Amazingly, they make it through the week. Negan distracts himself during the day with work, then the evenings consist of hour-long hospital visits, then cooking dinner, offering to help Carl with homework (Carl still refuses to actually accept help from Negan), getting Judith ready for bed and eventually carrying her into the main bedroom when she refuses to sleep in her own. It's routine, and Negan can get used to that, though he wishes like hell Rick were here.
Negan prays sometimes silent prayers at Rick's bedside, looking to a god he stopped believing in years ago for one last miracle. It never comes, not yet, but that doesn't stop him from trying.
Occasionally Carol will bake a casserole or a pie for the Grimes family, overestimating Negan's male helplessness. He's grateful for the effort, but he hates having her do more for him than necessary.
"It's no trouble at all," Carol has said in response to Negan's many polite protests. "You're family."
So Negan has given up trying to dissuade her generosity.
Friday night means another baseball game, and Negan—in his potentially transparent attempts to win Carl over—has put Carl in as a relief pitcher in the sixth. Negan can't stop himself from glancing at the stands and searching for Rick. It's a reflex left over from happier days.
Carl throws a few garbage pitches that the batters make contact with, but the outfield keeps any extra runs from going on the board. Negan can see Carl's head isn't in the game—how could it be, with his father in the hospital?—but he wants to give the kid a chance to channel that anger into a few extra miles per hour on his fastball.
A new batter for the Wolves steps up in the top of the seventh, and Carl throws the ball, and Negan sees the trajectory, knows exactly where it's going to land, and the batter does too, but he's too slow to dodge a ball that fast. The ball strikes the kid in the back as he's turning away. He drops to the ground, and his team trainer and coach rush toward their fallen umpire throws up his hands to call time, but his voice is like a drop of water in an ocean, an ocean of boos and angry snarls from the Wolves as they charge the mound. The rest of the Saviors leap off the bench and abandon their positions, eager for a fight.
Carter, the plate umpire, yells, "Grimes! You're gone," jerking his thumb to eject Carl from the game.
Oh, fuck this guy.
Negan jogs over to home plate. "Don't eject him, Carter, you fuckstick! It was an accident!"
Carter is a typical balding suburban dad with a forehead shinier than a polished fender. His brow crinkles in disgust. "Accident? He threw right at him!"
"It slipped out of his hand. Christ, cut him a break. His father's in a coma."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but rules are rules."
"Bullshit." There's no rule stating a pitcher must be ejected after hitting a batter, only if there's been a prior warning. "You just wanna be a pain in my ass."
"No, that's Rick's job," Carter says, snide and smug. "Or is it the other way around?"
Oh, Negan wants to slug him right in his stupid mouth. But Negan can't afford to be ejected too, and while it might be temporarily satisfying to knock Carter's teeth in or tell him to eat a dick, things like verbal or physical smackdowns only work in the movies. In the real world, life is full of moments where you just have to swallow down the bullshit.
Negan is also Carl and Judith's temporary guardian, and Rick would probably be upset to learn Negan punched the plate ump over a stupid disparaging comment.
Like that song from the movie Judith has made him watch at least three times this week: let it go.
Negan turns away and moves toward Carl. "C'mon." He guides him back to the dugout, where Negan sends out a new pitcher and sits Carl on the bench. Carl's staring at his glove, at the sandy, dirty floor. Basically everywhere but Negan or his teammates. Negan wants to reassure him but decides now isn't the time.
"You put Ben in?" Ron says, incredulous. "We're screwed."
God, Negan is so not in the fucking mood for this pointless bullshit. He wants to grab this kid and remind him that the people you love can just fucking die one day without warning, but he knows he wouldn't have listened when he was Ron's age either.
"So what? Winning isn't everything," Negan says instead.
"That's not what you said at the beginning of the year."
"Well, shit happens. People change."
When he's driving Carl and Judith home that night, Negan says, "Don't beat yourself up. I know it was an accident. And even if it wasn't, you're going through some shit. You're entitled to a mulligan every now and then."
Carl's gazing out the window at the sleepy town passing by. "I just... I want all this to be over. I want Dad to wake up and everything back the way it was before..."
