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 instead of Father Gabriel, it was Maggie who was left behind with Negan. - I haven't updated this since 2018 so I am as confused as you are.
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. – Beth's suicide attempt is mentioned in this chapter.
What doesn't kill me (makes me)
Chapter Five
"It doesn't mean anything," Jesus told her later. Voice soft but not patronizing as the cup of tea Enid put in front of her curled steam.
He'd been outside when Enid had gone to get Doctor Carson. Worried about her. Worried about the baby. Worried about the pile of books stacked on the table just off to their right.
"Doesn't it?" she returned. Voice like static, grey-scale and unsteady as her back firmed against the chair. Molding herself into it like she was looking to make a home. "He is what he is, and he's mine. My one. That has to mean something."
"It doesn't. Maggie, hey- look at me," Jesus coaxed, reaching across the table to take her hand. Squeezing it gently like it proved his point somehow. Worry etched deep as he looked over at Enid, paused stirring soup on the hot plate. Listening. "There's never been anything conclusive about why people get matched together. Maybe it was because you were supposed to bring out the best in him, before all this. You can't judge yourself because of what he's done or what he is. You can't. You know what you are. You know what you stand for. You're fighting for this place. For us. For a future. And we're all with you, no matter what. This doesn't change who you are. You aren't him. Not even close."
The breath she pulled in hurt. Aching deep inside her chest.
"My father would have said things happen for a reason...like they're meant to." she replied dully. Privately wondering how long it would take her to die from this. It was an unforgivable thing. To have him as her one. To even think half the thoughts she was keeping. "He was always my one. He was always meant to be my one. And he became- he is this. He killed Glenn. My friends. Our people. All in cold blood. And he's still mine. I had a gun to his head, point blank. I meant to shoot him, but I couldn't. After everything he's done - after everything he's taken - I still couldn't do it… I wouldn't blame you if you thought differently of me. I know I do."
Jesus looked up. Searching her face but saying nothing as he slowly retracted his hand.
She hated that kind of silence most of all.
Like he had something to say but knew she wasn't open to it.
So, she filled it.
"I don't want anyone else know. The four of us is already a liability," she said firmly. Straightening in her seat as the porch outside the trailer creaked. Like someone had started up the stairs, then thought better of knocking. It was a reminder of how distracted she'd been the past few weeks. She needed to get back out there. Moral was half the battle and right now she knew next to nothing about what was going on, save for the fight.
"The four of us and Negan," Enid pointed out, leaning up against the counter. Expression surprisingly hard to read. "What if he tells someone?"
The answer was immediate. Instinctive.
"He won't."
If he hadn't told anyone when it'd happened, he wouldn't now. Their conversation in the Sanctuary flashed back, confirming the feeling. He trusted his men, but he didn't trust them with her. He wouldn't risk her, not unless he had to. Keeping her safe was as ingrained in him as breathing.
"What about Rick and the others? Ezekiel? They need to know," Jesus questioned. "A lot of people want Negan dead. They aren't going to hesitate if they get the chance."
A muscle in her cheek twitched.
"I'll deal with Rick and Ezekiel," she answered, chair creaking like a metaphor for everything worn down and dying. Privately intending to do no such thing. The less people knew, the easier it would be to do what she had to.
"Maggie, I really think-"
"Enough," she interrupted firmly. Doggedly sticking to the point as a thousand conflicting thoughts and desires threatened to mentally hamstring her. "This only changes our plan in the short term."
"No, it has to," Jesus returned, somehow making a command sound like a request. Like she had a say when they both knew he'd made up his mind. Or he could read hers. "We'll lock him up. Keep him here or at Alexandria. They have a cell. We'll make it work."
She shook her head, curling her hands around the mug just to soak in the warmth.
He didn't get to live.
No matter what he was, to her or anyone.
Everyone deserved to have their vengeance.
It was surprising how quickly it had happened. All it had taken was his touch and her world had condensed into structures of tempered metal and rust. Civilization on the verge of decay rather than open pastures and yearling wheat. From living green to unforgiving concrete. He'd left more than just a sour taste in her mouth. He'd changed her. He was changing her. And it scared her. It scared her more than she'd like to admit.
