A few days have passed since the bittersweet reunion with my father.

Heeding my father's warning, I've made a conscious effort to think before I acted. There were some close calls when I physically had to bite my tongue to prevent me from mouthing off against Negan whenever he uttered a crude comment, which was often.

Negan poked and prodded at my mental and emotional resolve daily, testing its integrity to see if he could cause a rise out of me. I held firm, refusing to fly off the handle no matter how bad I wanted to.

My compliance was rewarded in true Negan fashion when he upgraded me from laundry duty to full-blown housekeeper. Along with the laundry, my duties now include vacuuming, dusting, and cooking, amongst other household chores.

"You've been doing such a fucking phenomenal job washing my rancid boxers that I figured it was time to promote you!" Negan had explained his reasoning behind the promotion. "Also, view it as a sign of trust. I've flung a shit ton of shit your way the past few days and you've fucking taking it in stride. I must admit, I'm proud of ya, pup!"

'Proud of me ?' I wasn't expecting that reaction from him.

Negan is such a hard-ass to the point where it's out of place for him to show any emotion that doesn't involve tearing someone down. This fact made gaining his genuine approval and trust truly unprecedented. I can't squash this opportunity.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I thought that I was tired before when having to spend my days doing Negan's, and whoever else's clothes he decided to add, laundry. Boy, how I wish that I could go back to that!

He wakes me at the crack of dawn so that I can begin brewing his coffee while he's getting ready. Occasionally, his order will be expanded to include an omelet or bowl of oatmeal with his beverage. Either way, his coffee and breakfast better be waiting for him by the time he comes into the kitchen.

After I've washed and changed into my clothes for the day, Negan would pass on my honey-do list for the day before walking out the door. Each task is to be completed before his return later that evening. I don't dare ask what would happen if the list was incomplete.

Only after Negan leaves, and my babysitter for the day arrives, am I able to prepare breakfast for myself. I know to prepare two helpings of food if it's Simon's lucky day to watch me; the man never turns down a meal.

After cleaning the kitchen from breakfast, the honey-do list begins. The chores are usually the same everyday – vacuum, laundry, prepare lunch for Negan if he isn't gone on a run, dishes, etc.

My initial thought – 'How much mess could one man make that would require daily maintenance?'

A lot… A whole damn lot….

I don't know how it's humanly possible, but he manages to dirty anything that I had just spent hours cleaning. Whether it's constantly coming upstairs and walking on the freshly mopped floors with shoes covered in dust and unknown substances, or choosing to sit on the furniture with his filthy clothes on, knowing that there will be stains left. I'm constantly cleaning up after him.

Only after straightening up from dinner, am I finally off-duty for the day.

By that time, I'm nearly begging Negan to attach the chain to my collar for me to finally get some shut-eye, knowing that the tiring routine commences again tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I've had a couple days to get acclimated to my new routine.

Today, I knew was going to be one of those days, because Negan is not present.

It's 'payment day'.

I've been trying to stay focused on my work to keep my mind off that fact, already feeling the fog of anxiety surrounding me. It's not until I've mopped the same spot three times that I realize that I'm fighting a losing battle.

All I can do is worry. It was made known that my dad is already struggling to keep up with Negan's demands. How much longer can he keep this up? There would only be but so much more that he could sell to make any kind of profit; soon to be Negan's profit.

I just pray that he scavenged enough to get us though another week…

With the episode of worry out of the way, I'm able to breeze through the rest of my chores. Negan's absence also aids in my efficiency considering that he isn't around to interrupt me and add more work, or mess up what I've already done.

The clock on the wall of the kitchen reads 2 PM when I check off the last item on the list.

Negan won't return until at least six. I'm not about to sit around and allow my worried thoughts to overtake me again. Maybe Dwight would know of more work that needs to be done.

Dwight sits at the dining room table. Stacks of papers with names and numbers lay scattered across the surface. He's been hunched over the stationary for hours, only diverting his attention to check on my progress or request a bite to eat or drink.

I cautiously approach him. "Dwight?"

He shows no sign of registering my comment, let alone my presence. Dwight keeps his eyes entranced on the paperwork before him.

It takes me tapping him on the shoulder for him to snap out of it and face me.

"What do you want?" His tone exasperated. "Don't you have shit that you should be doing?"

