Disclaimer: I don't own "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I'm not sure why I decided this had to be written, but here we are. I thought it would be interesting to tackle the idea of if instead of Father Gabriel, it was Maggie who was left behind with Negan.

Warnings: soul-mates, soul bond, fated love, angst, drama, romance, unresolved sexual tension, post traumatic stress disorder, mild consent issues. Negan is not a good person and Maggie doesn't deserve this.

What doesn't kill me (makes me)

Chapter Two

"You didn't tell them," she murmured coldly as he propped the bat against the wall and left it there. It was the first thing she'd said since the Saviors surrounded them and it'd hurt coming up. Throat raw like she'd been screaming silently the entire time.

"No," he answered. Voice surprisingly free of humor or innuendo as his face pulled tight. Counting the ways she could be killing him as he eased himself down on the leather couch with a grunt. Already bleeding through the shirt Simon had wrapped around the wound before they'd moved into the compound. The walkers had been piled so high she'd been was forced to walk between the mounds at a snail's pace. Hands bound in front of her as the woman watched her like a hawk. She'd ignored her, keeping her head high. Eyes fast on the point of space were Simon had been hovering at Negan's elbow. Talking to him hurriedly - hushed.

"You don't trust them."

It wasn't derisive or gleeful, just a statement of a fact. Reminding him that his castle was made of glass. Every bit as breakable as skin and bone when it came down to it. A reminder that it could be done. That they could win. They had to.

"Sure I do," he returned with a lazy flick of his fingers, that same self-assured taint already leeching back. Making a muscle in her cheek twitch. "That's exactly why I keep 'em on a leash. You can only ever trust someone to a point."

Her hands tightened in her lap as Glenn's ghost wisped through the air behind Negan's shoulder. Face ruined and dripping blood that hissed like steam as it dappled the back of the couch. Smearing down Negan's arms as he leaned back and spread them across the back of the couch. Taking up all the space like she gave a damn about appearances. Like she didn't know it was all an act. Over compensation. Weakness. The dog that barked the loudest usually had the most to lose. And now she could feel it. She knew him. Slowly sinking into all his secret parts the longer they shared the same air.

"What about trusting yourself?" she bit off. Every word surging like something half-poisonous and angry.

He grinned at her, leaning forward in a textbook sign of interest. Legs spreading wider across the couch like an invitation.

"Now that's a good question. Damn, you're sharp. No wonder ol' Greg is just flapping in the wind since you came along. Hmmm...aren't I just the luckiest sonofabitch? Smoking hot, smart, and a fighter. You're the whole package, aren't you sweetheart?"

Somewhere outside a Savior screamed. The sound punctuated by a single gunshot, a pause, then one more. But Negan barely even blinked. Watching her intently, like she was the only interesting thing in the room. Like she was the only thing he wanted to see for the rest of his life and he was already content with that fact.

It scared her.

More than she liked to admit.

"Go to hell," she hissed, using the pain like an anchor as her nails cut bloody half-moons into her palms. Something to stop herself from killing the space and either clawing his eyes out or punching his mouth with hers in a brutal kiss.

A knock on the door killed whatever he'd been about to say. Making something in her chest jump uncomfortably as Negan looked visibly annoyed at the interruption. Like he'd forgotten he was even injured, before he barked an affirmative.

She looked up just in time to see Harlan stop dead at the sight of her. Eyes flicking from her to Negan and then back again. Worried. It took effort to mask it, but she didn't risk anything more than meeting them. Knowing Negan was watching her too closely for any sort of signal.

"Ah, Doctor Cockblock, terrible timing. Come in," Negan greeted as Harlan slowly closed the door. Leaning back against the couch with an expression somewhere between bloodshed and the cat who'd just eaten the canary.

The line of her mouth narrowed at the sight of a fading black eye and noticeably thinner cheekbones. Harlan looked like the Sanctuary didn't agree with him. She couldn't say she blamed him.

"Maggie," Harlan greeted, inclining his head stiffly in Negan's direction with such disdain she could see it straining the lines of his face. "It's good to see you again."

