I moved from the chair to the cot, pulling down the blankets before walking to my closet where a chest of drawers was located. I grabbed my pajamas, a concession that Negan made once I told him that the expensive lingerie was a waste of space. I'd kept a few favorites, but told him to hand the rest to his "wives". He hadn't been happy that I'd rather sleep in boxers and a tank or pajamas in general, but he'd give me anything I wanted, and what I wanted was comfort.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," I told Daryl, walking to the bathroom. "Rest, please."

I knew he'd be out of the bed as soon as he heard the shower start, but I wished he wouldn't. It wasn't the invasion of privacy I worried about, knowing he'd be searching my room looking for a weapon or escape options, but his wound. He needed rest and recuperation, not frenzied activity. Stripping off the clothes I'd worn when meeting him, I turned on the shower and fussed until I got the temperature right. Sliding into the steady stream, I considered what to do about Daryl.

He wasn't a pet. He wasn't a Savior, nor would he become one. His will wasn't going to be broken, not by Negan, not by anyone but himself. And I couldn't find that upsetting. So many that came in as unwilling recruits soon became as fawning as the ones that volunteered. Daryl was clearly a cut above, and I loved it. The fact that he wasn't going to bow and scrape to Negan or his rules was refreshing and wonderful to me.

I'd watched Negan evolve from a gym teacher who bullied his students into the athletes he expected them to be, to this version. A man who believed he was a god. That he deserved the mass following he yearned for, and that with me by his side he'd not only achieve it, but surpass it. I'd watched the man I'd found strangely addictive sexually, turn into a man who barely resembled him when outside my rooms. Unless, of course, I looked at him, through him really, in front of the others. Then he'd stop. Just stop.

No one understood the power I held. The power I didn't want to wield with him. There were times I found myself wondering what would have happened if the pandemic hadn't happened. If, after his wife Lucille had died, we'd been able to evolve as a couple normally. Would we still be together in that situation? Would we have fallen in love, real love? Or would we have drifted apart? Me, a constant reminder of the asshole he truly had been to find physical comfort in my arms as she lay dying, becoming repugnant. Would I have finally allowed myself to see him in his entirety? The violence, the narcissism, the hate and bullying that never went away?

I cleaned myself as I considered. Looking back wasn't a luxury that many had, the times being as horrible and uncertain, but I had the time and safety to do it often. The Negan I'd known before the world turned to shit wasn't the same, not really. He'd been tortured by Lucille's illness. The feeling that he was being punished for being unfaithful over the years. That God was taking her away because he didn't deserve her. I'd been there, I'd seen it all. How he'd take me into his arms and cry. Screaming about the unfairness of the world, while continuing to do the very thing that he felt he was being punished for, as though he didn't have a choice.

It was one of the most destructive things I knew about him. That I knew that the bat he stroked so fondly was named for her. That I knew that every time he tried to be righteous, he was lying to everyone, including himself. That I knew that he wasn't God or godlike. That he was flesh and blood male. And every single time I stopped him from acting on those horrible violent urges, he knew that I held that within me, that I could make his entire empire crumble with one statement. He was weak. Brought low by his own insecurities and that in the end, he'd keep me as happy as a lark, so I wouldn't bare it to his minions.

I didn't fear for Daryl's safety. Not while I had this power. Not while Daryl was under my protection from that power. How to explain, though, without giving Daryl the ammo I had in abundance? I couldn't give him the knowledge, because if I did, he'd use it and then my power was gone and both of our safety would be null.

I shut off the water, hoping I'd given him ample time to do his search. He needed that, the power to look and search. He was a hunter, probably a tracker, and he had to find that there was nothing in my rooms. Negan wasn't stupid, he wouldn't give me an easy out. Even if I had the rule of the compound. Even if nowhere was truly out of bounds to me. Even if he fawned over me as the others fawned over him. He would never give me a simple release, not suicide at least. Nothing in my room was heavier than a book, and there were no knives.

Drying and dressing, I made noise to let him know I was finished, so he'd have time to be situated back on my bed. Letting Daryl feel like he held some power, some version of freedom in this was important. It was part of his alpha male DNA. I knew, because in some ways, Negan was the same. Control, real or manufactured, had to be maintained on some level.

I smiled at him, lying on my bed, and another twist of lust hit me. Even covered in the shapeless sweats, even knowing he was heavily bandaged, this man had a potent pull on me. I tossed my dirty laundry in the basket they'd brought the bed linens in and put it in the corner. Sitting on the cot, I waited to see if he had anything to say. When nothing came, I laid down myself. "Could you turn off the lamp?" I asked, since it was sitting on the table next to him.

