Exhaustion, real true exhaustion can make things occur when you finally let your body relax that you wouldn't do if you'd fallen asleep naturally. That has to be the reason, five nights after returning to the Sanctuary from Alexandria for the second time, that I finally succumbed to my exhaustion and completely ignored my bed-mate. And while you're unconscious, finally letting the elusive rest take over your entire body, you may wake up in an awkward position. That HAS to be the reason that on the sixth day I woke up wrapped around Negan's body. It's the only damn reason that makes any type of fucking sense.

I woke up, feeling the heat of his chest pressed against my cheek, my leg thrown over one of his, and curled so tight against him that I felt the blush burn up my body from my toes to my hairline. Fuck.

His arm was wrapped around my back, holding me as tight against him as I was pressed, and from the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the snoring, I knew he was still asleep. The issue now? How the hell do I extradite myself from him without waking up the mocking asshole?

I couldn't struggle while I figured it out, that's the ONLY reason I stayed exactly the same as I woke up. It definitely wasn't because of how warm he felt. I definitely wasn't snuggling closer because he smelled strangely wonderful. And I sure as fuck wasn't pressing tighter against him for comfort. Because that would mean that I was full on fucking insane. Period.

I was locked in my own thoughts of how to remove myself, and NOT about what he must use to shower with to smell the way he did, and missed as his fingers tightened on my hip. I was so entirely inside of my own mind thinking of escape options, really, truly, that I nearly missed feeling his head lower to the top of my head and inhale the scent of ME. I swallowed hard. Shit.

"Morning, sunshine." Negan's voice was rough from sleep, making him sound even deeper and darker than usual. "Sleep well?" I was listening for the tone. The one he used when he taunted people. I've learned it well over the past few days. And I couldn't find it in his question.

I shrugged, but didn't move. "It was OK." I sounded so breathy that I wanted to fucking die. Not a suicide, more like could the fucking bed swallow me already, death.

His chuckle vibrated against my cheek. "Just OK?" His face was still pressed into the top of my head, I could tell, since I felt the warmth of his words ruffle my hair.

I propped my chin onto his chest and looked up. "Just your average Tuesday." I was going for flippant. If I looked and sounded like it didn't matter, then I took away his ability to tease and mock.

He was smiling. Not a smirk. Not a leer, but an actual smile. "This is what you do on Tuesdays?" His free hand found my cheek and the rough pad of his thumb brushed my skin. "Damn, might have to make every fucking day Tuesday."

I rolled my eyes and started to pull away, but his arm around me tightened just enough to ask me to stay. It wasn't restrictive, it wasn't a demand or command. Just a little pressure letting me know that he didn't want me to move yet, if I wasn't against staying. Was I? Against staying?

I lay still as I pondered, letting my head lay back against his chest. His hand was still cradling my face, his thumb still brushing my skin. It was weird. The way he was holding me, touching me, was very different from before. From when Daryl and I first touched. From the first time we made love in the field near the Greene Farm, using the moon as our only guide.

The way Negan had begun casually touching me from almost the first moment we were alone. The way he held my hand in Alexandria during the first visit. The way he found me after killing Dr. Carson to find reassurance, understanding. I'd told myself that when he'd held my wrist and hand during that first time back, it was to remind me of my order not to speak to my people. Or to poke a hole in my dad's softest spots. Was that the only reason?

"Why did you do it?" I asked, realizing that I wasn't being nearly clear enough. "Why did you hold on to me when we went back that first time?" I looked back up into his face, feeling that if I held his eyes with mine, I could probably see if he lied.

He was staring into my eyes and I could tell he was weighing my question with his answer. A sigh. "I told myself it was to rub it into Rick. To the redneck. To remind them that they fucking failed you. And failed to do what they'd wanted so badly to do, beat me." He licked his lip and his thumb brushed under my eye, tracing where the dark circles had been so dark. "That works for the wrist hold, right?"

I watched him and waited. He seemed to be dealing with some inner debate.

"Fuck if I know, but when Carl fired that shot, while your dad and I were trading barbs, I saw it. That look that crossed your face." His thumb moved lower, over my cheek, down until it was right under my bottom lip. "You looked like you'd failed. That you offered yourself up on a silver platter to die, and they didn't care. That it wasn't enough to get them in line and that it was all for nothing." A brush against my lip. "And damn it, Jessi, I couldn't fucking stand to see that. To let you think that you weren't enough. No matter what THEY did, or what THEY think. You're worth a thousand of each and every one of them."

