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 au 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, sexual tension, post traumatic stress disorder, consent issues, dubious consent, trauma, loss, grief. Negan is not a good person and Maggie doesn't deserve this.

What doesn't kill me (makes me)

Chapter 11

She'd already seen the outside of the restaurant through the bond by the time they creaked into an alley a block away from the address Negan had given her. Rick and Michonne's reservations were still echoing in her ears. That it could be trap. That he'd have his people waiting. That this was-

The brutal line of her lips hurt her teeth as she sucked them tight to the skin.

Of course it was a trap.

Just not the one they thought.

This was the exact kind of set-up she'd spent months avoiding.

He'd been waiting for an opportunity like this.

To have her close.

His.

She held her tongue when Jesus told her to stay put. Not willing to share that she already knew Negan had come alone. That he'd parked blocks away and dragged a thermal cooler all the way to the vine-covered entrance. Pausing there for a long moment before ducking inside and closing the door behind him. Just like she knew he'd cleared the place out weeks ago. Somehow, she'd missed it, or he'd managed to hide it from her. But now she could sense he'd been planning this ever since he'd put a price on her head.

He knew the place was secure. She could feel it. He'd been here before. He'd had his people clear it out, clean it up and kill any walkers lurking in the nearby buildings. He had everything the way he wanted it. He'd prepared it for her. All of it. Down to the last sentimental detail.

The world had been over for years, but somehow Negan had managed the closest thing there was to a first date.

She allowed the moment of weakness as the bile in the back of her throat burned. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth so she didn't lash out and slam it into the steering wheel. Knowing if she started, she probably wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Ready when you are...or whenever your ninja is done looking through the keyhole," Negan sent through the bond. Hearing his voice as clear as if he'd been sitting next to her. The connection between them so strong it felt like skin on skin.

She didn't have the heart to glance at the rear-view mirror. Certain Glenn's ghost would be there, warped and ruined in the back seat. Trying to remind her, with a mouth too broken to form words, of all the times they'd talked about where they'd go and what they'd do if the world ever went back to normal.

"Fashionably late also works for me..." Negan added after a pause. Letting go of a rolling chuckle that threatened to warm her in ways too dangerous to name. "Your loss if the food gets cold."

She didn't reply. But she knew he could feel her. He might even be able to see through her eyes. Getting the photographic flash of the restaurant and street from her perspective. He could probably feel her thoughts. Her emotions. It was harder to cut him out when they were this close. She knew because he was even more of an open book than usual. Oversharing things he likely wasn't aware of as he set up a battery boombox and shuffled through a binder of CDs.

She should have laughed. Called him pathetic. Gunned the engine and gone home. Instead, she sat in the eerie quiet, taking it in as the old world moldered around her. Aware that in the building to the left, an emaciated walker was pressed up against the glass. Too weak to break it as it mouthed at the filthy pane. Staring at her with dead, desperate eyes.

She shuddered.

She still felt this way in the old places. Downtowns that should have been full of people and life were burned out, overgrown, and half collapsed. Many were still full of walkers. People who'd gathered together in the beginning. Thinking it would be safe as the world tore itself apart outside. No one knew. No one knew it was the bites that spread it. No one knew that the person they were bandaging up with some nail spa's first aid kit was hours from turning.

Negan offered an assenting hum of agreement through the bond. Sending her a series of images like she'd asked for his input. The hazy news clip of a bunch of wounded people huddled together in a bus shelter. A video that went viral of some college kids urging bleeding people into their frat house with only oven mitts and broom handles for protection. Negan taking out the trash days before the rumors turned real, catching a glimpse of the neighbor four houses down getting out of his truck with a pillow of white gauze wrapped around his forearm. He never saw the neighbor again, but a few days later he and his wife heard the screams.

There was more, but she ignored it.

Mostly.

"Where does this stop?" Jesus asked, when he finished his sweep. Watching as she eased out of the passenger side and planted her boots on the ground. Scraping the gritty concrete like she needed the momentum as she adjusted her pack and palmed the handle of her machete. Hyper aware of the weight of the Glock strapped to her thigh and the knives tucked into her waist band.

"You give him what he wants this time, he lets them go, everyone lives. But what about the next time, and the one after that? He isn't going to stop. He can't. You know that. This is just duct tape around a failing pipe. ...Don't do this."

She shook her head, pulling the brim of her hat low on her face until she could take comfort in the shadow.

"I have to," she returned. Letting it come out as bitingly as she felt it as Negan sent her the blurred image of a stopped clock in the restaurant's kitchen. Tapping the edge meaningfully. "I won't be long. If anything goes wrong, we meet in the alley behind the 7-11."

Jesus shook his head.

"Maggie-"

But she spoke over him, palming her machete with a familiar squeeze.

"If I don't come back, tell Rick and the others Negan is off limits until the baby is born. Enid would- Enid would be a good fit. Glenn trusted her, and so do I. I want her to take care of the baby...just in case."

The pause was brutal this time, stunned quiet.

"Maggie-"

"I'll be alright," she answered. Like she hadn't just said the quiet part aloud. The part she'd been struggling with every second since she realized Negan was hers and there was nothing she could do about it. One couldn't live without the other. She knew that well enough. But what if she was alright with that being the end game?

Jesus didn't say anything back.

Then again, some moments didn't need words.

A/N: Thank you for reading. – There will be more to come.