A/N: Remember it's the Zombie apocalypse. Not Fantasia.

Song: Tom Waits 'Long way home'

The Walking Deth- Part IV

Here and Home - Chapter V

Bowman's salute

I had served myself up a big plate of cabbage, potato mash and Lima beans for dinner. I was starved as I hadn't eaten all day due to feeling sick. I wasn't one to be fussy, we had been fed well here, but I did silently wish they still had pork rather than beans.

I planned to sit by myself in the bustling dining room, but Mandy's golden hair caught my eye, and she waved me over to sit at a table with her and another sophisticated looking women with brown hair that curled around her jaw. Glad for the company I walked over to them and sat down.

"This is Sherry." Mandy introduced me to the woman. I remembered the name as belonging to one of Negan's wives.

I shook her hand and said hello, and eyed over their plates that contained pork, and vegetables and a few squares of chocolate on the side. I figured they were meals set aside for Negan's girls.

"I hear Negan has his eye on you." Sherry said pleasantly.

I blushed, not knowing how to respond to a woman who was accusing me of being an interest of her husband.

"I don't know why." I said with a shrug of my shoulders. "I'm nothing special."

"You're new. He likes new toys." Sherry's warm smile unnerved me.

"So what did you guys do before all this started?" I attempted to change the topic of conversation, and munched on some beans to settle my nervous stomach.

"I was a nurse." Sherry admitted.

"I was in college. Wanted to major in finance." Mandy said casually, as if she wasn't the least bit bothered that the world ending had put a major halt in her plans. "What about you?"

"Teacher." I replied, thinking about the answer I gave earlier to Negan.

The girls both sniggered. "Come on." Mandy said. "I know you're not a teacher. You don't look a day over twenty."

I shrugged. "I wanted to be a teacher." I didn't really want to be a teacher. Not until I had been at the school with the kids. I frowned to myself as I thought about them.

"You don't look so sure." Sherry's brow furrowed as she observed my face.

"Well, I had stupid dreams of bein' a singer." I laughed to myself. That was a stupid dream then and an even stupider dream now. "I could play a bit of piano and guitar. Dreamed I would've had a band someday."

Mandy and sherry looked at each other exchanging some kind of silent conversation with their eyes.

"Negan could use a singer." Mandy informed me. "Over in the lounge. Add to the atmosphere."

I shook my head. "Daryl says I'm not to go near the lounge."

Sherry reached out and touched my hand, almost condescendingly. "Daryl doesn't have much say in what happens around here…"

We were interrupted when a flushed looking Carson stepped before us.

"Everyone's being called down to the laundry room." He told us with urgency in his voice.

Mandy and Sherry's faces both dropped.

"Why?" Mandy asked

"Someone's messed up. Negan's getting the press out."

Mandy gasped and drew her hands into her chest protectively "We haven't done anything, I haven't even looked at another man."

Carson shrugged. "I don't know what it's over, but you need to get downstairs. Now."

The usually huge looking laundry looked cramped filled with nervously fidgeting bodies. The flickering single globe was now replaced with several working globes that showered the bodies with unnatural light.

Sherry, Mandy and I made our way down the stairs and pushed through the crowd to see what was happening in the centre of the room that everyone was staring at. When I had finally broken through, I gasped at the sight before me.

Daryl was bent over, face down, on one of the stainless steel laundry tables, with two men on either side of him holding his arms and pushing down on his shoulders to keep him in place, but Daryl wasn't even struggling.

Negan was standing in front of him swinging Lucille through the air.

"Daryl?" I squeaked, as I stepped forward.

Daryl's eyes flicked up to mine, full of…something. Anger? Hatred? Defeat?

I went to run to him but my wrist was snapped back by Mandy's firm grasp.

"Don't interfere." She whispered urgently.

Negan looked up to me as I stared at the scene before me, Mandy's hand still wrapped firmly around my wrist.

"I'm so glad you're here, Beth. I was just telling Daryl howLucille doesn't like it when people step out of line. She likes everything to stay in neat little rows."

He held the bat up to his face cradling it gently in his hands.

"Do you wanna put him in place baby?" He asked the bat.

He turned his ear to the bat as if it were talking to him.

