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 Three
She was still picking at her dinner, trying not to seem too eager about the massive square of lasagna. Or too obvious when she continued to ignore the four pack of beer one of the Saviors had brought in when there was a knock on the door.
"Come," Negan answered, fingers curling lazily in a come hither motion that seemed to be for her benefit.
She wasn't entirely surprised to see Simon walk in, or the flicker of confusion when the scene that greeted him turned out to be far more domestic then she was comfortable with. With her and Negan seated at the small, four-person table by the window, eating dinner in complete and utter silence.
"Simon, give our compliments to the chef. Dinner was fucking delightful. Nearly forgot lasagna was supposed to have meat it in. Someone's upped their game in the kitchens. Who was it?"
"Geena," Simon answered, hands in his hips. "The one that did that Shepherds pie last week. That woman is a force to be reckoned with. Especially with a spatula. Or so my rear end can attest."
Negan laughed.
Her eyes flickered towards the open door and the hallway beyond. There were still two guards. Both of them carrying semi-automatics, knives, and a Glock each.
"Shall I escort our guest to different accommodations for the night?" Simon asked, still eying her in a way she didn't like. Like he was trying to peel her apart, piece by piece to get to the point. "I had the workers set up one of the suites. Private bathroom, kitchen, the works."
She shifted, about to get up pre-emptively when Negan smirked. Shaking his head before letting it loll back lazily.
"The go-getter attitude is appreciated, Simon. But the widow stays here tonight. Do run and tell my wives they have the night off, would you? No point in them sittin' around being gorgeous when I'm not around to see it."
Simon nodded and turned to go, just about at the threshold before-
"And since I am in such a fucking good mood, feel free to treat yourself while you're there," Negan offered, grin Cheshire and showing far too many teeth. You know the rules. Take Dwighty-boy with you. I'm starting to think his dick really did fall off after all."
She didn't hear whatever Simon said in reply. Too busy trying to keep down everything she'd eaten as something dangerously close to jealousy threatened to rear its ugly head.
'He was hers,' A small voice seethed. 'Hers.'
"I would be more comfortable somewhere else," she managed instead. Taking it as a cue as she pushed back her plate and got to her feet. Toes curling harshly in her boots. Needing it to hurt as her nails ached against the unforgiving soles.
Negan just leered at her.
"I am sure you would be," he purred, scooping up the last of his dinner as he waved Simon out the door. Waiting for the annoyed sounding click before he continued. "But I'm not letting you out of my sight."
"So, is this how it's going to be?" she questioned, bracing her hands on either side of her plate as she stood her ground. Half a head taller than him as he remained sitting. Looking up at her like- no.
"It's safer, he countered, tossing his napkin to the side. "You shits killed a lot of my people- some of 'em had families who are none to happy about that as you can imagine. Everyone knows you're here by now and half of 'em will be out for blood. I can keep you safe. No one will touch you here, not even me, not unless you want it."
The pause was obvious and stagnant as Negan looked right back at her. Bold as brass. Like he had the god given right to do just that before he shifted. Knuckling the back of his head as the sound threatened to send tingles up the back of her spine.
"Truth is, I didn't think I'd ever find you. And now, when everything's gone and ended, here you are. Right here. Right now. Right in front of me. And I don't plan on lettin' you go."
The muscles under her skin twitched into a thousand different micro-expressions of disgust and ruined longing.
"You can't make me stay," she issued, gratified when the words came out more or less steady.
"But you want to," Negan supplied, grinning at her with low-slung lids. Sleepy and sensual like an unspoken invitation. "Just the same as I want to leave this behind and put all my chips on you, darlin'. I know. I get it. I might be new to this whole soulmate thing, but I know what I'm feelin' and frankly- there isn't a corner of the world I wouldn't chase you to."
The realization that some people might find that romantic made her want to retch.
But it was only made a thousand times worse when she realized he meant every word.
That he was almost desperate for her approval.
Wanting her to want him as the little part of him that existed under her skin- tugged.
Horror mingled with an awful sort of righteousness as the truth of what she was up against reflected in his expression for the first time. Leaving behind an after taste that lingered long after she locked herself in the bathroom and quietly vomited up everything she'd eaten. Eyes stinging with tears as she watched his shadow stall, then firm against the door with a gentle thud of pressure. Negotiating closeness like a hostage situation, only in reverse.