"I finished it," I said showing him the list.

"Bullshit." The list is snatched from my hands as Dwight double checks my work. After a few moments, he finally nods his head, and hands me back the piece of paper.

"Someone works fast... Go read a book or something, I don't care. Just keep it quiet. I'm trying to get shit done over here."

I speak up before he totally brushes me off. "I'd rather keep working. What else can I do?"

"What? I just gave you the rest of the afternoon off and you want more fucking work to do?"

My eyes fall as I try to mask the true reason behind wanting the extra work.

"It keeps my mind off things…" I mumble.

Dwight releases a sigh, immediately understanding what I meant. He runs a hand through his blonde mane as he contemplates a response. For a split second, his eyes soften the slightest amount like how they did weeks ago during the ironing.

That look disappears as quickly as it appeared, he too realized that his resolve was fading.

"Suit yourself… You could always organize the shit in the cabinets. It's impossible to find anything in that damn kitchen."

I offer a slight nod in thanks before leaving him to resume his work.

Dwight was right; Negan's kitchen cabinets are very disorganized. When preparing meals, it takes me more time to locate the pots, pans, and utensils than it does to cook the food. You would find a strainer in the same cabinet as the glasses, pots and their designated lids are in two different locations, and don't get me started when it comes to locating the spices shoved in the most random places. All of which, were of course in the midst of his huge alcohol collection.

I stand in the middle of the kitchen, hands on my hips, contemplating where to begin. This is going to be a daunting task….

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm seated in the floor with various kitchenware scattered around me after several hours of sorting. All of his precious alcohol bottles in the center of the island knowing it was safer there. In the back of a cabinet is another high-end frying pan that is still sporting a price tag.

You gotta be kidding me?

That's the fourth pan that I've found that has yet to been used! Why the hell does one man need this many damn pots and pans? He could easily open a restaurant with the amount of cookware that he has.

A glimmer of metal at the very back of the cabinet alerts me that there is yet another pan to be retrieved.

I maneuver onto all fours and crouch my head down to wiggle into the cabinet and retrieve the pan.

Being cramped into the confined cabinet causes a sense of déjà vu. I was in the same position when that bastard henchman of Negan's snuck up on me and tried to make me a casualty in his devious plan.

Oh well, at least I don't need to worry about being startled like that agai–

"Yoooohooooooo? The fuck you doing down there?"

My body jumps, causing a familiar pain to radiate through my neck and head as they collide against the underside of the cabinet.

"Fucking dammit!" I hiss angrily.

I back out of the cabinet, rubbing my throbbing neck, to see Negan standing in the middle of my mess. He doesn't look amused to see the contents of his cabinets filling the entire floor.

"You were supposed to be cleaning, not making more of a fucking mess. Care to explain, pup?" He gestures widely with Lucille, emphasizing his point.

His tone causes me to cower beneath him even though I've done nothing wrong.

"There's a point to this mess." I pause, wincing as a sharp pain travels through my neck. "I finished the work that you left for me so I figured that I would be productive with my free time. Organizing the cabinets will make things easier for everyone. No more having to scourer the kitchen for one sticking spoon."

Negan's features soften. "Shit, there I go again being an ass before I've gotten the whole fucking story. I'm sorry, darlin'. I should've known that you wouldn't be up to some shady shit while I was gone. You know better than that by now."

Did he just say 'I'm sorry'?

Negan?

Apologizing?

For a moment, I only stare at him. Truly astonished by the sudden shift in attitude.

"Um, It's okay...," The phrase sounding unsure. "I was just about to start putting everything back. I have a good idea of where things need to go now."

"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Negan jeers. He props Lucille against the counter and slumps onto the floor next to me, displaying his toothy grin. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Geez, really kid?" He reaches down and picks up a frying pan. "You gonna show me where to shove all this shit?"

A chuckle escapes before I realize it. "You? Helping me? Seriously?"

Now, I've seen many looks on Negan's face. Frustration, rage, glee, and even sorrow. But the look that he gave me was one that I had yet to see, one that I never expected to see from him.

Hurt.

Genuine hurt.

His smirk is gone, lips pressed into a hard line. For a moment, he doesn't say a word. Only starring directly at me, the weight of his gaze conveying how much my comment wounded him.