The room went completely dark and I sighed into my pillow. The bed wasn't uncomfortable, per say, just small and slightly lumpy. I'd had worse. I listened to the sound of him. His breathing, his moving on my bed to get comfortable. I wasn't sure what I wanted. For him to ask me to join him? To hold him? To touch him? All things I wanted, eventually, but I knew he needed time. Tomorrow, I thought, I'd ask him more questions. I'd find out who Daryl Dixon was, and hopefully, make him understand that I truly wasn't a threat.

I never quite understood how I always knew when morning arrived. My rooms had no windows. I didn't have a clock, never really felt the need for one. And yet, inevitably, I'd wake early every day. My internal clock was still fully charged, apparently, and that was a comfort. Unlike the bed I lay on, I thought, with a groan. Thank God I'm small, was the next thought as I sat up. The cot would be a tight fit if Daryl insisted on using it.

"Mornin'." I heard his voice call out. He flicked on the lamp, and the dim light caused me to blink rapidly to let my eyes adjust. "Sorry."

I smiled through the squint I must be giving him. "Not a problem." I stretched and felt my shirt ride up a bit, showing skin. The blankets had been kicked off during the night, as usual. "Good morning." I stood up and walked to my bed. "How are you feeling?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly hating the mothering act, but tough luck. "I'm fine. Been through worse."

I shook my head and reached out, ignoring his body growing ridged and the slight flinch that flickered through him. My fingertips moved the hair gently from his forehead, giving me a full view of those blue eyes that first drew me to him, and then to press the back of my hand against his forehead. Feeling as cool as he could be in the warmth of the room, I smiled down at him. "No fever." I said, feeling triumphant. "Let me grab your next dose of antibiotics." I started to turn, but he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

"Thank you." His voice was barely louder than a breath. "I don't understand why you done it, but thank you."

I nodded down at him, fighting the urge to sit on the bed and just be with him. He was still so tightly wired, but I couldn't. Not yet, anyway. I pulled gently from his grasp and grabbed him two more pills. I started to grab another bottle of water, but he stopped me by shaking the one I'd given him the night before. I handed him the pills and sat in the chair beside my bed. "Want to tell me what happened to bring you into Negan's sights?"

He grimaced at what appeared to be a horrible memory. Giving me an extremely brief explanation. How Dwight, that asshole, had shot him. How his group in Alexandria had been making things difficult for Negan's plans. How it all went to shit because of Dwight's decision to take him out. And how, he choked, he'd watched a man who was about to become a father was killed because he'd punched Negan.

I found myself fighting the urge to comfort him. Forcing him to speak about it was hard enough. Touching him, even with the attempt to comfort, would be wrong. He was slowly opening up to her, learning to trust her. Pushing him would do no favors for her or him.

"I'm sorry." I said, knowing that it wasn't enough. Knowing that there were no words that would make anything better. "I'm sorry that Negan is what he's become. I'm sorry that you and your people had to be forced to go through what must have been-" I stopped. Shook my head and looked down at my tightly grasped hands. "I'll just stop."

I felt his hand touch my hair, hair I'd piled up on the top of my head before bed. "You got nothin' to apologize for," his voice still quiet. "It's on me."

I jerked my head up to look at him. "On you?" I said, disbelief making you breathless. "Daryl, Negan killed your people because he wanted them to obey his idiotic rules and the world he wants to build in his image." I gave a dark chuckle. "He took you because he knows that without you, even if your people are capable and able, they'll suffer even further. And that fire in your belly?" I asked, locking my gaze on his. "The one that made you punch him, the one that made you spit and say 'fuck you'? That makes him want you in his group more than you'll ever know." I felt my face burn at the knowledge that this man, a man who'd been wounded and brought here for will breaking torture, was more than I'd expected. "Nobility is wonderful, Daryl, but you need to sit it aside, just for now."

His brows were furrowed. He'd clearly never expected this reaction. Obviously people allowed him to take the blame a great deal. "I hit him. I forced his hand. Expected him to kill me." He shook his head in frustration and weariness. "Wanted him to."