She woke up the next morning to a low throbbing pain in her left calf that wasn't hers. Looking up from the sheets and pillows that still smelled thick with him as he slept fitfully on the couch on the other side of the room.
At first she was surprised she'd even fallen asleep at all. But that was quickly pushed aside when she realized two things in quick succession. The pain she was feeling was through him. And second, their connection through the bond was weak somehow, like a two-way radio with a bad connection, there was the threat of static.
She got to her feet slowly. Trying to make sense of the way sleep did something complimentary to his face. Almost exciting her with the vulnerability of it as he shifted and let go of a soft sound. Arms crossed loosely over his chest as the blanket puddled humid and untidy on the floor, like he'd kicked it off sometime during the night. Her hand curled around the back of the couch, realizing he was frowning in his sleep. Laugh lines scrunching in on themselves as she took in the linen bandage that'd stained itself a rosy-pink overnight. Sweat dampening his black t-shirt before-
She crossed the rest of the space without even being aware of it. Letting her hand hover just above his forehead as the heat of fever was obvious without having to touch. Taking in the pained little twitches that were starting to wrack his body like a continuous shiver as she stalled in place. Caught between wanting to help and something else- not running, but something darker.
The wound was infected.
Hesitation was a living, breathing animal as she slowly straightened. Eyes flicking from him to the door then back again. This could be her chance. Her only chance. Rick and the others would have noticed her absence by now. She needed to get back to them before they did something stupid, or worse.
She settled on a compromise. Snatching the buck knife and holster she'd noticed the night before on her way to the door. Sliding it safely under her shirt, between the valley of her breasts as she grabbed one of Negan's shirts - some dusty looking blue jean button up and slipped it on over her clothes to hide the outline. The labored inhale and exhale of his breathing followed her as she crossed the room to check the windows. Memorizing the layout of the roof before she flicked the eastern most one unlocked. The one that let out onto a crease in the roof towards the rear of the compound. Figuring it would be her best option for escape when night fell before she squared her shoulders and called out to alert the guards.
"Get Doctor Carson, now."
She stayed back as the room crowded with a cautious pin-wheel of people, letting her spine hide the way her fingers were slowly prying the creaky window open as Negan and Harlan argued with each other. Something about infection and tainted blood as Harlan carefully refused to look at her. Making an effort not to draw attention in a way that made her that much more alert. On the look out for a sign. An opening. Whatever it was, she'd take it. She couldn't stay here.
"Well, something sure as shit happened, doc," Negan spat as Harlan rooted through his kit, muttering about needing stronger antibiotics. "So patch me the fuck up and let's get the show on the road."
She didn't react when the window seal popped audibly. Keeping her eyes on them like she hadn't noticed as Simon sank down on his haunches beside the couch. Making sure he was closer to Negan than anyone in the room as Negan tossed the cloth he'd been using clear across the room. Splatting wetly against the wall, soaked with fever-sweat.
It was a play for control on Simon's part. But only in the way one did when they wanted things back to normal. They'd rattled the cage. That was for damn sure. Everyone was on edge, and while it hadn't ended how they'd been hoping, the end result was as good as. With Negan sick and wounded the Saviors weren't going anywhere. It'd bought them time to try again.
"What do you need, doc?" Simon asked firmly, straightening to his full height like he was ready to take action. Hiking up his jeans so they were perched on the tilt of his hips as he twirled a set of heavy looking keys on his index finger. "You need approval for the good stuff and I think this applies."
Harlan rattled off a list and before he was even done Simon had ranged over to the door and tossed the keys at the blonde woman with the barcode tattoo lurking outside the door.
"You said you crawled underneath one of the office containers?" Harlan asked, looking at the wound critically. Making a muscle in Negan's thigh jump as he pressed down with a fresh pad soaked in antiseptic. "With an open wound it isn't out of the ordinary to have picked up something. The anti-biotics I gave you should have worked, but the strain of infection was probably stronger than your body could fight. Especially with a gunshot wound. I'm going to put you on a strong dose - full spectrum just to be safe - and some pain killers. If you take them together...that will lessen the downtime. Right now your body needs to rest. And you need to let it or you'll be in worse shape, probably for longer."