"Well you're in luck, Daryl." He bellowed excitedly, "Lucille says we should give you a chance, seeing as though it's your first infraction and all."

I felt the slightest hint of relief, but the show clearly was not over.

"However, you do need to be punished. Every crime has its punishment, and making me look like a fucking idiot is a pretty big crime around here."

Negan looked to the men holding Daryl down. "Take him over to the press."

Daryl was silent, and didn't put up an active struggle, but he let his feet drag as they pulled him over to a steaming, smoking, hissing iron press, pushed up against the wall of the laundry.

Negan pulled the top open to reveal suspiciously gory looking black and red residue covering both surfaces of the metallic plates, which I thought were normally covered in fabric on such an instrument.

As if Daryl started to realise what was happening wasn't going to be pleasant, he struggled more against the grip of his captors, throwing his shoulders around and grunting and muttering a slur of unintelligible curses.

"No!" I called pulling out of Mandy's grip and hurtling across the room and straight into the meaty shoulder of Wallace who blocked my path.

"Stay back, Kid." He said solemnly as he wrapped his arms around my trembling shoulders.

Negan looked up at me. "She just wants a closer look. She wants to see what will happen to her if her man keeps struggling."

I heard Daryl whimper and his body went limp in the grip of his captors.

"Do you want to watch the flesh melt off lover boys face, honey?" Negan asked me in a sickeningly steady and smooth voice.

"No, please don't." I cried as I tried to wriggle out of Wallace's grip. It was useless. Not only was he about twice as strong as Daryl, but my arms and legs felt so numb and weak, he probably couldn't even feel me struggling.

"You don't want me to melt his face off?" Negan asked again.

"No!" I shrieked, feeling as if my sanity was about to disappear. "Please don't. Please don't!" I squeaked over and over again.

Negan rubbed his fingers across his shaven chin thoughtfully.

"You know I think you might be on to something." He waved his hand towards Daryl and the men stopped forcing his face forward. "I mean the punishment should fit the crime. And his pretty face didn't embarrass me in front of all those fucking people."

Negan handed Lucille over to a man by his side and began pacing back and forth as he continued to rub his chin in thought. "It was your bow that embarrassed me wasn't it?"

He stopped suddenly pushing his fingers into the air as if he had just thought of something.

"I've got it. It's fucking brilliant." He beamed at me, holding up his middle and index finger in a V shape. "The old bowman's salute."

Negan marched over to Daryl and grabbed at his right arm and pulled it across the nearby table.

"Have you heard the story?" He asked Daryl, while he fumbled around in Daryl's sheath for his knife. "Back in the good old primeval times, they used to capture bowman and cut off their middle and index fingers so they couldn't draw a bow anymore. Now I'm no fucking historian, but I think that's bullshit. If you caught your enemy surely you would just kill him, don't you think?"

Daryl simply glared at him in response, I could see he was distressed, his eyes were full of unshed tears, his neck muscles were bulging with tension, and it looked as if his hand was trembling.

"But you're not my enemy are you Daryl?" Negan continued.

Daryl still didn't answer.

"Good, so I don't have to kill you. But I will take these little fuckers."

He raised his arm up high revealing he had hold of Daryl's knife and before I could say or do anything or really understand what was happening he had slammed the knife down into Daryl's index finger.

I could hear wailing ringing though the dozens of bodies in the room. Both a high pitched shrieking wail, and a strained, deep, gravelly wail.

Daryl and I were both screaming as Negan proceeded to hack away at Daryl's fingers, the flesh and bone snapping, crackling and popping as he sawed the blade back and forth and wiggled it in and out.

Daryl's wail was cut short as his head fell to the table, I assumed in a faint, and my wail was cut short when my dinner exploded onto Wallace's arm.

My trembling legs gave way and Wallace held me up with his vomit covered arm. He was whispering something in my ear, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. The only thing I could focus on was the bloody mess of Daryl's hand before me, his blood pooling over the silvery finish of the stainless steel.

Negan scooped up the two long pieces of human skin, flesh and bone and held them in front of Daryl's face. "I bet they were you're girl's favourite fingers too huh? Am I right?"

Daryl didn't respond. He was still out cold.

He tossed the two fingers into the puddle of vomit by my feet.