"Before me?"
"Before Mom died. I'm sick of losing people. I don't wanna lose Dad too."
Negan opens his mouth to reassure him, to say, "you won't," but that's a promise he can't keep. "You and me both," he says instead.
Judith is restless. Not even sleeping in the master bedroom soothes her, and Negan guesses Rick's scent has slowly evaporated from the sheets, replaced with Negan's own, which probably isn't as comforting. She cries and cries, so much so that Carl peers into the bedroom to see what the fuss is about.
He finds Negan slowly pacing around the room with Judith in his arms, gently rubbing her back and letting her soak his t-shirt with her tears.
"She okay?" Carl asks.
"Oh yeah, she's awesome," Negan says, dry and droll. He hefts her up a bit against his shoulder, readjusting her weight. "Never better. You got any ideas? I'm one step away from givin' her cold medicine."
Carl shrugs. "She's never gone through anything like this before. With Mom... She was too young."
"I want Daddy," Judith whines, pounding her tiny fists against Negan's chest.
"I know, kiddo. So do I," Negan murmurs.
Before he'd been exiled, his neighbors in Hell had warned him about parenthood, recalling sleepless nights filled with exhaustion and half-blind stumbling to the nursery every hour. But this is worse, because there's no easy fix for Judith's distress. There's no diaper to change, no fever to temper, no food to soothe an empty stomach. Negan is pretty much useless here, powerless, and it hurts like a motherfucker.
He walks around the room, hoping the movement might lull her into some level of calm. "Y'know," Negan starts, his voice soft, "my dad would'a told you to keep those tears in your eyes where they belong, but, hell, you go right ahead and cry. At least one of us can."
He hums 'Stairway to Heaven' as Judith blubbers into his shoulder, and Negan can tell she's losing steam.
"Holy shit, why is that working?" Carl whispers.
"Everybody loves Zeppelin," Negan murmurs before going back to the song. Judith's grip on his t-shirt has slackened, her sobs reduced to quiet sniffles. "If I put you back in bed, you gonna be a big girl about it?" he says, gently placing her back in the bed among the pillow fort.
Judith seems to be fast asleep, and Negan tucks her back in. Carl watches this with disbelief. There's an almost impressed expression on his face when Negan looks at him. Carl huffs a breath.
"What?"
"Nothing, just... You're pretty good with her."
"What can I say? Chicks dig me." Negan smirks, heading for the door, and Carl lets him pass. He heads downstairs, because he's awake now at four thirty in the damn morning. Carl's quiet footsteps sound on the stairs behind him.
"How come you never had kids?"
Negan stops at the foot of the staircase.
"I mean, you're old, right? And you used to be married before. Can you like... not?" Carl's nose scrunches up at even the vaguest reference to Negan's dick.
Negan sighs. He should probably just lie and go along with Carl's theory that he's got equipment problems, because maybe it would make Carl laugh and be something they could joke about and it wouldn't hurt.
But he doesn't.
"I was afraid I'd turn out like my dad."
Negan heads for the refrigerator, as though putting distance between himself and his words. He digs out the tube of cookie dough for a post-midnight snack. Carl follows him, as though drawn in like a magnet to the tragedy of Negan's life. Negan wonders if Rick felt the same way too.
"But you're right," Negan says, pulling up a chair at the table and sitting. "I had plenty of chances. Lucille pushed. I kept pushing back. Said it wasn't the right time yet. First she was too young. I thought we should live a little before getting tied down with a kid. Then I wanted us both to have stable careers. By that time... I couldn't put it off any longer. But then she got sick, and we never had the chance again. Biggest regret of my life."
His biggest regret should be bashing Dwight's head in, but, nah, he stands by that one. Funny when he thinks about it.
Carl says nothing, just sits in an empty chair beside him. He reaches for the cookie dough and breaks off a piece. "Was it easier? Her getting sick instead of just... disappearing."
"Death ain't easy. Anyone who says you get used to it is full of shit." Negan takes a piece from the roll and pops it into his mouth. He ponders an actual answer to Carl's question. Would he have preferred Rick to die in the shooting instead of stretching out his potential demise?