"You know each other, awesome," Negan praised, watching the man approach through the slits of his eyes. "You do get around, don't you?"

Harlan didn't say anything. Just sank down on one knee and set his kit on the carpet. Undoing the makeshift bandage and cutting the hole in Negan's jeans wider so he could see the wound.

"You got lucky, looks like it just grazed you," the doctor commented, blotting at the wound with a wad of gauze and some rubbing alcohol. "Needs a stitch or two, though. I'll do that now."

The silence was uncomfortable.

But the weight of his eyes was worse.

Because Negan didn't look away from her.

Not once.

"All done," Harlan commented, crumpling the garbage and shoving it into a plastic bag in his kit. Knee joints popping loudly as he got to his feet. "I'll want to check the dressing in a day or two, make sure everything is healing alright."

Negan nodded, the fingers of his right-hand twitching slightly. Like he was just itching to wrap them around the handle of his bat as Harlan turned to her.

"And you? You doing okay?"

She nodded. Brisk, but not quick.

The last thing she wanted was Negan to find out about the baby.

Especially now that-

"Oh right, I forgot." Negan purred sarcastically, leaning forward. Tone making it obvious he hadn't. "You weren't doing so hot back there, were you? Yeah, I remember, everyone was protecting you. Hell, you were the reason they were out there in the first place, weren't you? Trying to get you to Gregory's little piece of paradise, hmm?"

It was so startling easy to hate him in that moment, the next emotion translated as relief.

And she clung to the that feeling like wild-fire.

"Your people killed our Doctor," she issued, voice like gravel – rough and uneven. Remembering the heavy way Daryl had gotten out of the car when they'd pulled in. Rosita had been stuck so firm to Eugene's side that there wasn't any air left between them. Denise's absence had been a mar. Ugly and damning. "We had no choice. Her name was Denise. You should own to that."

But Negan wasn't looking at her.

He was looking at Harlan.

"It could have been a lot worse," Harlan started slowly. Testing the waters. Clearly uncertain of how much he should say, or how much had already been said. "She needed uninterrupted rest. No strenuous activity."

"Well, clearly she's fully recovered then," Negan remarked, off hand and easy like it was barely an inconvenience. "Considering her and Rick just redecorated the shit out of the outside."

Harlan nodded, ignoring the bulk of it to focus on the point. Resting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Like if he could give her strength somehow, he would in a heartbeat.

"I'm just glad it wasn't appendicitis. It's not exactly my speciality," he said with a warm smile.

Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, she realized Negan was seething. But the most frightening part was that none of it showed on his face. The usual smirk was still there, the predatory sprawl, all of it. This time it was a cover for something else. Something that had the power to shred skin and break bones with his bare hands. Something that-

"Alright, doc. House call is over. I'm sure you have enough to do. Seeing people behind my back and all. Just remember, here you pay for what you take. And my generosity only goes so far. Understand?"

The anger was slow burning, but there. Jealous, selfish and strong enough that it seared the inside of her sinuses. Swooping down and spreading in her belly like heartburn as her hands shook in her lap. Fighting the second-hand emotions as Harlan shot her a puzzled look. Barely aware of him leaving the room until the rage gradually trickled away. Leaving her internally reeling, caught off guard when an unexpected streak of guilt edged its way across her mind's eye.

It wasn't her, she realized distantly.

It was Negan.

"You alright?" he asked, leaning forward. Concerned. Maybe even sincere. Eyes nothing like the dark, blood-flecked pits they'd been that night in the clearing. No. Now they were open and emotive and hers whether she wanted him or not.

She ignored it.

"Doesn't seem smart, beating up your only doctor," she said instead. Sucking in a steadying breath as he smoothed the cuff of his ruined jeans. Unable to resist digging it in. "He's one of the good ones. He cares about his patients. He's missed at the Hilltop."

Negan's eyes narrowed.

"I bet he is," he returned. Picking at a rip in the couch nonchalantly. Body language easing back into a fake sprawl she didn't need the bond to spot from a mile away. "Doctor Carson is having some problems fitting in. He isn't following the rules. His brother was a fast learner. Guess there's always one black sheep in a family."