"Am I right honey? Were they your favourite?"

I managed to pull my eyes away from the sight of Daryl's fingers and raise them to meet Negan's grinning face.

"What's with the face? Would you rather I killed him?" He gloated.

I gritted my teeth, angry tears stinging my eyes. He would pay for doing this. I didn't know how, and I don't know when, but he would pay.

"Carson" He called to the pale looking man with glasses, sliding off the tip of his nose. "Show them a new room. First floor. And get Helen in there to see to his hand. Don't want that fucker getting infected or we'll have to cut the whole thing off. Won't be much use to anyone with just a fucking stump."

Negan bent and picked up Daryl's bow from the floor by his feet. "And put this to good use. He won't be needing it anymore."

Daryl's body was large, limp and heavy, but Wallace took most of the weight as we carried him up the two flights of stairs and waited by the door of room one-zero-six, while Carson swiped a card across the reader to give us access.

Carson turned to me and placed the card into my palm. "This card will only open this door. Nothing else. Eating and showering will depend on the whim of the boss. I'll need your old room card." He beckoned for the card with a flick of his finger.

Reluctantly I fished the card out of my pocket and handed it over.

"I'll have your things brought down to you." Carson declared before taking off down the hall.

Wallace stepped away from me and into the room and dropped Daryl's slack body down in the evening darkness. He fumbled around for a few moments before lighting a candle to reveal Daryl was lying on an off-white, stained mattress that was among a pile of deteriorated papers and mouldy cloths on the filthy floor.

I gave the tiny room a quick look over noting the small window in the room that was partially covered with cardboard, swollen with damp. The part of the window that wasn't covered revealed the jagged edges of broken glass. There was no desk or desk chair or sofa, the only thing in the room other than rubbish and the dirty mattress was a pile of blankets and an awful smell. It reeked of mould, and the rot that wafted in through the broken window, and stale urine that rose though the dirty carpet.

I quickly scanned the bathroom as I walked past noting it had been stripped back to tiles. There was no basin, no shower and only a gaping hole in the ground where the toilet used to be.

A gentle tapping of the outer door made me turn to the entry to see a plump middle aged woman standing with a lantern in one hand, and a large bag in the other.

"Negan asked me to see to his hand." The woman, who I assumed was Helen, pointed to Daryl who was lying back flat on the mattress, still unconscious.

I nodded to her and helped her clear a space beside him.

"What's wrong with him…other than the obvious?" I ran my hand over Daryl's cold, pale and clammy forehead, pushing back his damp locks of short hair.

Helen had her fingers pressed to his wrist. "His blood pressure is quite low. He may be suffering from circulatory shock." Helen began un-wrapping the blood stained rag Wallace had managed to bundle around Daryl's hand before we had picked him up. "Did you see how much blood he lost?"

"It didn't seem like too much." I said in a mouse-like voice, thinking about the pool of red Daryl's hand had been in.

"Maybe a pint, don't think any more." Wallace added.

Helen pulled down the skin around Daryl's eye sockets and pulled down his bottom lip. "He should be okay, you'll have to give him lots of fluids."

Wallace stood from his crouched position and went to the doorway. "I'll get some bottles." He jogged down the hall and out of sight.

"I think it may be a bit of emotional shock if anything." Helen said, while sifting through medical supplies in her bag.

I shook my head. "Not Daryl, he doesn't let that kind of stuff get to him."

"You'd be surprised of what men can handle and what they can't." She unrolled a white wrap, to reveal a collection of steel tools and pulled out a set of long nosed tweezers. "It's probably for the best he's out of it. I have to pull out the shards of bone, and without anaesthesia, it can be quite painful."

I grabbed on to Daryl's good hand and gave it squeeze, hoping he would at least know I was there for him.

"It'll be okay." I reassured him, and attempted to reassure myself.

I whispered words of comfort that I didn't entirely believe, held his hand, and stroked his forehead while she continued to pluck the fragments of bone out, stitch up the open flesh, and wrap his hand up with a clean bandage.

By the time she had finished up, Carson and Wallace returned with water and our meagre belongings from upstairs. Helen shooed everyone out of the room including the reluctant and repentive Wallace. She placed a bottle of antibiotics into my hand and assured me he would be okay.