"I think the worst part," he finally says, "is that little flicker of hope. It's like living with a gun to your head. At first you don't want the trigger pulled. You pray and hope and beg, but after weeks, months, sometimes years, you just want it over already. And through it all you have to watch someone you love suffer. That's the last way you want to remember them, but remember you fucking will."
"I didn't get to say goodbye to Mom," Carl says after a moment, his voice a little shaky. "I don't even remember what the last thing I said to her was. And Dad... if he dies, he'll die thinking I hate him."
"That's a load of shit. It's me you hate, not him. And he's one of the good ones, so he loves you unconditionally, even when you're a shithead. It's in the rulebook."
"Do you think he can hear us? I mean, if you talk to him..."
"I'm banking on it. I tell him all sorts of sappy shit he'd make fun of me for if he was awake. I'm kinda hoping I say something so goddamn stupid and saccharine he sits right up and says, 'are you fucking serious?'"
Carl huffs a tiny laugh. "Did you and Dad get together 'cause you both lost your wives?"
"I think that had something to do with it. I like him 'cause he makes me laugh, and he doesn't treat me like I'm a walking time bomb. When I was on the road, after Lucille died... A lot of the women I ran into were like vampires for my grief. Like they fed on it, wanted to patch me up and fix me. Rick never treated me like that. He didn't think I was helpless 'cause I lost somebody." Negan looks at Carl. "Plus he's got an amazing ass."
Carl groans. "Can you go five seconds without being gross?"
"Nope."
"C'mon, Rick, if you're trying to dump my sorry ass, you're gonna have to be a little more forward than the silent treatment. Just wake up and tell me to fuck off, and I'll be on my merry way. But don't leave me hanging like this. Don't leave your kids wondering if you're ever gonna wake up. Judith's askin' too many questions: 'Why won't Daddy wake up?' 'Is Daddy gonna leave like Mama did?' And I don't know what to tell her. I just want her to be a kid a little while longer... I can't screw this up, Rick. For you or them. What the hell am I supposed to do?"
Monday night. The start of week three. Two entire weeks have passed since Rick was shot. Negan still feels numb.
It's time for Judith's bath, but Negan can't find her. Mildly panicked, he checks Carl's room, where he's relieved to see her and Carl on the bed. Carl's lying on his stomach, his curtain of hair obscuring his face, while Judith sits beside him. "It's okay," she tells him in a soft voice, rubbing his back.
"What's going on?" Negan asks from inside the doorway.
Judith looks over at Negan and shushes him, a finger dramatically pressed to her lips. "Carl is sad."
"Tell me somethin' I don't know, sweetheart." Negan strolls over to the bed. "It's time for your bath. Why don't you pick out some PJs and come get me when the water's ready, okay?"
Judith flicks a glance at Carl, as though unwilling to leave him.
"I'll take care of your brother. Don't worry."
This seems to assuage her, and she hops off the bed and toddles out the door.
Negan drops onto the empty space on the bed. "So what's going on with you?"
"Nothing," Carl mumbles, his speech muffled by the way his face is pressed into the mattress. "Just leave me alone."
"Oh yeah, you sound awesome. But I wouldn't be doin' my job if I didn't ask again."
"It's not your job," Carl says. "You're not my dad."
"Damn, son, that's cold. And I'm the best you've got at the moment, so you're just gonna have to talk to me."
"No."
"Fine, bottle everything up. That's real healthy."
Carl sighs, pushing himself up, and Negan catches a glimpse of Carl's red-rimmed, dewey eyes.
"Something happen with your girlfriend?" Negan guesses.
Carl rolls his eyes.
"Alright, look, you're gonna have to give me somethin' here. You already got plenty of shit to deal with. If we can fix this—"
"Well, you can't. I'm just stupid."
Negan cocks an eyebrow. "Not the word I'd use to describe you. But go on."
Carl gives Negan a worried look. "You won't get mad?"
"Should I?"
"It's about school."
"Did you get in another fight?"
"No..."
"Then I probably won't get mad. Try me."