"What rules?" she pressed automatically. Trying to keep him talking. Distracted. Danger crackling like an electric charge the longer the moment stretched as he smirked again. Eyes set at a sulky half-mast she supposed some women might find attractive.

"Oh, you know the rules. The rules are the reason we own you. You, Rick, King Shit and his pet pussy. Rules are what makes the world go round, then and now. You know that," he hummed easily. Like the definition of a warm summer night on the back porch with a jug of sweet tea and the happy tones of Beth's laughter.

"You don't own us. You never did."

He just laughed again.

"Damn, you even look good lying, don't you? We owned you the moment Rick gave in, the moment my people came across your people on the road. The moment you killed my men. Nature has the same rules, sweetheart. Kill or be killed. Eat or starve. Fight or die. Hell, fight and still die. It happens all the damn time."

You'd think she'd be tired of the taste of blood on her tongue by now. But she didn't take her teeth out of the inside of her cheek. She couldn't. It was the only thing keeping her from sinking into every part of him, screaming and crying the whole way.

"And the rules here?"

His smile was like broken glass as he rested his hand across the metal clips holding the bandage snug around his leg. Flashy but sharp like a metaphor.

"Capitalism didn't die with the rest of the world, sweetheart. The players on top just changed."

She shook her head before she could stop herself. Eyes threatening to go unfocused when the bat in the corner started to leak red across the floor. Pudding from the smooth-grain seams until the crimson had pooled into a shallow dip in the carpet. Doming slowly until she was forced to blink and the blood was gone again.

"Don't call me that," she gritted out.

Negan cocked his head.

"What? Sweetheart?"

She nodded. The entire action was unnecessary but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help a lot of things right now. But she figured that fact was the least of her problems.

"What should I call you then?"

"My name would be start," she snapped. Hating when it came out softer than she intended. Like even now there was a part of her that desperately wanted to protect his feelings. "Maggie Rhee."

The rush of exaltation was obvious through their connection. It was the part of him that would never rub off. The part that had been waiting her entire life to come alive under her skin. The part that throbbed and wanted like a siren's call. Reminding her she didn't know his taste. Or the feeling of his skin gliding against hers. Reminding her of all the things she was going to look him in the eye and refuse- even if it slowly killed her.

"Well, look at us," he murmured richly. Showing her his throat as he leaned back. Every inch of him screaming an invitation as her nails bit into the fake leather arm-rests of her chair. "Here we are, coming up in the world. Before you know it we might even be able to shake hands without you stabbing me."

Acid reflux rushed up her throat.

"You know, I had plans for you. You, Rick and the King of the Round Table. How awkward is that now, hmm?"

The questions she wanted to ask herself were ugly.

How could he be her one?

What did that say about her?

What would've happened if Glenn hadn't-

"This has to stop," she said instead, steeling herself. Keeping her palm flat on the outline of Glenn's watch in her pocket. "The killing. It has to end."

"Of course it does," Negan returned, far too easily. Grunting out a remix of pain and stiffening joints as he got to his feet, stretching slowly. Looming over her for a long moment before moving away at a slow hobble. "But you and ol' Rick the dick have really stepped in it this time. Now, I have to clean house. As far as my men are concerned mercy is forfeit. You did that. Not me. Every time you fuck up I have to lay down the law, you think I like doing that?"

The answer was immediate.

The truth costing her nothing.

"Yes," she clipped. Remembering the way he'd come out of the RV in the dark. Like a captive audience was the best audience. Knowing that every cell in them was trained on him. And getting off on it in the same way.

Negan just chuckled, limping a bit before using the wall as a brace. Hip cocked as the rough of his jeans caught on the painted concrete walls. Reaching out with fingers that still had red on them until the bat was in his palm again.

She stiffened.

A half-second later he paused with his back to her.

The silence meant something. That stretch between the moment he picked up Lucille and the moment he set her back down again. She didn't know exactly what it was. But something in her shoulders slackened all the same.

His back was still to her when she spoke again.

"Would you? Would you stop If I asked you to?"

For the first time since she'd met him he didn't have anything to say.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.