I was sure he would be physically okay, but mentally? I wasn't so sure.

"Does this happen often?" I asked as she walked out the door.

She frowned. "Not always in the same way. People have lost whole hands for stealing, tongues for talking out of line, faces for sleeping with the boss's wives. Everything in this world has gone primeval. " She glanced back to Daryl. "Really he didn't get it too bad."

I watched as her lantern light disappeared down the dark hall and then turned back to our room of stench and dancing candle lit shadows.

It was nothing like the room we had upstairs. It was smaller, and lacked furnishings and only had one candle. The most disturbing thing was that there was no chair to prop under the door handle.

I grabbed one of the blankets on the ground and tried to tear at it with my teeth, but it was too thickly woven. I went to my knees and crawled over Daryl to retrieve the knife that had been used to sever his fingers.

As I slipped it out of the sheathe, his right hand shot forward and grabbed mine.

"Fuck!" He growled as he drew the hand back and cradled it against his chest with his left.

I leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fucking not!" He snarled, as he examined the bandage on his hand.

"Where are my fucking fingers?"

"He…he cut them off."

"I fucking know that! Where are they?"

I shook my head. "Said he was feeding them to the walkers." I bit my lip and tried to fight back the tears.

Daryl threw his shoulders up, to shake me off and rolled to the side, glaring at the wall in front of him.

Wary of the still open door, I went back to hacking at the blanket with Daryl's knife and tearing it into a long strip, while keeping a cautious eye on Daryl.

He kept stared at the peeling wallpaper in front of him, while I wrapped the lengths of fabric between the bathroom and entry door handles and tied them tightly. It probably wasn't as secure as a chair, but it would at least slow down Negan if he tried to barge in on us.

My heart was still pounding in my ears, fuelled by the rush of adrenaline I had felt hours earlier. I didn't know if I would be able to sleep, but I knew I was supposed to be tired, and Daryl would need his rest. I undressed and pulled out a sweater and shorts to sleep in from our bag of belongings, and then pulled off Daryl's boots for him.

He didn't respond to my tugging, he just kept staring.

I shook out the dusty and musty smelling blankets, and then curled up beside him and pulled them up over the pair of us.

"It's not so bad." I forced a horribly false cheerful tone into my voice. "We slept in tents and cars and shipping containers before. Even the prison wasn't much better than this." I chuckled softly. "The first time we did it was in a place worse than this."

"We gotta get out of here." Daryl grunted. The sudden and unexpected sound of his voice making me jump.

"I know. When you've rested we'll look at leaving. Even if we've only got our bows, we'll take our chances…"

"No. He won't let us."

"Won't let us leave?"

He shook his head.

"Well, we'll just have to stick around until we can figure out a way out of this place." I glanced around the room.

"It's fucked." Daryl snarled.

"It'll be fine. We've been in worse situations..."

"My hand." Daryl held up his bandage, blood beginning to seep through.

"It's not so bad compared to some of the things Helen told me about."

Daryl slowly clenched and unclenched the three fingers on his hand. "Can't even use a weapon."

I shifted myself upwards and pulled his morose looking face into my chest and ran my fingers through his hair in an effort to comfort him. "What about your other hand?"

"That'd take weeks to get used to."

"You can pull a trigger with your ring finger, right?"

Daryl flexed his ring finger as if testing its range of motion. "The recoil would throw that shit right outta my hand. I'd have to use two hands for everythin' now."

I pointed over to the crossbow at the foot of the mattress.

"A crossbow uses two hands. You could still use that."

"How the fuck am I gonna cock the thing, Beth." He barked, startling me again. "All the strength in my hand is in those two fingers."

"Well I can do it with my weak girly arms." I chuckled weakly. "I'm sure you could manage it."

"Nah, he's fucked me. He's taken away everythin' I was. Everythin' I am."

He pulled his head away from me and rolled back to his side, his eyes fixed on his mutilated hand, a frown still on his face.

I scoffed in irritation. "Everythin' you are?"

I wasn't about to lose my strong man to misery. I wasn't about to let my tough as nails man mope over his lost fingers. I wasn't about to have the man who meant more than the world to me believe he was nothing more than a bow string puller.

