Chapter 9

"What did that chicken do to wrong you?"

Rick snapped out of his thoughts, dark and troubling. "Huh?"

It was dinnertime at the Grimes household, and a rare occasion where everyone was at the table together. Even Judith was sitting in her high chair, eating little bites of cut-up chicken and roasted potatoes. Low music hummed from a boombox in the living room, providing a pleasant, almost normal background. Michonne was watching Rick from across the table, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

"I said, what did that chicken do to wrong you? You've been stabbing at that thing for minutes and not eating."

Rick smiled half-heartedly and took a big bite of chicken. Judith watched him intently and mimicked the bite, shoving a piece of chicken in her mouth too.

"Ah, nothing," he said. "Just thinking about that newcomer, Ed. 'Bout what happened to his group."

Carl's ears perked up. He swallowed hard and took a deep gulp of water. "What happened to his group? He looked bad when you guys came back."

Rick met Michonne's eyes, and they had a silent debate over what to tell the teenaged boy. Carl looked between the two of them, rolled his eyes and made a face at Judith.

"Doesn't matter," he told his little sister. "I'll find out anyway." She smiled shyly in response and shoved another big bite in her mouth.

Rick sighed, and finally repeated the man's story of the slaughter in the woods, flicking his eyes over occasionally to Judith, who was more interested in smushing potatoes on her tray then listening. Carl's eyes grew wider and wider as his father spoke in between mouthfuls of dinner. When it was over, Carl whistled a low tune and scratched at his eyepatch. It had been itching him like crazy as of late. It was healing, Rick told him, but still forced himself to look at the mangled socket every evening to make sure there were no signs of a late infection.

"Dang. That's messed up," Carl said. "And that's a group up in the mountains? How far away is that from here?"

Michonne and Rick exchanged glances.

"Jeez, I'm not planning on anything! Just curious, that's all."

Michonne stood up and began to clear plates. "Few hour's drive to get to where the mountains begin. We're not sure where they were at, but further up. At least half a day's drive."

Rick handed her his plate and smiled in appreciation. He turned to Judith and began wiping her face down, though she wriggled and pushed his hands away with her tiny little fingers.

"Hang on honey, you got potato in your hair." He picked her up and sat her down in the living room, then shooed Michonne from the sink so he could work on the mountain of dishes in the sink. "We gotta go back that way, secure that shop where we found him. Plenty of supplies there, and it's well hidden from view."

Michonne stole a sip of his beer, looking thoughtfully at Rick as he rolled up his sleeves. "Not on any map or directory, either. With the fruit trees, blackberry bushes, and the trees nearby, it wouldn't be a bad little reprieve. Someday." She pulled a face and looked down at the bottle. "Maybe we can make some blackberry beer, better than this flat shit. Someday."

"Someday," Rick echoed, his brow furrowing. Their lives were full of a lot of somedays.

From the living room, Judith squealed as she slammed wooden toys together with a clatter. Carl brought in the last of the dishes, and sat up on the counter in between Michonne and Rick. "An outpost, maybe?"

Rick shook his head. "No. If Negan found out, he'd send his men in to kill anyone at the outpost. Or us."
"Or both," Michonne said, her eyes darkening.

Carl looked at both of them and shook his head. "He doesn't keep tabs on how many people we have. He cares more about the supplies themselves. How's he supposed to know if we send people away?" Judith squealed again, and they all glanced over with smiles pulling at their lips.

Carl continued. "There's only certain people he cares about anyways. He'd notice if Dad was gone too much, or me. But the others, he just ignores for the most part. We could say they are off scavenging, or went their own way. Happens all the time."

Rick set down the pot he was in the middle of washing, and stared off into nothing. Something was clicking, an idea just forming. He looked at Michonne, strong and beautiful. And deadly. Carl, his only son, almost getting to be a better shot than Rick himself. Family. You've got to protect them, he thought.

Later that evening, he and Michonne were in bed, panting after a particularly brief, but very enjoyable, lovemaking. She pecked his cheek and giggled. "I'll go check on Judith. I thought I heard her fussing a few minutes ago, but we were…otherwise occupied."

She pulled the sheet up over her naked body, leaning over the bed to rummage in the tangle of clothes for a shirt. Rick watched her with a calm sort of peace that rarely caught him. When she padded back in from Judith's room, braids pulled back in a loose ponytail, she flopped into bed beside him.

He leaned back so she could lay on his chest. "Been thinkin'."

"Uh oh."

"I think Carl is onto something."

"About what?"

"Maybe getting an outpost secured."

Michonne jolted her head up to look him in the eyes. "Are you crazy? We are on thin ice, practically non-existent, with Negan. He just gutted Spencer a few weeks ago!"

Rick sighed, and idly rubbed her arm, deep in thought. She laid her head back down, but Rick could practically hear the gears turning in her head.

"He won't notice a few people missing. Hell, we could set up a few outposts to flee to, just in case."

