying frequencies sang in her eardrums as her bullet buried itself into the wall half an inch from his face. Barrel shaking as she bared her teeth in a rictus-rage. Barely aware of him ducking and feinting right. Yowling out an excited note as he whistled appreciatively.

She blinked.

She missed.

How had she missed?

"Feisty! I like that in a woman! Whoo! Damn, if that wasn't the hottest thing alive!"

She was still staring, numb and disbelieving at the neat hole the bullet had made in wall drilled just above where he'd been standing when Negan killed the space and grabbed her bodily. Finger-less gloves catching roughly against hers as they wrestled with the gun for a horrible half-second before he wrenched it away. The fingers of his free hand digging into her shoulder like talons. Like-

A soft warming glow lit up the dark space.

She looked down and realized it was coming from both of them. Hazing amber-rose - just like the stories. Like the light from the sun was hiding behind your eyelids -. Shining through the ivory of your bones, the tough of sinew and the thinnest of skin. Beading light like honey from his chest to hers, following. Following the spidering lines of veins until they were bound together in the same way. Until every muscle in her abruptly relaxed and she leaned slumped into the solid strength of him like she was breathing the first like. Like-

The wet sound of him choking on whatever he was going to say was damning.

She'd just plain stopped breathing.

Eyes fixed on the golden glow emanating from both of them,like it was the only impossible thing in the room. It was brightest in the center of both their chests, right where their hearts were beating. Able to feel the way one beat sped up to meet the other. Like they couldn't stand to be out of tune. Something in her desperately wanting to give as his arm wrapped loosely around her waist. Pulling her in like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. Looking down at her like-

"What the shit?" he gasped, ragged and breathless as her forehead knocked weakly against his breastbone, trying to fight the need for more. To breathe in and just know him. Wanting it all as he tipped her chin up so he could see her. So she could see how stuttered and wrecked he looked. "What the god damned-"

They were close now.

So close she could feel his breath against her lips.

Spiced apples, aftershave and cinnamon-sweat.

And she could have him.

He was hers.

Every part of him was hers.

He'd been made for her.

In the oldest of ways and the newest of ways.

Hers.

And she was his.

And they were finally-

Horror rose like bile when she realized she wanted to. Able to tell just by looking that his lower lip was soft – kissable - despite the middle being just a little bit rough. Like he chewed on it when no one was looking. Realizing in the moment that it was worse that allthan that. Because she wanted to give in. To lean in and just breathhave him inhere for the rest of her life. Like Knowing deep down now that she had this, nothingnow that she'd found him, no one else would ever be-

She kneed him in the balls the same moment the glow petered out. The same moment his hand had cupped her face. Callouses gliding across her cheek like a raspy kiss as a hail of gunfire issued suddenly from outside.

But the worst part wasn't the knowledge that any minute this place was going to be surrounded by Saviors. It was the expression he flashed her between the pain and the moment the door slammed open. The one that translated into something almost fond as he looked up at her - clutching his privates and half-shrouded in the dark.

Like he was proud of her.

She hated that the most.

"Simon! Excellent timing! Would you please disarm our lovely widow? Gently and with the utmost respect, Regina. She's our guest. I want her treated as such. Now, let's get inside and see what the damage is, shall we?"

She committed everything to memory.

Looking for a way out.

A pattern.

Anything to distract herself from the obvious.

From the fact she could feel him under her skin.

The weight of the stares that followed them made her paranoid they might be able to see it somehow. That people could see the ugly truth of it just by looking. Fighting down revulsion and rage that threatened to pitch like sick-up. Caught between wanting to duck her head and keep it straight. Not knowing how she'd feel or what she'd do if she caught sight of a familiar face.

He led the party up to what looked like an apartment. His place. Talking about the attack, the workers, repairs and how soon things could be up and running. She inspected the room carefully when she was ushered inside. Back molars grinding together whenever Regina pressed the muzzle of her pistol just a bit harder into the soft of her side. Trying to stand as far away from Negan as possible as Simon and Regina stalled in the doorway before they could follow her. Brought up short when Negan held up his hand and said something she didn't catch. Pausing long enough to yell for someone to bring up the doctor before he swung the door closed with a vicious click. Forcing the two of them to jump back to avoid getting their chins clipped as a trio of guards took up space in the hall behind them.

And just like that, they were alone again.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.