Harlan caught her eye as he packed up and left – significant and just a bit longer than necessary. Leaving them with two bottles of pills and an empty glass as Negan settled into the couch cushions with a sigh - waiting for the pills to take effect.
And all along she could feel it. The queasy, unsettled exhaustion that threatened to leak into her bones like an oil slick. The sense that something wasn't quite right had been given not only confirmation, but a solution. Sending her mind in all sorts of directions as she tried to sort out where he started and she ended.
She didn't think it would be like this. Feeling like she was ready to drown under all this raw, feverish static. Like she could lose herself and everything she stood for with just a moment of inattention. It would be easy because he wanted her too. He was already in her head, spreading and whispering. And part of her wanted to just make it stop. To step forward, take his hand and-
Negan's eyes were back on her – dark and maybe even worried – when she wavered back against the window. Closing her eyes and clenching the frame as Simon said something in the foreground- hushed for only Negan to hear. Grateful for the wall at her back as the weight tried to crush her.
When did the good parts start?
The ones she remembered people gushing about?
She knew the answer.
But the truth was, part of her still couldn't accept it.
Because this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
He was supposed to be hers.
He was hers.
But now he couldn't be.
Not him.
Not ever.
That part, what they could have been, was dead on arrival.
Dead like Glenn.
Dead like Beth and her father.
Dead and never coming back.
Simon glared when Negan barked for him to get out a couple minutes later. Looking at her with the most dangerous kind of suspicion as the door swung shut. The one that reminded her of like broken toys and fallen favoritism as she stared back without speaking. Letting him look right until the lock clicked.
It didn't matter.
She didn't plan on being here long enough to find out how far Simon was willing go to get his position back.
Two hours later Negan started slurring.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" he managed, eying her from the depths of the couch cushions. Injured leg caught between the seams like a make-shift brace. Visibly fighting to stay awake as whatever Harlan had given him took effect.
She kept one eye on the clock as night fell outside.
If Harlan had a plan he'd better get here quick.
"Thinking about what?" she asked, more relaxed now that the dangerous parts of him had started softening. Too weak to do anything but watch her as she crossed over to the window and opened it all the way.
"You know," Negan slurred, head too heavy to keep upright. Frowning as the point lasped away in mid-sentence before changing tracks entirely. "…You- you can't expect me to change who I am."
Her fists clenched at her side.
"I don't want anything from you," she hissed, boot heels trying and failing to grind their way through the floor as his lashes fluttered. Heavy and soft like a muggy summer night. Humidity already teasing a building storm.
It was a lie no matter which side you looked at. But he didn't give her time to come to terms with it before he carried on to the next bombshell. Seeming to know exactly what to say to keep her reeling as he looped his thumb in his belt and tugged suggestively.
"I can feel it you know," he hummed. Consonants gliding out slick and slow, like even the syllables were high. "What you and the 'doc are hiding? Here."
Impossible as it was, the hand Negan rested on his belly ghosted without weight over hers. Idling there with a gentle, reverent pressure as he met her stare. Feeling the echo of its warmth through their bond as she shuddered. Warring between disgust and pleasure. Fear was a close third.
He knew. Maybe he'd known since that moment in the office container. She had a feeling any other time she'd be able to tell, but with the drugs in his system everything was jumbled and sluggish. Pulsing with warm tones and spreading night.
"And I get it. It's alright," he told her, voice low like he was actually trying to convince her it would be.
"Now what?" she asked bluntly, holding herself so stiffly she felt breakable. Deciding to make a stand as she reached under her shirt and brought out the knife she'd stashed. Letting him see it as the corner of his lips lifted in response. Smirking at her like he never wanted to see anything else.
"Now...now you think about letting me help you," he answered simply. Trying to lift his head from the back of the couch only to have it lurch off to the right. Eyes heavy-lidded. Struggling to stay awake. "Let me...Maggie."
The warm glow throbbed under her skin as he called her by name for the first time.
"You took away the father," she replied coldly, sliding the blade out of it's sheath with a shivering sound. "His name was Glenn. There's nothing you can do. Not for me."
His head cocked.
"Well-" he started.
"Don't say it," she rasped. Throat painfully dry as rage and grief curdled in the back of her throat. "You could never be."
He didn't even look offended.
It only made her hate him more.
"You and I don't have that luxury, darling," he told her bluntly, surprisingly sober for someone who was barely there. Slipping away in her mind's eye as the parts of him that'd taken up residence without her consent started to go out like street lights at dawn.