Carl sighs, perhaps gathering the courage needed to explain. "I'm failing algebra, and my stupid teacher says I can't make it up."
"Hardly sounds like the end of the world."
"You don't know Mr. Kenseth."
Negan laughs. "I absolutely do, and he's a dick and a half." Mr. Kenseth is more commonly known around the school faculty as 'fucking Gregory' due to his obnoxious attitude and unwelcome flirtation around the female teachers.
"So you see my problem."
"I can be pretty persuasive."
Judith appears in the doorway. "Bath's ready!" she announces before scampering down the hall again.
"Right behind you, kiddo," Negan calls. He stands up and pushes a hand through Carl's shaggy hair. "It'll be okay. We'll work something out."
Negan meets with Gregory the next afternoon in his classroom between periods. The walls are covered in helpful infographics featuring equations and pie charts and all sorts of math shit Negan promptly forgot after high school.
Gregory looks up from his phone as Negan steps into the room. "Oh... Negan. What can I do for you?" There's a nasty edge to his voice that makes Negan bristle.
Negan stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets, takes a casual stroll through the maze of empty desks toward Gregory's own. "Just outta curiosity, is Carl Grimes one of your students?"
"Sounds like you already know the answer."
Enough bullshitting. Straight for the knockout punch. Negan approaches Gregory's desk, looming over him. He hopes the way the light's shining in from the open windows makes him look more intimidating. "Well, he's one of mine too, and word is he's failing your class. Thing is, I need Carl on the Saviors, and I think the kid deserves a break, considering his only parent is currently comatose. You heard about Rick Grimes, right? Shot on duty, condition a giant question mark?"
Gregory sets his phone down and folds his hands on the desk. He does this very slowly, as though to indicate he will not be rushed. "I have. I've also heard some things about you. Namely, you and Rick engaging in an inappropriate relationship."
Negan snorts a laugh, levers back to an upright position. "'Inappropriate'? That's an awful big word for you, Gregory. Let me guess: you picked it up at one of those sexual harrassment seminars you're required to attend?"
If Gregory is bothered by Negan's insult he doesn't show it. "You're only going to bat for Carl Grimes because you're screwing his father."
"Wow! Those are some bold fuckin' words for a guy wearing khakis!"
"You're not denying it."
"'Cause it doesn't fucking matter. I'm asking you to do the kid a favor. Just give him the bare minimum passing grade. Maybe you've never been in his shoes, but it's pretty goddamn hard to concentrate on school when someone you love might be dying."
Gregory's phone buzzes on the desk, and Negan takes a quick glance. There's a message onscreen with two emojis at the end: the kiss-blowing face and the eggplant.
Negan is very familiar with that eggplant emoji; Lucille used to teasingly use it as a penis joke, because there's no other goddamn reason for its existence.
Why would someone text Gregory those flirtatious emojis? Negan highly doubts Gregory's wife texts like a twenty-something bar girl. What cruel fucking world is this where asshat Gregory is getting laid while Negan's mourning the second love of his life?
"Be that as it may, and I'm deeply sorry about Rick, but that doesn't change my obligation," Gregory says.
"Which is what?" Being an asshole?
"Teaching these kids. Maybe you've never been in my shoes, but a real teacher's livelihood is determined by standardized tests. If my students perform poorly on the math section, it reflects on me."
Negan's fists tighten at his sides, fury flooding his veins. Gregory's getting under his skin, and at any other time it would be amusing, like watching a kitten swat at a huge dog, but the uncertainty of Rick's condition has knocked Negan's emotions askew.
Breathe. Focus. Don't be an idiot. For Carl's sake.
"What about extra credit?" Negan asks. "Is there anything he can do?"
"Unfortunately, it's too late in the grading period for extra credit to make much of a difference. He hasn't been turning in assignments. All those zeros pile up."
Behind them, a student enters the classroom, setting down his bags and settling into a desk. "Uh, Mr. Kenseth? Can you help me with question fifteen on last night's homework?" He's fumbling with his textbook, crumpled papers sticking out of the pages.
