Following your conversation with Negan, the remainder of your day had gone without incident. Much to your relief, Dwight had opted to stay away from the garden to which you tended, and you can't help but wonder if Negan hadn't had a talk with him too. Oh, to be a fly on that wall, you think to yourself as you pick another tomato from the vine, adding it to the growing pile of vegetables in your wicker basket. The kitchen would surely be over the moon with today's selection of various produce, and the mere thought of anything other than canned beans has you practically salivating, but even as your mind wanders to the plethora of possibilities for tonight's dinner, you can't help but replay your most recent memory with him. Your hand moves absentmindedly to your back pocket where the maroon bandana remained since your encounter. Pulling it from its designated place, you pause your work for only a moment as you look down to the fabric that now rests in your palm weightlessly. It hadn't struck you as odd until now, but as your thumb sweeps across the bandana thoughtfully, the realization hits you that you'd never seen another with this seemingly cherished bandana, not even one of his wives. Surely one of them, if not all, would cart it around like some trophy should they have ever been lucky enough to get their hands on it. And yet here you are, said prize in hand.

"Hey!"

A voice calls out, interrupting your train of thought, and looking up, you spot Arat approaching. Quickly, you pocket the bandana and straighten your posture as she strides across the grass to where you currently stand, gun strapped across her body as it so often is. Arat halts her movements only when she steps close enough to peer into the basket in front of you. You watch silently as she visually inspects the contents of the wicker basket, your eyes narrowing suspiciously whilst you wonder just what it is that she wants. You can't say that Arat's been a pain in your proverbial behind, but you two don't always see eye to eye. While Simon is Negan's right hand man, it's plain to see that Arat strives to reach that status herself, and she does so at the expense of the other members of the Sanctuary.

"Looks good." Finally breaking the silence between you two, she carries on with the one sided conversation. "Get that inside asap. Dinner's getting started early."

It isn't until her head begins to lift in order to look at you again that your expression quickly switches from suspicion to neutrality. You nod your head once in acknowledgement of her order just before reaching down to retrieve the basket full of produce. "Sure thing," you finally remark, the answer seemingly satisfying the woman standing before you. Mirroring your nod with one of her own, Arat soon turns to leave you behind with the remaining crops so that she can tend to other, unspecified, business.

Puffing out your cheeks, you blow out a breath of air just before turning to gather up the basket that rests on the hard Earth. With the produce now securely in tow, the basket now hanging heavily off of your forearm, you quickly vacate the rows of crops and make your way inside to the kitchen. Though the Sanctuary is far from a former hospital, the grungy scuffed white and green linoleum squares can't help but pull your thoughts to a time when you'd been admitted to the emergency room for something undoubtedly stupid when you were younger. The walk to the kitchen, though short in its own right, gives you time to reminisce about days long since passed, and reminisce you most certainly do. From holidays with family, to sneaking out during the nights with friends that were once so closed to you, you can't help but wonder where some of these people are, if they're still lucky enough to be alive, that is. Then again, are you truly lucky to be around to see the horrors this new world has to offer? As you round the corner into the cafeteria, your mind shifts as well, this time rerouting your thoughts to the bandana in your back pocket. Shit. You would need to deliver that to Negan, and soon. Should someone catch you with that, they'd surely wonder what the hell is going on, not that anything was of course. Then again, there's the matter of Dwight. If he so much as caught a whiff of the fact that you may be conspiring with Negan against him, well there's no telling what he may do. He does hold a grudge over the whole iron to the face incident. Not that you can blame him for that.

"Is that fresh zucchini that I smell?" Jemma, the kitchen's head "chef" as she likes to call herself, comes bounding towards you the moment that you appear within the cafeteria. Her smile is wide, almost Cheshire-like in nature, and you can't help but find the expression contagious. Since your initial arrival to the Sanctuary, Jemma has been one of the few residents that had warmed up to you from day one, and you've been grateful for the friendship ever since. With a nod, you thrust your arm out forward, bearing the actual fruits (and vegetables) of your labor.

"Sure is," you remark, now handing off the basket to Jemma. "Hey, could you do me a favor and have the team start to prep this today? I've got another errand to run, and well, you know how it is." Though you trusted Jemma with your life, you sure as hell don't want to let her in on the fact that you've been hanging on to one of Negan's prized possessions. Jemma may be a great friend, but she's not exactly known for keeping your deepest and darkest secrets. You watch as she lifts a single brow in silent question as to just what it is that you're up to, but rather than verbalize her inquiry, she merely bobs her head in a nod.

"Yeah, sure thing. But hurry back, okay? You know how antsy the team gets when they're even one hand short."

You begin to backpedal, a smile forming in the process, and lift a hand to tap your index finger against the side of your nose; a signal of understanding that you and Jemma had developed long ago. Mirroring your smile with one of your own, she lifts her hand to tap her nose before turning to deliver the vegetables to the remainder of the kitchen. Once she has her back to you, you turn and dart off down the hall in search of the corridor that houses Negan's quarters. Suddenly, it's beginning to feel as if this bandana of his is burning a hole in your back pocket.