She shook her head.
"We can never. I can't."
She thought about the expression on Glenn's face before the bat came down. Abraham's blood slowly sinking into the ground between them as he looked at her through the dark - every inch of him trying to reach her without moving. Then she thought about the ring her finger and how just a bit too big. She thought about how it'd never felt right, but more about how she'd never said anything. Glenn had never asked, so she'd never mentioned it. Meekly allowing the death of all her secret hopes as they got buried under the weight of more important things. Things like survival. Like living day to day. Making it through one loss, then the next. Telling herself that someday maybe she could-
"Finding you doesn't mean I lose myself," she murmured. Believing it for a brief, powerful second before she remembered how much she'd wanted to yield when they'd touched.
"That's exactly what it means darlin', same goes for me," he slurred, eyes most closed now. Feeling the sleepy pull of his exhaustion tug at the softest parts of her, encouraging her to follow him down. To just curl up beside him and listen to him breathe. "You aren't the only one who got the rug pulled out from under them. Hell, I used to be married before all this. Taught P.E and everything."
She took a violent step back, uncertain of when she'd gotten so close.
But as it was, it seemed to stand for something more that just the action.
Because Negan tried to sit up.
"You can't," he forced out, sweat glazed across his temple. Staring at her like he could read her somehow. Introducing an angry, worried quality that made her want to bare her teeth. "You can't…it doesn't work that way, you know that."
She looked up, alerted by the sound of footsteps and a soft murmur on the other side of the door. Recognizing Harlan's voice the moment before a dull thud echoed through the hall. Telling her everything she needed to know as she sucked in a breath and looked him right in the eye.
"Watch me."
The door opened with a soft click as Jesus and Harlan stepped over the fallen guards and dragged them inside. Closing the door behind them as Negan stirred against the cushions. Trying to sit up on his elbows before slumping back down with a groan.
"Is he out? I gave him enough painkillers to knock out a horse," Harlan hushed anxiously, before stepping over to take Negan's pulse. Not getting much but twitches and frowns as Negan struggled to stay conscious.
"Maggie?" Jesus prompted, making her look up with a jerk that cricked her neck. Realizing only then that she'd been caught staring. Too distracted by the way Negan was just lying there, wounded. Eyes unfocused through the gap between Harlan's hip and elbow as she watched him try to keep watching her. Right to the end. "You alright?"
"Fine," she replied, wiping her face. Taking the gun Jesus handed her - her gun - before tossing Harlan a Glock and a backpack he could put his kit into. "Eugene?"
Jesus shook his head.
Her lips firmed into a line that ached across her face.
"I hate to say this, do no harm and all that, but are we really going to just leave him here? Alive?" Harlan asked uncertainly. Uncomfortable and pale as his bruises glowed neon-sallow in the low light. Eyes flicking from the door to the open window as the seconds ticked past. "This might be our only chance to end this. Now. No one else has to die."
The hand Harlan tossed in Negan's direction was unnecessary and badly timed considering Negan's hand chose that moment to slip off his chest. Dragging his knuckles across the carpet as the sudden movement made them jump.
She opened her mouth, then stopped. Hesitating. Trying to swallow down a growing, cancerous suspicion. Something half-remembered and terrible before she finally shook her head. Decision made.
"They'll hear, and there's no time. Let's go."
It was awful how quickly they nodded.
They didn't know the whole truth.
How could they?
They didn't know that deep down, she would've stopped them if they tried.
She couldn't let them kill him.
Her stomach was tying itself into knots just thinking about it.
She'd find a way to make this right down the line.
If more people died because she couldn't end it here, she'd take that weight.
She needed time to think.
She had one foot on the window sill that led out onto roof when Negan suddenly stirred. Limbs frenetic and weak as the sight of her leaving made him reach out. Falling off the couch and onto the floor in an unsteady heap as Harlan cursed and jumped back.
"Don't-" Negan slurred, openly desperate for the first time as Jesus crouched down, hands curling around her shoulders as he gently pulled her up the rest of the way. Feeling something far too close to heartbreak tremble through her as Negan's lashes fluttered. Fists curling into the rug as he tried to pull himself towards her. "Don't leave."
She did anyway.
And it hurt like a hole in her chest the entire way back.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.