"No!" I said, not raising my voice because I was certain that my new guard dog was still in place. "Don't do that, Daryl. God, even in this mess of a world, life is precious." I didn't fight the urge to reach for his hand, and was pleased that he allowed my touch. "Every life. The dead walk and it's against nature, but to allow yourself to be taken before your time? That's just absolute idiocy." He shrugged and you wanted to smack him. "Listen here, Dixon, I forbid you even CONSIDERING such an asinine idea."

Daryl stared back into my eyes. Flashes of a million emotions seemed to cross his face. Conflicted, but still allowing me to hold his hand. He didn't speak, and I only pulled away when I heard a knock on the door. I walked over and unlocked it, opening it a crack. With a sigh, I opened it further.

"Negan." I said, fighting every urge to rail at him in front of my company. "To what do I owe a morning visit?"

Negan stepped inside and looked around. He took in the cot close to the bed and Daryl sitting up on my bed. His grin flashed evil and bright. Ugh, I thought, don't push me. "Mornin', darlin'." Even in his bigheaded way, he knew that I wasn't in the mood for touching. I stood beside him as he considered what he was going to say. "Mornin', Dixon." He said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. Sounding just like he had as a bully of a gym teacher. "Didn't think you'd be sleeping in that bed alone, boy." I shook my head and wanted desperately to crack him on the back of his head. "Pity, she's a fierce one." I rolled my eyes.

"Is there a point to this visit?" I asked, teeth clenched. "You normally keep your visits to a darker part of the day." I said pointedly.

His laugh was as boisterous and irritating as it had been the night before. I hadn't been lying to him when he'd offered me my own harem. Having him full time would be a nightmare. "You wound me, my Queen." His hand touched his chest and I kind of wished I could wound him. "I came to check on you. And Dixon." He waggled his eyebrows at me and I wanted to slap him. Really? I was making progress with the man and Negan's bullshit had to come rolling in.

"We're fine." I answered, trying to tame my temper. I knew how to handle Negan, I always had. Anger wouldn't make me able to perform as I normally would. "Although," I stepped closer to him and put my own hand over his. Looking up at him from my far slighter height, I whispered loud enough for Daryl to hear. "If you want your Queen to be happy, then advise your men and women to keep their hands and weapons to themselves. Especially-" I stopped and turned my gaze to Daryl's, "where he's concerned." I looked back up at Negan and saw his smile turn from the mocking one to a soft and real one. "And keep Dwight away from the both of us for the foreseeable future."

"Of course," his voice was quiet now, and leaning in, I allowed his lips to touch mine. "Anything for my Queen."

He didn't stay much longer. He refused my request for the guard to be removed, reminding me that Daryl was still a flight risk. Kissing me one more time and turning to offer Daryl a mocking goodbye, I locked the door behind him. I took a beat to collect myself for what I imagined Daryl's questions might be about what he'd just heard and seen.

I turned and saw him still sitting on the bed. His eyes were still on me and I sighed and walked back to my chair. "Sorry about that." I offered, sitting down carefully and putting my hands back in my lap. I looked up and saw something I wasn't prepared for-a grin. A full blown smile that changed his face from fallen angel to pure angel. Dear God, he was amazing. Well, he would be with a haircut.

"You really do push his buttons." He said, giving a chuckle. "Damn girl, I ain't never seen no one turn a man so fast."

I grinned back and felt more at ease. At least until he bit his lip and asked the first and most important to his situation question.

"What'd he mean about not thinkin' I'd be sleepin' alone?" His blue eyes held mine prisoner as I blushed to the roots of my hair. "You're turnin' red."

I nodded at the obviousness of that fact. Yes, I was turning red. Damn Negan and his irritating shit. I cleared my throat, hoping for an explanation that didn't sound like he was being made into a slave boy for my sexual amusement. I sighed heavily. "The truth?" He nodded, urging me with those damn eyes and his smile. "Before you were brought here, Negan offered me a deal." I bit my own lip considering how to explain. "You saw the women that were in the room last night?" He nodded again. "The ones dressed similarly, they're his 'wives'. Multiple, because Negan is such an alpha male." I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, he thought since he has a harem of sorts, and I'm left to my own devices so often, I might want to-" God, my skin burned, and I thought he had to feel the heat of it.

Realization dawned and the back of his head hit the headboard with a "thunk". He broke eye contact, so that was a relief, but I couldn't tell if he was terrified, revolted, or just completely ready to smother me with a pillow. When he started laughing I felt my eyes go wide. "Am I the first of your boytoys?" He laughed, clutching at his side. "Jesus, girl, you got bad taste in men."

