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.
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 Six
She tried, but nothing was the same after that.
He was an open wound that never healed.
She carried his ghost between her teeth as he started to nudge at her. Intruding on her life in every normal, terrible way. Slowly gaining traction where she'd sworn he'd find none. And it was taking a toll on her. More than the mirror let on. Because she was growingly sure her ability to fight this - to deny the bond - had a time limit. Running out on her like the grains of sand in an hourglass. Quickly and without any concern for mercy.
She knew that Jesus and Enid didn't buy her stern-faced calm. So she kept busy, preparing Hilltop for anything and everything. Mapping out the foundations for more living quarters and sending supply missions out like satellites in orbit. Telling them to bring back everything they might need to start a future right here.
The first thing they brought back was a crib.
She forced herself to smile.
But deep down, it felt like a rebuke.
Like somehow, everyone knew.
It was weird to be planning for the future when she was barely managing day by day.
But she forced herself to swallow the bile of it back. Slowly making even Enid believe it. Believe they were going to figure something out. Somehow.
Turns out, she was a half-decent liar.
Daddy would have hated that.
She knew it was a dream when she found him in the field outside the farmhouse. Trailing his hands through the lazy wheat. She shivered as the tickling echo scratched across her palms. Watching him as the black suit he was wearing - the same one from before - rippled in the wind.
"I like it here," he told her, turning slowly. Hands spread on either side like a white-collar crucifixion. "Huh...I'm not sure if that is you or me. I never liked the country. City boy and all that. But I could, you know?"
She wanted nothing more than to give him silence, but-
"I left for college the moment I graduated. I thought anything had to be better than harvest season. But the moment I got there, I realized I hated the city."
He huffed an amused sound, looking off in the direction of the house.
"Well, aren't we a pair? We would have fought like cats and dogs anyway, I guess."
They could have made it work.
They could have.
"We aren't," she forced out, heart shuddering as the bell that had been on the front porch longer than daddy had been alive started ringing. Calling them in for supper. Calling them home.
"Aren't what?" he asked guardedly, shading his eyes to look at the lone figure on the porch. They were too far away to make out who it was, but she had a good idea.
"A pair," she gritted out. Eyes filling with tears as the bell slowly muted its own echoes. "You are just you. Alone."
He'd lost the right to anything else. He'd lost it the moment he'd flicked Abraham's blood off that bat and turned to Glenn. Had he known why? Had he known why he'd chosen Glenn, out of everyone? She was too bitter to assume it wasn't a coincidence. There used to be stories in the news about it every so often. How unbonded people would sometimes snap in the middle of the street and attack the person who was with their one. The experts referred to it as a latent instinct. Like with other forms of self-preservation, sometimes your body knew before your brain.
Most of the time it didn't end in death.
Most of the time.
Negan's eyes flicked down to the ring on her finger. The fingers of his right-hand twitching before he shook himself, sighing. Running a hand through his hair as the sun glinted through the odd patch of silver.
"We can't keep this up. You know it. I know it. We can't- I can't take this back. Not any more than I can take back what happened. What I did. But we have to find a way to make this work. For both our sakes... and the baby."
It took everything not to lift her lips and snarl. He didn't get to talk about that. About the baby. Not ever. More than anything, he didn't get to use her like that. To tell her what was logical when all she wanted to do was put a god damned bullet in him.
"You don't regret killing him," she hissed, thinking about the note he'd left. The one she'd tossed into the fire and immediately regretted. Yearning for just a piece of him. Something to hold. Something to keep. "Without him in the way, you think you can force this somehow. You wont. You can't. If he was still alive-"
The field around them whipped back with an eldritch wind. Sky darkening like it was trying to match their mood.
"Oh, sweetheart," Negan drawled, making it far easier to hate him as the lengthening syllables prickled the hair on the back of her neck. "If I hadn't killed him, he would have lost you anyway. That's how it works."
She didn't give him the satisfaction of telling him he was wrong. Or giving him the argument he wanted. Instead, they stood like that until the dream faded. Looking at each other like two drowning people staring at the only life jacket left. Exhausted and animally desperate.
She should have kept her damn mouth shut.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.