"When are you going to realize that I'm not just some ruthless, piece of shit? I can be a decent human-being from time to time. Sure, I haven't given you any reason to believe that yet, but I'm fucking trying, okay? It's not like I want to be a dick all the time. Old habits are hard to break."

I hang my head in shame. Internally kicking myself for failing to think before opening my big mouth. I can add 'unintentionally offending Negan' to my list of fuck ups.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said that –."

Negan raises his hand, stopping me in my tracks. "No. You said it, you meant it. It's done. I don't necessarily blame you. Just know that there is more to me than the crazed, bat wielding lunatic that you're used to."

I nod in response and grab a small frying pan, placing it in one of the cabinets. Negan silently follows my lead and does the same. Each of us working in tandem to refill the bare cabinet shelves.

We work in silence. Exchanging the occasional sideways glance and comments of 'that goes here' or 'hand me that lid'.

His words echoed in my mind. Of course, I would only expect the worst out of him since that is all that I've come to know. Sure, he's been sweet and kind on the rarest occasion, but not to the point where I would expect it out of him. I'm practically dealing with a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation, where Negan stays almost permanently locked in 'Dr. Jekyll' mode.

However, he has shown me that a 'Mr. Hyde' lies somewhere beneath the dense layers of Dr. Jekyll that entangle his heart and psyche.

It's about time to begin digging for ol' Mr. Hyde.

"Remember the little game of twenty questions we played the other week?" I ask, passing him a saucepan.

"You mean when you rendered me fucking speechless with your sports brain? Hell yeah. Why?" Negan hesitates, trying to predict where I'm going with this.

"You've berated me with a million questions. It's about time that you sat in the hot seat for a change."

Negan shakes his head. "Nope, not gonna happen!"

"Oh come on!" I whine. "You said that 'there is more to you'. I'm just trying to do what you said and be open to more. Besides, you know practically everything about me and I don't even know your favorite color."

He pauses and sighs. "Fuck it… black. My favorite God damn color is black."

That's no surprise considering his dark wardrobe.

"Okay, cool. Favorite food?"

"Spaghetti. I used to keep a stockpile of Spaghetti-O's in the pantry. Had to quit that shit because I ate it so much that it made me constipated. Fucked my ass up bad!"

I don't know whether to laugh or vomit at the thought of Negan's precarious bathroom situation.

"Let me put it this way," Negan continues, "it felt like I birthed a seven pound, six-ounce baby turd log when I finally loosened up enough to get it out of my fucking insides."

That was enough to send me over the edge in hysterical laughter.

Negan joins in, both of us soon clutching our stomachs from laughing so hard.

We never make it to another question due to the prolonged chuckling that maintained itself for the remaining duration of the cabinet organizing.

"That's some fine handy work." Negan admires the fruits of our labor. Every pot, pan, lid, and utensil has a designated home, whether in a drawer, cabinet, or in the pantry. His alcohol having a whole cabinet to its' self.

He slowly rises to his feet due to the stiff muscles from sitting cross-legged on the floor for so long.

Reaching a hand down, Negan pulls me to my feet. The change in positioning causes another hot, stabbing pain to traverse through my neck.

"Jesus Christ, pup, how do you keep fucking yourself up?" A frown appears on his face upon seeing my obvious pain and discomfort.

"It's a gift, I guess."

I try to rub away the tenderness of the muscles, but to no avail with the area on the back of my neck and shoulders being out of reach.

"Come here," Negan motions.

Though leery of what he wants, but not wanting to ruin the lighthearted atmosphere, I comply and go to stand in front of a concerned Negan.

Negan gently turns me to where I'm facing away from him.

My body involuntarily stiffens as I feel his large hands begin to rub and knead the sore muscles of my neck. The collar shifts as he pushes it upward to get at the muscles.

"Just relax...," he instructs. "It'll loosen your muscles up a bit."

I try my absolute hardest to will my muscles to slacken.

Just focus on the actions and not on who is doing them…

At first, the muscles screamed in protest of the localized pressure coming from Negan's thick fingers squeezing and pressing on the tender area.

The pain is replaced with soothing relief when Negan changes tactics and begins rubbing the back of my neck in small circles, taking his time in doing so.

Damn, it feels so good.