I gripped him around his shoulders and forced him back down on to the mattress and threw a leg over to straddle him.

"Nut up, Dixon!" I called to him in my best Merle Dixon voice, while giving his shoulders a firm shake.

He glared up me with a mixture of anger, shock and confusion in his eyes.

"Stop bein' such a pussy!" I continued. "Merle got by with a whole hand taken off, you're just missin' a couple of fingers!"

Daryl pouted and turned his face away from me, but I gripped him by his chin and forced his face back.

"You're gonna do everythin' just the same as you did before." I insisted. "You're gonna make smart ass remarks and ride 'round on a loud-ass motorcycle just like a Dixon. Aren't you?"

I waited for his response but he just continued to glare up at me.

"Aren't you?" I urged on.

He sighed. "Maybe."

"No. Yes. Yes ma'am."

The corner of his lip twitched as if he was fighting a smile.

"Yes ma'am." He mimicked.

"You're gonna climb rocks with an arrow wound in your side and blow up tanks just like a Dixon."

He sighed again. "Yes ma'am."

"You're gonna kill walkers with golf clubs, and throwin' knives and a crossbow, just like a Dixon."

He looked to his damaged hand and then rested it carefully on my thigh. "Yes ma'am."

I still had the adrenaline pumping through me, making my heart race with excitement and I was feeling empowered sitting over him, demanding he toughen up. My heightened mood was adding fuel to the fire of my already messed up emotions.

Being way past the point of feeling sorry for him, or trying to be gentle with him, I tugged my tee over my head and threw it across the dirty room.

"Now fuck me like a Dixon." I demanded.

His face fell in shock.

"I just lost my fucking fingers, Beth!" He snarled.

"Pussy!" I hissed back.

His angry eyes challenged me at first, and then slowly softened. He smirked and gently tossed his head from side to side.

"Told you I ain't…"

Before he could finish his sentence I was whipping his belt out of his jeans and tugging at his fly.

"Well I'll just fuck you then."

"Yes ma'am." Daryl replied urgently attempting to tug at his shirt but finding it slipped out of his bandaged hand.

Before he could start moping again I tore the shirt off his head and bent down smacking my puckered lips straight down on to his. He opened his mouth allowing my tongue to enter, and I filled his mouth with it, enjoying the hot and wet taste of cigarette, while I helped him pull his jeans down his thighs.

I managed to wriggle and kick my shorts off without moving my mouth from his, and then tucked my knees into the side of his waist and position my hips over his.

He still wasn't completely hard, and I wasn't quite wet enough to simply slip him inside. I pulled my mouth away from him, and leant back so I was positioned with all my weight on top of his hips. I steadied myself by gripping my hands to his belly and began grinding my hips around, pushing and rubbing myself into him as he grew longer and firmer.

I sighed and moaned and I gasped deeply as I felt myself start to throb, my increasing moisture heightening the sensation of him pressing hard against my most tender spots.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, and then shifted his hands upwards from my thighs. Both of his thumbs pressed against the sides of my naval as his hands moved up my twisting waist, to my swivelling chest and then stopped, cupping my heaving breasts between his good fingers.

I pulled my hips back just far enough to put my hand into the damp and heated space between my legs and guide his end to my opening, and then we both sighed long and loud as I took his full length inside me.

"Fuck Beth." He grunted, opening his eyes into narrowed intense slits, and biting down on his bottom lip.

His eyes swept greedily downwards over my collarbones and chest and then to his hands on my breasts, and then he suddenly frowned and pulled his right hand quickly away from me.

Without breaking my gyrating motions, I grabbed his hand and forced it back on to my breast, pushing the bandage into my nipple and splaying his three good fingers around the soft flesh. He groaned in what seemed like a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"I love you." I gasped as I felt the jolts fire through my body, which caused my channel to clench around him. "All of you." I added. "Even…the bits…that aren't…whole."

"I love you too…" he broke off mid-sentence and groaned loudly. "…girl." He added when he had recovered.

"And we're…gonna… be okay." I tossed my head backwards and moaned up to the mould covered ceiling, while he continued the motion that I had dropped once the heat and pulsing and convulsions had taken hold of me.

I woke to the smell of aging mildew, masked with the muskier and more recent smell of sex, and also to a twanging and grinding sound echoing though the room every several seconds.