Michonne made a low hum, a non-committal thinking noise. "We couldn't communicate with them. Too risky. No walkie-talkies, no running back and forth with messages. We could maybe swing by on scavenging runs."

"We'd need self-sufficient people. Calm, level-headed."

Michonne murmured in agreement. "I miss Daryl."

"Me too. We'll get him back."

They settled into a silence, both of them deep in their own thoughts.

"You think there's others out there in the mountains, being harassed by that group?" Michonne asked.

"Probably. Negan keeps a group of settlements to sustain his people, maybe they do the same. Though they seem to have more of a scorched earth policy, it seems."

"Mmm."

"Wouldn't hurt, would it? Go check out the area. Once Ed heals up, he could give us a better idea on a map. We'd go supply up from the gun range, clear out any stray walkers. Use that as kind of a rest stop. It's… maybe halfway to that town at the base of the mountain."

"Mmmm-hmm."

Rick's plan began to formulate in his head. Michonne's breathing grew steady, her muscles limp and relaxed.

It just might work, he thought, drifting into a deep sleep himself.

/ / / / /

"I'm so sorry baby," Amber purred into Negan's ear. She sat curled on his lap, stroking his beard. Negan wanted to shove her off of him, her breath reeked of whiskey and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Instead, he sat on a chair in Amber's bedroom, glowering at her perfume-lined vanity.

"You're not happy, Amber honey." Negan stood up. Amber tumbled to the side of the bed with a yelp. She twisted around, trying to right herself, before looking up at him sideways.

"No, I ain't." She finally said. "I mean, I'm happy with you, baby. I ain't not happy."

Negan touched the delicate glass perfume bottles, each ornate and unique. And expensive, in another lifetime. "You wouldn't be fuckin' lying to me, would ya, honey?"

He caught her eye in the vanity mirror. A frightened doe in the headlights. Busted.

"Y-yes," she finally stammered. "I guess I have the blues. Nothin' a little time wouldn't fix. I'll get it right, I promise."

"You've made me a lot of fuckin' promises."

"I know. I mean to keep 'em. I just get…mixed up. Muddled inside, all twisted up like a ball of yarn."

He picked up a blood-red bottle shaped like a teardrop. Electric Passion, declared the etching on the bottle. Negan took a little sniff, and didn't recognize the scent. "You wear all these goddamn perfumes?"

Amber shifted on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her. "I like the bottles. They're so pretty – I never had anything nice like those bottles. I had a good bottle of perfume once. Dior, from my mama for Christmas when I turned twenty-one. My boyfriend at the time got real mad one night and smashed it. Jerk."

Negan turned the bottle over in his hands. It smelled citrusy, with a musk of something floral, exotic underneath. "Why'd he smash it, I wonder?"

Amber didn't say anything. Muffled voices from the wives' quarters lifted in the air as someone turned on faint music. Bottles clinked and rattled, and a high, girlish laugh lilted in the air. Sherry, his first wife, no doubt trying to make a big scene of good times out there since she sensed his bad mood.

Negan set the bottle down and turned back to face Amber. She looked at him with big doe eyes. Frightened.

"Why the fuck did he smash your only good bottle of perfume? Sounds like an asshole, to me."

Amber shrugged, and picked at a loose thread on the bedspread.

Quick as a flash, Negan was next to her, his face so close to hers he could count her long eyelashes, if he wanted. She flinched away slightly with a low gasp, but froze as soon as she caught herself. Amber looked down and bit her lip. "I slept with his best friend. It was bad, I shouldn't have done it."

Negan stared at her, jaw clenched. "I'm sensing a fuckin' pattern here."

Amber hung her head. "I'm…sorry! I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have broke the rules-"

Negan placed a strong hand on her thigh, and her mouth clamped shut. "This isn't the first fuckin' time, Amber. If you aren't happy as a goddamn clam, I don't want you to be here. Go be with that fuckin' asshole Mark, if you want him so goddamn much. But what can't you fuckin' do?"

"Cheat on you," Amber whispered.

"Say it loud and fuckin' proud."

"Cheat on you," she said, a fraction louder.

Negan sighed, and wiped away a fat tear rolling down her face. She looked at him, lip trembling. "I…love you," she said finally.

"Do you?"

"Y-yes."

"Would you rather be with Mark?"

"No. Never."

"Then why'd you fuck him in a storage closet for the second- no wait, third goddamn time?"

Amber shrugged and looked down. "I…still love him too, a little. But I don't wanna be with him. I'd rather be with you."

"Would you really, honey?"

Amber wiped away a few stray tears and nodded emphatically. "Yes, I would! I promise."

"Then fuckin' convince me." Negan was still too close, her eyes darting around the room anywhere but at him. She gave him a soft kiss, then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She shifted from tentative to desperate in a matter of seconds, pulling and pushing at him urgently as she kissed him deeper. His jacket was removed and tossed into a heap on the floor.