His skillful hands travel down to my shoulders, individually working the muscles in each shoulder.

"No need to be so tense, darlin'. I know that you've been worried about your pops today."

I go rigid at the mentioning of my father.

"Shhhh...," Negan soothes. He increases the pressure, encouraging my muscles to relax again. "Your dad paid up. Not one cent was missing."

His words bring instant calm to me. I had been worrying all day about today's meet up. Now knowing that my father could survive yet another week is enough to keep me going as well.

Negan lightly snickers upon feeling me relax under his touch.

He continues undoing the knots that had built up in my upper body, making sure to show equal attention to both shoulders.

I found myself leaning into his touch. Entranced in the soothing bliss of being pain-free for a change. I know that I shouldn't be okay with this, Negan being so close and intimate, but it feels so good that any previous causes for concern have vanished.

A subtle moan leaves my lips as those fingers of his begin to knead the delicate area between my shoulder blades, a spot where I've always carried a lot of tension.

"Judging by that sound you just made, I'm guessing that I hit a sweet spot?" He leans in close and whispers.

"Mmmmhmmmm." Unable to form coherent sentences.

I feel his calloused hands slowly work their way down my shoulders and back, coming to rest on my hips. His thumbs slip under the waistband of my basketball shorts and begin to gently caress the exposed flesh in lazy circles.

The sudden feeling of direct skin-to-skin contact that far down is enough to snap me out of my trance. He's crossed uncharted territory. I take one hand and wrap it around Negan's wrist in an attempt to pull him away.

"Easy there, darlin'.' He shakes free from my grasp and wraps the long arm around me, securing my arms at my side, causing me to stiffen. The other hand gently stroking the nape of my neck, occasionally travelling over the leather collar.

'Take it easy. I was just following your lead. Someone seemed to be enjoying it, too… Yeah, I heard those precious moans of yours." His gruff voice only inches from my ear. The scruff of his beard prickling the delicate skin of the side of my neck.

This has gone too far. I should've never allowed him to begin in the first place! I never wanted this, but my body took control.

"Negan…" I softly plead.

"Come on, little pup, you know that you want this. Your brain may be screaming no, but the pretty little sounds that came from that sweet mouth of yours is saying something totally fucking different. I can make you feel so good, baby. Just give in to what your body already wants…."

I can feel the zipper from his leather jacket press into my back as he pulls me closer to him. He slowly grinds his hips against me, a noticeable bulge forming underneath his pants.

This is an inner battle unlike any other. My body and biological hormones are working against me; it disgusts me that I'm somehow turned on by his antics and that he is able to get such a reaction out of me.

But I don't want this – not this way and not with Negan.

That doesn't seem to matter at this point. He's hell bent on getting what he wants, what he has always wanted from me since our first encounter. How could I have been so naïve to think otherwise?

I must give it one more try.

"Negan… Please…"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"….Stop."

I stumble forward as Negan immediately releases me, backing a few steps away. My arms instinctively wrap around myself.

For a moment, Negan doesn't say a word. He runs his hands through his hair in frustration, refusing to look at me.

Finally, he grabs Lucille and turns to me. "Make sure that this apartment is fucking spotless by the time I come back up here! Not one damn thing better be out of place. I'm not putting up with no God damn bullshit!"

I'm left standing in the middle of the kitchen after he charges out of the apartment.

What the hell just happened…?

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made many appearances tonight. It went from asshole Negan, to considerate Negan, to hurt Negan, to laughable Negan, to gentle Negan, and back to asshole Negan.

My legs eventually give way from being overwhelmed with emotion, causing me to sink to the floor.

Tears fall from my eyes but I have no idea what exact feeling they are coming from. It could be from frustration with myself for inadvertently feeding his desires and finding that I possessed my own. Or, it could be from having to deal with the fact that there are so many different sides to Negan.

Or, it could be thankfulness for the fact that he didn't force himself on me. I believe that is what astounded me the most. He is a man who will take whatever he wants, yet, he didn't 'take' what he wanted from me. It wouldn't have been exactly hard for him. Negan was much stronger than I, but maybe it's a line he won't cross or I just caught him on a good day.

Either way, there is more to Negan than what meets the eye.

Edited by Spitfire47.

Things are heating up! Any thoughts? Thanks for reading!