I glared at him. I have bad taste in men? If he was my first boytoy, then why would I have bad taste in men? Questionable taste, maybe. But bad? Nope. "Boytoy?" I scrunched up my nose at the term. "What am I, eighty?" His eyes met mine again and he sobered a bit. "And I didn't say that's why I saved you from what he had planned. I meant that that's what he thinks." I wanted to growl because I did want him. The dumbass. Although now? Now I was going to have to hide it. Fuck.

"You ain't eighty, but you still have horrible taste." His eyes were still crinkled with residual merth. "I mean, Negan?" He rolled his eyes, pointing at the door he'd left. "And me?" He snorted. "You're educated. Damn, I nearly broke my neck on the piles of books in your bathroom. What the hell would you want with a dumb redneck like me?"

Ugh, I thought, he really couldn't see himself at all. And shit, he wasn't picking up on the line I was trying to feed him either. Which showed he was more perceptive than he gave himself the credit for being. "You're not dumb." I said, shocking myself, because while true I had been planning on building my case about how Negan was seeing things wrong.

He gave another chuckle, this time no merth was present. "Am too." He said, nodding like he just KNEW it. "Didn't really finish school, barely took the time to learn what needed learnin'. Spent most of my time runnin' wild in the woods huntin', fishin', and not worryin' bout nothin' but stupid shit." He nodded at the book I'd been reading the night before that was sitting on the nightstand. "You read everythin'." He picked up the book, a novel I loved even before the nightmare of our lives came true. "Hell, probably couldn't even make out half the words in this."

I grabbed his hand. "Stop that, right the fuck now, Daryl Dixon." I said, my voice still low, but forceful. "Damn, have you never taken stock of yourself?" He started to pull away, but I held firm. "No, if you're going to insinuate things about yourself and my taste in men, then you're going to listen to me." I glared into his eyes, still sitting close to the bed on my chair. "You are far more worthy of affection and attention than you can see and I am about to educate you. What I saw last night, before you had spoken a word, was the face of a fallen angel. Covered in dirt, blood, and God knows what else, you still looked like someone worth saving. When you spat at me, when you told me to 'fuck you', when that glare you held on me you still looked worthy. Then when you came up here with me, after I watched you assess the options, you walked behind me and I knew you were a hunter. You move silently. You checked this room out and instantly knew things that even I probably have missed. And I'm more than certain that you did the same in the bathroom. When I took my own shower, I know as well as I know my own damn name that you searched this entire room." He looked shocked at my perceptiveness. "You wouldn't have even told me about the gunshot wound, because any type of weakness would show your vulnerability, and that can be used against you in any version of our world." I moved closer, leaning forward. "And if you haven't looked in a damn mirror, Daryl Dixon, then that's all the shame, because you are beautiful."

He stared at me as if he were only just seeing me for the first time. I was still glaring at him. Damn men, and their inability to just SEE themselves. "Jesus, you see everything doncha?" He breathed. "You knew I was a hunter just cause I'm quiet?" I could see so many other questions flash across his face.

"And I tracker, if I'm not mistaken." I said, my glare starting to tame. "You notice details. I don't know the details, necessarily, but I can almost see you cataloguing them."

"How do you know that?" He asked, still whispering.

"The way you move, the way your face flashes when you take something in." I shrugged. "I've been able to read people and pick up their intentions and who they really are since I was little." I'd never asked myself how I was the way I was, after all, it was like eye color. I hadn't chosen that either. "It can be a burden."

"Why him?" He jutted his chin toward the door, clearly meaning Negan. "You're so-" He stopped and I knew what he was trying to get across.

"Negan and I are complicated." I said, reminding him of our conversation last night. "I don't mean that I don't care for some part of him, but I'm not IN LOVE with him." I sighed. "He and I, we're partners, he trusts me more than the others. He knows that I can help his plans, or I can ruin them." I smirked. "And, when it's just the two of us, well you saw how he was earlier-"

Now it was his turn to glare. "He's a killer." I nodded, that was irrefutable. "He ain't good enough for you."

I smiled. "Everyone in this new world is a killer, Daryl. Hell, even I have a kill count." He looked shocked, why I didn't know. "And as for good for me, well, I'm not sure anyone is ever perfectly good enough for another."

"What about a fallen angel?" He asked, smiling back and mocking me with my description of him.

"Don't be an ass." I said, pulling my hand away. "You hungry?" I stood to move to the fridge, but once again he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.

"This conversation ain't over." He said, releasing my wrist to hold my hand. "But I could eat."