I rolled to my side and scanned the morning-lit room to find Daryl hunched over his crossbow, drawing back on the string and then firing it without an arrow.

"What're you doin'?" I mumbled as I sat up and stretched my arms above my head.

"Gonna use me a crossbow…" He smiled up at me. "…Like a Dixon."

I sat up and examined him more closely, observing the way he hooked his bandaged hand under the string and tugged it along. I could tell his right side was much weaker, but he was still pulling it quicker than I ever had.

"Is it hard?"

He shook his head. "Hurts a bit, but think I can get used to cockin' with only three fingers."

I kicked back the blankets and crawled to my feet so I could go over and give him a hug, proud that he was going to fight on, but a tapping at the door sent me diving back to the mattress, pulling the blankets over my naked body.

Daryl quickly slotted an arrow into the crossbow and backed himself against the wall near the door.

"Who is it?" He barked.

"It's Wally." Wallace called from the other side of the door.

Daryl sighed and shook his head with relief. "Just a minute." He waved to me to get dressed, and I pulled on my shorts and tee that were still by the bed.

Checking I was decent, Daryl removed the blanket tie and pulled the door open to reveal the hulking, aged form of Wallace.

He looked to Daryl's bandaged hand wrapped around the trigger hold. "I see you're feelin' better."

Daryl shrugged. "Ain't got time to mourn fingers."

Wallace shifted uncomfortably, looking like he had something on his mind.

"What's up?" Daryl asked.

Wallace sighed. "Boss says you gotta work if you're wanting to eat."

"But he's still recovering…" I started to protest.

"Nah I'm good. I can go out there." Daryl interrupted.

Wally shook his head. "Not you." His eyes went to me. "Her."

I thought about what I had said to Negan's wives last night. I guessed they had told him I could sing, and now he wanted me in the lounge.

Daryl took a step back and raised his crossbow across his chest defensively. "Uh uh. Hell no. I can do it." Daryl insisted.

"Boss says you're injured. Can't have you puttin' the rest of the crew at risk."

"She ain't doin' no god damn mothafuckin' titty show!" Daryl snarled angrily.

"Titty show?" I inquired

Daryl sighed and tossed his head. "That's what's in the lounge, tits and ass, and perverts."

I wondered if Negan wanted me to sing with my clothes on or off.

"No." Wally spoke up. "I convinced him to let her come on a run. With me."

Daryl shook his head. "She ain't cut out for…"

I jumped up and stepped in front of Daryl. "Yes I am. I can pull my own weight. I can pull Daryl's too, until he's better."

Daryl eyed me up and down looking unconvinced.

"I can take care of myself, Daryl." I insisted. "And you."

"I'll be there. I'll watch her." Wallace reassured.

Daryl slowly nodded his head "Okay."

I quickly tugged on my jeans over my shorts, and searched around for my boots, hoping to get out of the room before Daryl changed his mind. He was still watching me with a look of dreaded uncertainty.

When I was dressed, Daryl pushed the crossbow towards me.

"No." I said holding up my hands. "I'll take the handgun, you keep practisin' with it. It's yours anyway."

"Nah. I gave it to you."

"Well I'm givin' it back to you."

After handing me a few pieces of pork for breakfast, Wallace ushered me downstairs into the parking garage and towards a crowd of people waiting around vehicles ready to leave.

Wallace strolled over to the six wheeled truck that we had been rescued in, and held out a hand to help me up over the ramp.

"Hold on there, Wally." Negan's sickeningly smooth voice called from behind me.

I turned to see him strutting over to me like a proud peacock. Looking fresh in his clean jeans and highly polished black leather jacket, with Lucille in his hand.

"Can't have this delicate flower up back like livestock." He bent his arm and offered it to me. "You can ride up front. With me."

"No thankyou." I said as I backed into Wallace.

Negan turned full frontal to me. "I insist." His suddenly stern eyes narrowed at me, telling me I had no choice.

"I told Wyatt, I would…" Negan's glare switched to Wallace behind me, and Wallace stopped talking instantly.

"It's okay." I said over my shoulder to re-assure him, and then followed Negan to the cab of the truck.