"Sure, Mike." Gregory moves to get up from his desk, says, "I think we're done here," to Negan before tending to Mike.
Well then.
Gregory's phone buzzes again, a reminder of the unread message. Negan glances over his shoulder. Gregory is immersed in helping Mike with a math problem. So Negan casually moves around the corner of the desk for a better peek at the onscreen message.
It's really fairly simple, just the word 'naughty' with two flirty emojis, but it breaks this conundrum wide open, because there's no way Gregory's married to a chick named Crystal who texts like this.
Negan runs his tongue over his teeth. Carl might have a fighting chance after all.
"Where are we going?" Carl asks on the way home from school. Negan's taking them on a bit of a detour after his conversation with Gregory sparked an idea in his head. He's already texted Carol to let her know they'll be a little late in picking up Judith. In response, Carol sent a picture of Judith eagerly helping her make cookies.
"We are on a mission," Negan explains. "Reconnaissance, if you will. And I know your dad probably wouldn't approve, but Uncle Negan ain't afraid to get his hands dirty."
"Now I'm even more worried." Carl gives him a look. "And don't call yourself Uncle Negan. It's weird when you do it."
"I'll call myself Daddy if you want—"
"No," Carl sort of shouts, drawing out the word in one long stretch. "Never do that. Ever. And we're not talking anymore." He turns up the music playing in the car's tape deck—Physical Graffiti, side two—to drown out any more disturbing things Negan might say.
Negan's following Gregory's rust-colored Oldsmobile, hidden behind a few other cars. Tailing someone becomes more difficult when your vehicle is easily recognizable, but it's not like Negan has another car to borrow, so he'll have to stay hidden. Gregory's probably not expecting anyone to follow him, so at least Negan has the element of surprise on his side.
Once they start heading toward Atlanta, Carl jerks down the stereo volume. "Seriously, where are we going?"
"I think I found a way to get you a passing grade in math."
Carl looks incredulous, like he can't understand how this is possible or why Negan would give a shit about his grades.
"And your teacher's a huge bag of dicks, so I don't feel bad about threatening to ruin his life," Negan continues. Carl's still curiously quiet. "I asked him if he'd cut you some slack. He pretty much told me to go fuck myself, but from the texts on his phone I think he's cheating on his wife. Or at least heading in that direction."
Carl's eyes go as wide as dinner plates.
"So I figure we follow him around, see if he meets with this chick, and if he does we take pictures. Boom. Blackmail."
"Blackmail's illegal."
Negan sighs. "Well, thank you, Dudley Do-Right, for enlightening me. I guess we'll just go home and say toodle-fucking-loo to your passing math grade—"
"Wait!" Carl reaches out to stop him, even though Negan made no move to actually turn the car around. "I didn't say not to. I just..."
"Look, it's on me, okay? Your dad won't find out, and if somethin' goes south, I'll take the heat."
Carl eyes Negan with suspicion. "Why? Is this all a show for Dad? So if he wakes up he'll see what a great guy you are?"
Carl's words pierce through Negan's heart like a bullet. If he wakes up. Not when. Going on three weeks and the kid's already losing faith.
Negan shakes his head, both answering Carl's question and trying to will away the unpleasant thought. "Until your dad says otherwise, you and your sister are my family. And I go balls to the wall for my family."
"Please don't talk about us and your balls in the same sentence."
After a couple minutes, Gregory pulls off the highway and into the parking lot of a run-down strip club. The club isn't very busy at four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, and Negan doesn't want to risk being spotted this early in his plan, so he backs into a spot at a nearby pizza parlor. He could go for a pie, but considering the place is across the street from a strip club, the food probably isn't worth the indigestion.
"We're off to a great start," Negan says, snapping a photo of Gregory heading toward the club entrance.
Carl rests his head against his fist, his arm propped on the side of the passenger door. "How do you know he's cheating?"
"I took a quick look at a text on his phone. It was from some chick named Crystal—pretty sure that's not his wife—and she sent him that winky kissing face and an eggplant emoji."
Carl's nose crinkles in disgust. "Ew."
"My fuckin' thought exactly."