I swallowed and nodded, then lay my head back on his chest. I'd asked, and he'd told me. And I could tell, from the short time I'd been his shadow, that he wasn't bullshitting me. I knew because he looked as fucking confused by it as I was.

We got up not long after that. I couldn't meet his eyes, not yet. I had too much to think about, about what he'd said. I needed to work through not just what he said, but what it meant. And how I felt about it.

He gave me the bathroom first, and after I'd showered and redressed, I came out to find him standing tense in front of the window I'd stood at days ago. I studied him as I put on my boots. And I waited for him to tell me what today's schedule looked like.

"I'm gonna need you to come with me to the cells," he was speaking to the window, not turning to face me. "We had a breach last night."

I was biting my lip. His tone, it warned of something, but I wasn't sure what. "I'll be back in a minute." He didn't look at me as he walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

As we walked to the cells, a part of the Sanctuary that I didn't recall visiting on either tour, he wasn't whistling. He was holding Lucille as tensely as he'd stood at the window. I started to feel a blossom of fear building in my chest. Was this it? Had he finally shown me too much, or lulled me into a false sense of security, and NOW after toying with me like a cat does a mouse, he was leading me to the end? The fear was heavy, suffocating, and building as we walked.

He stopped before we turned down another corridor and looked down at me. I was studying the floor, feeling like my heart was pounding loud enough to hear, to remind me that I wasn't ready to fucking die. Not yet.

"She came in last night," his voice was quiet. "They brought her down here, but just told me." Her? She? Who? "I don't know if Rick was part of the plan, or if this was a search and destroy mission." I swallowed, still staring at the floor. "Jessica," I closed my eyes and waited. When his fingers slid to my chin and tilted my face up to his, they opened. "I'm not doing this to hurt you. If she sees you, it might help her make the right choice." His thumb, as it had earlier, was tracing my cheek. "Just stand beside me, you don't have to speak unless you want to." Freedom to choose, he was giving me the freedom to decide if I wanted to talk to whomever had, once again, refused to just go with the new world order.

I nodded and we continued. I can feel Negan tense beside me and then he's rushing forward to an open door. And there, on the floor with a disgusting man hovering over her, is Sasha. Her shirt is ripped, I see as Negan draws the man's attention. Her hands are bound behind her. I can feel the rage rolling off the man beside me as the other man tries to explain. Tries and fails.

My eyes don't leave Sasha. She's glaring up at me, as though I did this. I put her in this room. I tied her up and left her to this piece of utter garbage. I'm so focused on the hatred and anger that she's throwing at me with just her eyes, that when the man falls, knife wound to the neck bleeding fast and furious, I nearly miss it.

One of the others, I don't know his name, is hovering just behind us. Negan calls for him to get Sasha a new shirt, after asking her her name and complimenting the beauty of it. He kneels, as I stand behind him, and cuts off her bindings. Apologizing for what she'd had to deal with from the attempted rapist. Apologizing for the necessity of the rope. And as she's still shooting me looks that would stab me as surely as he'd taken down Davey, and a flicker of recognition lights up his face as he stands up, closer to me.

"Oh shit, I remember you. Yeah. You were there." He makes the motion with Lucille mimicking Abe's death, a knocking noise. And her glare at me grows hotter. "Hey, that's unnecessary." He caught it, and stepped slightly in front of me. He starts to divert her attention from me, mixing compliments about her toughness with questions about whether this was Dad's idea.

"Rick?" I can hear the derision in her voice. "Your bitch? No." Great, she's acting alone, which means that even if Dad doesn't come for Negan, the others, like Rosita, are going to try on their own.

Negan tells her she has a choice. That he doubts that she thought she'd survive, but since he's down a man, she can decide. He hands her the knife and I feel myself still. Kill him, take her shot, even though he's got Lucille to back him up. Slit her own wrists, die on her own terms, even if it would be a damn shame. I don't hear the same concern in his tone that he'd had with me when he asked if I were suicidal, but maybe I wasn't listening hard enough. Or, take the knife, kill Rapey Davey when he reanimates, or let him eat her face. If she kills him, she's joined the cause.

And then he turns, takes my hand in his, and walks us out the cell. Locking the door behind us, Negan waits until we're down the hall, the back up behind us. "Are you alright?" He's being quiet, and I nod. "I'm gonna take you back upstairs. I'll check back on her alone." Another nod. "These fucking people, Jessi, they-" He stops speaking, but we're still walking. "They don't get it. None of them." And I can't tell if he means what I've done, or what he expects.