He held the door open for me, and I climbed up into the seat, and I patted the gun in its holster and slipped my hand into my boot to make sure my knife was still in easy reach. If he tried anything I was going to do my best to take him down.

Negan climbed in beside me, rested his ugly looking bat on the chair by his feet, and started the truck up.

"You wouldn't want to be back there with them. Not a one of them is a fucking gentleman."

"And you are?" I questioned cautiously.

He laughed boisterously. "Of course I am. Have I ever done anything to prove otherwise?"

I didn't answer, I just stared out the front windshield and waited for the truck to finish loading, and for Negan to drive the truck forward, leading the convoy of vehicles through the gate and out on to the road.

We didn't talk for the half hour journey to the neighbouring city. He listened to loud country and western music on the radio and crooned along with it, flashing me a grin every now and then, which made me shift in my seat nervously.

We arrived at a line of brick buildings in an almost barren street, dotted here and there with the odd walker dragging its feet.

The men all unloaded and fiddled with their weapons, while Negan paced the road in front of the buildings stretching with his bat above his head.

"You stick by me." Wallace muttered from behind me. "Don't try to be a hero, just let me handle it."

"I can handle it." Negan called as he walked forward and tugged me by my arm. "I'm gonna be your personal chaperone today." His slimy grin filled his face.

All I could do was stare at Wallace as Negan dragged me along beside him.

We split off into three groups, Wallace reluctantly going in a different one from mine, and watching me with concern as he disappeared into a two story building.

Negan nodded to me and I followed him into a long single level building, with three men and a woman at my back.

The inside of the building was dark, the windows still covered with thick curtains. There was the familiar smell of rot in the air that told me that walkers were about. Negan switched on a torch and I moved in closer to him, more terrified of what was in the darkness than what Negan could do to me.

He noted my movement and smiled at me. "I'll protect you, honey, no need to be scared."

I removed the safety from my gun. "I'm not scared."

Negan chuckled at me and then walked down the darkened hallways, his bat screeching as it scraped against the ground.

"Anyone home?" He called out ostentatiously.

He was answered by snarls and growls as walkers began throwing themselves out of doors in the corridor and stumbling towards us.

Negan swung his bat through the air and danced around like a ballerina, smashing skull after skull, with expert precision. I heard gunshots firing behind me as the back-up took out more walkers from behind.

With Negan's efficiency, and the people behind me with their guns, there was nothing left for me to do but watch as Negan's beefy arms swing through the air and send gore splatter disappearing into the darkness.

When his back turned, I lined Negan up in my sights, and with my finger on the trigger contemplated what would happen if I killed him.

He seemed pretty confident to give both Daryl and I weapons, so he must have some kind of plan, some kind of vice president, if he were to be killed. I could probably trust Wallace, but I didn't feel I could trust any of the other people who lived at the hotel. I wasn't entirely sure I could kill him in cold blood anyway. As horrible and manipulative as he was, he had kept us alive. I couldn't even say it was in self-defence.

Resolved I wasn't a cold blooded murderer, I dropped my gun and hoped that maybe he would slip up and a walker would attack and kill him instead.

We wound our way through dark corridors, expecting more walkers to stumble out, but the way was clear after the initial wave. After a few minutes of walking through the dark echoing halls I noticed that the strobes of torchlight that had been flashing behind me had disappeared, and that the heavy breathing and irregular muttering had silenced. I stopped and turned to see Negan and I had been left alone.

My heart thudded furiously in my chest.

"We're alone." I mumbled.

Negan stopped and turned to face me, his square features only barely visible in the darkness.

"It's okay. Not far to go now." He flashed his torch down onto a set of steep iron steps. "Watch your step." He advised me, while he descended them, and then held back his hand to help me.

I refused at first, putting my trembling, clammy hand to the cool metal guide rail, but halfway down I lost my footing and my hand slipped of the rail and grabbed hold of his outstretched hand instinctively.

"Lucky you got me here." He gloated.

I shook my hand out of his grip and followed him through the darkness.

A couple of turns and open doorways later, we came to another stairway, this one made an echoing thud sound as we stepped on it as if it were made from wood.

We walked across a wooden floor, and then Negan stopped suddenly, making me walk into his thick and strong back.