"Like you haven't sent that to Dad."
"Son, I do not mince words when it comes to flirtin' with Rick Grimes. And when I'm graphic I know he's blushing redder than a damn tomato. You carry his phone around. See for yourself."
"I really try to avoid that."
"If you change your mind, you're welcome to use any of my smooth fuckin' lines on your girlfriend. How's that goin', by the way?"
Carl shrugs. "Fine, I guess. We talk a lot ever since Dad..."
"Why don't you bring her over sometime?
Carl doesn't answer. Shame sinks like a stone in Negan's stomach.
"You're embarrassed of me, huh?"
Carl makes a face, and Negan can tell he's hit a sore spot. "She's heard people talking, so she knows you live with us now. But it's one thing for her to hear about it, and another for her to see how screwed up my life is, y'know?"
"It's not that screwed up. For one, your dad didn't even want you dating this girl, where here I am offering to let her come over for dinner. Two, we're about to have the solution to your little math problem." Negan winks. "See what I did there?"
"Oh my God. Dad jokes already?"
"Three, it ain't half bad living with your baseball coach when you need one-on-one pointers. And four, Rick didn't want you driving, which I, on the other hand, am pleased as punch to teach you." Negan spreads his hands. "It's all about finding the silver lining."
"So what was the silver lining when Lucille died?" Carl asks, intended to wound, but Negan's ready for it.
"Meetin' your dad." Negan grins a wolfish smile and turns his focus forward. "Thrust and parry, kid."
They sit there for about half an hour. Carl discovers a small bag of potato chips in the glove box and snacks on them while playing with his phone. Negan isn't sure what he's going to find here. It's unlikely Gregory's going to walk out with this Crystal, assuming she's a dancer in the club. But he has a gut feeling Mrs. Kenseth is the kind of woman who would lose her shit if she knew her husband set foot in a place like this. So maybe just photos of Gregory entering and leaving will be enough.
Negan considers doing something drastic, like going inside the club and snapping a picture or two of Gregory stuffing dollar bills into a stripper's G-string. But he can't leave Carl alone, and he sure as hell can't take him inside. So that's out.
Negan's phone rings from inside the pocket of his jacket. He digs it out, checks the caller ID. Carol. His heart rate speeds up as he answers, his brain imagining all the horrible possibilities. "Carol, hey. Is something wrong?"
"Well, yes and no. Judith's a little needy. She misses you. And Carl."
Negan considers how this must seem to Judith. First her mother goes away, then her father, and now her brother and sort-of uncle haven't come to pick her up. Hello, abandonment issues.
"Oh, shit. Put her on. I'll talk to her."
There's a bit of fumbling on the other end, Carol's muffled voice, then Judith's coming in loud and clear. "Uncle Negan, did you forget me?"
Pain strikes Negan in the chest like a fist. "I could never forget you, darlin'. I'm helping Carl right now, but I promise I'll come get you, okay? Aunt Carol will take good care of you. She told me you made cookies. Can you save some for me?"
"Maybe," Judith says, as though withholding a secret.
"Aw, you ate them all, didn't you?"
Judith laughs.
"I don't blame you one bit, doll. You hold tight. Carl and I will be there real soon, okay?"
"Okay. I love you, Uncle Negan."
Negan feels something warm spreading through his chest. "I love you too, kiddo."
"Bye-bye!"
Carol's voice comes through the line after a moment. "She's sweet, isn't she?"
"The sweetest. I should probably stop fucking around and get over there, huh?"
"If you're doing something for Carl, that's important too," Carol reminds him. "I've got this covered. Do what you need to do."
"Where on earth would I be without you, Carol?"
She chuckles. "Up a creek, I'm sure."
"Judith doesn't like it when we're gone too long," Carl says after Negan hangs up. He sounds dejected, possibly blaming himself for this.
"I think we've got enough for now, right? I confront him tomorrow, tell him I caught him going here, and he'll probably fold. I get a real 'pussy' vibe from him, and not the good kind."