The sound of Enid stirring – metal on metal, probably ruining the finish – slowed. She closed her eyes, almost able to summon up her step-mother's voice taking one of them to task for it. Annette had been a pit-bull about those damn pots. The frying pans too.
When she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly steady.
"You don't get to be what he is and deserve redemption. Not him. There's no coming back from what he's done. And now we can't do anything about it. I can't. Not until the baby is born," she forced out, every word dry as ashes. Future eradiated as she struggled with the skin she was stuck in. The skin he shared with her. Aware she was barely keeping her head above water.
"Don't say that!" Enid shouted. Startling her with the velemence behind it. Forcing her back into the moment as she realized she'd said the last part aloud. Wondering, with a numbing clarity, if this was what Beth felt the day she'd broken the bathroom mirror and tried to end it. The realization that no matter what, she wasn't getting out of this alive.
She understood now.
Maybe she always had.
Maybe it was just another thing she hadn't been able to process.
It was frightening, not feeling like you were in control. Not feeling like you had a choice.
Maybe that was all Beth had wanted.
To take agency over the one thing you could.
Your own life.
But for her, it wasn't just her life.
Now, it was the three of them.
Her. The baby. And Negan.
"We'll figure it out," Jesus interjected, filling the sudden quiet. Voice calm but clearly worried as he looked at her from across the table. "There has to be something. Some way. Rick will-"
She stopped listening.
Because that was the thing, wasn't it?
After you met your one, if they died, you died.
Together in death.
Together in life.
The soul wasn't built to survive alone.
If they killed Negan, they killed her too.
Two days later a tired looking woman in a muddy brown sedan pulled up to the gates. She was visibly pregnant. Far enough along that her belly was obvious despite the large jacket she was wearing to ward off the rain. She stepped out of the car with a wince that got stuck in the bags under her eyes. Mouth a flat, unhappy line as she looked up, took in their weapons, and shot her hands up in surrender.
She stayed at the gate as the woman looked at her without speaking. Finding her quickly when she stepped to the front of the crowd. Taking her place as Jesus and Enid stuck close to either side of her. Not missing the subtle dip of the stranger's eyes as she took in her mostly flat stomach. The contrast between them was stark - on top of being deliberate.
She'd been sent here for a reason.
Her people condensed behind her as she held up her hand. Stopping the murmurs from gaining traction when Diane questioned about disarming her. Instead she unbuckled the snaps on her Glock and rested her hand against the base. Letting the Savior see before she raised her voice loud enough to be heard.
"Do what you came here for, then leave," she commanded. "Beyond that, I can't guarantee your safety."
The woman took it all in without speaking. Looking like she wanted to be anywhere else as the pistol she wore remained in its holster. Instead, after a long moment, she pointed to the backseat. The woman waited for her nod before she opened the door and pulled out a plain cardboard box. Setting it down just a few steps shy of the bumper.
"Compliments of Negan," the woman said simply. Not bothering to wait for an answer as she slammed the door and started the engine.
Her ears were still ringing when the Savior pulled out of sight. Leaving a thinning plume of dust and more questions than answers. Deaf to everything but the echoes of Negan's name on another woman's lips.
"What does he want?" Enid asked, after they'd opened the box and found it stuffed with diapers, folic acid, prenatals and at least half a dozen cans of tinned peaches.
She loved peaches.
Obviously, it wasn't a coincidence.
It was just another reminder she wasn't alone in her own head anymore.
"A way in," she murmured, looking off at the horizon. Not having to imagine the direction or exactly how far away the Sanctuary was. Her heart had already done the math. Wondering with a guilty thrill and a turn of her stomach if he was doing the same. Staring at her from across the same red-stained horizon.
She waited until Enid had gone to bed before she read the note folded underneath the first can of peaches. Smoothing the creases in the blue-lined paper before she let herself see the words. Unable to help the excited, thrumming electricity that rippled through her like a second-hand sort of pleasure when she saw his writing for the first time.
"I'm not sorry. But I'm sorry." – Negan.
The ugly thing was, she believed him.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.