"Stay here." He urged, as he turned and backed away, his torchlight leaving with him.

"In the dark?" I squeaked nervously.

"Are you scared?" He called back.

Was this his plan; to lead me to a dark dungeon and then leave me to be eaten by unseen walkers? Would he tell Daryl it was an accident? That I got lost? Would this be his new way of torturing Daryl?

I pulled my knife from my boot and held it against my handgun as I watched Negan's light get smaller and smaller.

My eyes were wide in the darkness, my weight rested on my toes, ready to leap, and my ears were pricked listening for any shuffles or moans or groans that would tell me a walker was near.

With a sudden swishing sound, light filled the room.

I saw Negan standing by a window pulling back huge curtains that extended forever up to the high ceiling. The dust-filled stream of daylight revealed I was standing on a stage in some kind of auditorium, with rows upon rows of seating laid out before me.

I turned around to see the steps I had walked up off-stage, and a large grand piano placed centre-stage.

"Do you like it?" Negan called as he walked back through the aisles towards me. "The girls told me you liked to sing, so here you are, your own stage." He opened his arms wide to his surroundings.

I didn't know what to say. Did he do this especially for me? Did he think I would thank him and praise him?

"Is this what we came for?" I asked. "Shouldn't we be getting' supplies?"

Negan climbed back up on stage and strolled over to the piano.

"My men will." He said as he dropped himself down on the bench, rest his bat beside him then lifted the fall board and began hitting the out of tune keys.

"You'll attract walkers." I whispered as he kept hitting the keys.

"Nope, there aren't any down in here." He waved me over. "Come play something for me."

I shook my head. "I'd rather not."

He sighed grudgingly, "Did Daryl tell you why I cut his fingers off?"

I shook my head.

"I made a deal with some pig farmers in Virginia. They would give us meat and we would keep them safe. But they went back on their part of the deal. I went there to teach them a lesson, it may have been a little harsh, but it was necessary. And then fucking Daryl intervened and fucked it all up."

He paused for a moment and eyed me over. "Did you ever get spanked as a child, Beth?"

I shuddered as I thought of him getting enjoyment from me being spanked.

"Only once. By my mother."

"Only once." He grinned. "'Cause you learnt your lesson the first time, right?"

I nodded.

"Like Daryl, we hope." He began performing a slow glissando that rang out through the auditorium. "I didn't want to do it, but I fucking had to, I can't have a weak link. This place needs to run like clockwork to stay the way it is, I can't have anyone interfering with my food. Hungry men are angry men, angry men do fucking stupid things that end up getting other men killed." He sighed and smiled up at me. "I'm not a bad guy, just trying to keep everyone alive."

He patted the bench beside him. "Come. Play."

"No." I said firmly.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Okay, I won't make you. Just like I won't make you fuck me." His leering eyes travelled over my body. "But just like my men need their bacon, I need things to keep me docile too. Favours keep me calm, and a calm leader is a better leader, wouldn't you agree?"

The only leader I could really compare to was Rick, and yes, he was better when he was calm.

"If I'm not calm there's no telling what I'd do." Negan went on. "I've been real nice to you. And I don't have to be. I control the food, water, medicine…Daryl. All I want in return is one little fucking song."

I knew what he was trying to tell me. If I didn't do what he wanted, we wouldn't be housed, we wouldn't be fed, Daryl wouldn't get the medical attention he needed, and he would continue to harm Daryl to manipulate me.

I would play his game. For now.

I slipped on to the bench beside him, the heat of his body radiating through the leather pressed against my arm making my skin crawl. I put my fingers to the keys, playing at random chords that I thought would harmonise with the song I planned to sing to him.

Put food on the table
And roof overhead
But I'd trade it all tomorrow
For the highway instead
Watch your back if I should tell you
Love's the only thing I've ever known
One thing for sure pretty baby I always take the long way home

A/N:

A/N: I totally just mutilated Daryl Dixon! I guess in comparison it's not so bad…

Just FYI I did the research and you can actually still draw a compound bow with only your thumb, pinky and ring finger if you train that way. But let's just say Daryl and Negan don't know that, for drama's sake.

I'm guesstimating two weeks til the next chapters, but possibly less. I'm excited as the good stuff is coming soon :)