Negan's interrupted by the sight of Gregory leaving the club, and he's not alone. There's a young, perky blonde leaving with him, and they're holding hands, and Negan actually says, "Are you shitting me" out loud, because there's no way this girl could genuinely like Gregory as a person. He's terrible.
Carl follows Negan's line of sight. "Oh, gross."
"Jackpot." Negan starts the engine and rolls them into the club's parking lot. He hands Carl his phone as he parks alongside Gregory's shitmobile. Carl snaps a couple pictures, including one of Gregory's terrified face as he nears his car and sees the Impala there.
"He sees us," Carl warns.
"Good. We can get this over with."
Negan slides out of the car and approaches the couple. Crystal looks embarrassed yet slightly intrigued by the sight of Negan.
"Pissin' our pants yet?" Negan says with an edge of glee, because Gregory's expression is a thing to be treasured.
"What the hell is this?" There's fear in Gregory's voice, fear Negan sniffs out like a bloodhound.
"I oughta be asking you the same damn question." Negan turns to Crystal, gives her an appraising smile. "Are you the lovely Mrs. Kenseth?" Before giving her a chance to answer, he says, "'Course not. I don't see a ring on your finger, and something tells me a pretty girl like you wouldn't marry a schlub like this." He jerks his thumb toward Gregory. "But you would bang him or date him or whatever the hell's going on here, which confuses the everloving shit outta me, but that's not the point."
Gregory stands there trembling like a chihuahua with a full bladder.
Negan turns back to Gregory. "The jig is up, fuckface. We caught you."
"'We'?"
Negan glances over his shoulder at the Impala. "Carl!"
Carl rolls down the window, and Gregory's stone-white face turns even paler at the sight of him.
"We got pictures," Negan continues, "and we're going to ruin your whole fucking world." He holds up a finger to stop Gregory's whiny protest. "Unless you give me what I want."
"This is blackmail," Gregory whimpers, and if the San Andreas quaked like his voice they'd be calling for an evacuation.
"You are absolutely right!" Negan says with an enthusiastic swing of his arm. "Give the man a gold star!"
"Please don't do this. I'll pass Carl, just don't tell my wife—"
"Hell no! I already gave you that chance and you made the wrong decision, didn't you? The price has gone up. Now you're gonna give Carl a nice, fat B-plus, or I will send these pictures to your wife, your grandma, your kids, your pastor. The list goes on. Now I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill for you to swallow. But swallow it you most certainly motherfucking will."
Gregory swallows—the power of suggestion—and Negan sees the lump in his throat. "How do I know you're not lying? What's stopping you from sending the pictures anyway?"
"Because I don't give a shit about you, Gregory. All the fucks I have to give are reserved for members of my family. Once Carl's grades are in, the pictures go poof"—Negan makes a demonstrative motion with his hand—"and you and Crystal can ride off into the sunset happily ever after."
Crystal's eyes bulge. "How do you know my name?"
Negan just smirks at her, all his focus on Gregory, daring him to try something.
But just as Negan predicted, Gregory is a spineless weasel. He bows his head and says, "Alright, you win. Carl gets a B-plus on his next report card."
Negan claps his hands. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it? Today was a productive damn day!" He looks at Crystal. "I don't even know you, but, honey, you could do so much better. He just rolled right over. Didn't even try to stand up to me. What kind of a man is that?"
Negan laughs and turns away. "Pleasure doin' business with you, Gregory." He walks back to the Impala, whistling a jaunty tune.
Negan slides into the driver's seat. Carl's expression is unreadable, but there's a modicum of wonder there, almost admiration. But Negan sees the fear too.
"You must think I'm a lunatic," Negan says with a huff of laughter.
"No one's ever done something like that for me."
"I told you, you're family. And nobody fucks with my family." Negan turns over the engine. "Now let's go get Judith and pay your dad a visit."
"After Lucille died, I was a mess. I didn't know where to go or what to do. So I just started driving. For almost a year I went all across the country, searching for something to fill the void. Then I came here, and now I know I was just driving around all that time looking for you. Rick, you gotta come back. I need you. I love you. I know it doesn't mean much, and I wish I'd said it when you were around to hear it, but there it is. Too little too fucking late, huh?"