He half-heartedly kissed her back, not caught up so much in the moment, but feeling out her emotions, her behavior. If there was one thing Negan excelled at, it was reading people. Sometimes he knew what someone was going to do long before they did. It was a blessing in most ways, but a curse in others.

He felt wetness on his cheek, and pushed Amber away to study her face. It was streaked with tears. Negan sighed and stood up. Amber wiped away the tears quickly, and feigned a seductive smile as she began to unzip her dress. Negan snatched up his jacket from the floor and tugged it on. He just…couldn't. He felt the walls building between him and his wives, once eager and keen to bed the handsome leader of the Saviors. But as he implemented and enforced the rules, trying to maintain order and keep the peace, they pulled away. Now they looked at him with those same damn eyes Amber had on: fear and uncertainty. Sometimes a flicker of loathing.

Are you that type of man? A voice asked, somewhere deep inside him. Lucille's voice.

"Pack your shit. You can stay here as a regular and work for points, or you and Mark can fuck off. Take your fuckin' mother with you." He slammed the door behind him as a sob punctured the air. In the wives' living room, a dozen pair of eyes watched him, then immediately dropped into a kneel. Negan stormed past them, his other wives, their Savior guards, and turned into the hallway towards the stairwell.

FUCK. He needed to hurt something, real bad, he thought as he stomped up the stairs. A walker wouldn't be quite as satisfactory, he was beyond that now. He wasn't a fucking monster, at least he didn't think he was. Was he?

He pushed open the roof door, fresh air and bright light flooding him for a moment. Here, he could see out over Sanctuary, thirteen stories up. The air was crisp and cool, and a hint of pine floated through the asphalt and steel ladened air.

A scuffle of feet on gravel caused him to turn- only to see the man of the fucking hour.

"Mark," Negan said in a low voice. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to do. A flash of white-rage rolled in his stomach, fierce crashing waves that refused to subside.

Mark turned from ledge he was leaning on and flicked ash from his cigarette. As soon as he recognized Negan, he dropped into a kneel.

"Sir," he said in a shaky voice. His cigarette fell from his hand and extinguished on the gravel with a puff of smoke.

"As you were."

Mark nodded and stood up, glancing around uncomfortably for others. "Can I do anything for you, sir?"

Negan wished he hadn't left Lucille in his room. Mark's brains would look good on her, his blood dripping off her barbs. "You sure can, chief."

He didn't think, he just did. Negan strode over to Mark and threw his arm around his shoulder. Mark flinched, like Amber, but didn't pull away.

"When you look out there, what do you see?" Negan waved his free hand over Sanctuary grandly. Mark shifted on his feet and cleared his throat nervously.

"Listen, sir. I don't know what you heard-"

Negan tightened his arm. "Tell me what the fuck you see."

Mark looked out over the rooftop with wild, nervous eyes. Negan had a flash of a memory, shortly after the collapse. A horse fleeing from a herd, galloping frantically. That horse's eyes – Mark's eyes.

"Ah, Sanctuary. I see our people. Trees, beyond the roads."

"That it?"

"Sir?"

"That's where we differ. I see…opportunity. Resources. Fuckin' people getting on with their lives, buzzing around like little goddamn worker bees to secure the hive. Safety and security in the hive."

"Ah, yes. I see that too, sir. Our people work hard, and-"

Negan didn't care to actually hear the asshole's thoughts. "But there's a delicate fuckin' balance to that. There's rules in the hive, everyone has their role. When things get…disrupted…the hive collapses. The queen bee dies, all those little baby bees die, and there isn't any more fuckin' safety or security for the rest of those fuckin' bees."

Mark squinted his eyes, trying to follow along.

"You know what I do with worker bees that disturb the fuckin' hive?"

After a second, Mark grew rigid. His shoulder muscles tensed to granite-hard, and he tried to take a step backwards. Negan tightened his grip and pulled him close, almost as a confidante. Too close for comfort, for either one of them.

"I squash them," he whispered in Mark's ear. Then, he spun the bastard around and shoved him, hard.

Mark's eyes grew white for a moment as he reached desperately towards Negan. The, he was head-over-tail tumbling over the ledge of the roof. He made an animalistic noise, a low cry of shock.

Negan leaned over the edge, almost lazily, to watch Mark tumble thirteen stories down, ricocheting off metal railings on the way down with a sickening crack each time. His arms spun wildly, trying to grasp onto anything, but found nothing.

When Mark slammed into the concrete below, a few cries of alarm raised and Sanctuary residents rushed towards the body. A pool of blood quickly formed underneath Mark's body, dark as oil. His arms and legs sticking out at odd, unnatural angles. A few residents looked up to see Negan, then quickly went back to their duties.

Negan was disappointed. He'd expected more of an…explosive landing, and yet Mark still look fairly intact, if not a little mangled. To his dismay, he felt no relief of any kind, no sense of justice. Only disgust, and he felt a little sorry for whoever had to clean up the body. Hopefully there was enough damage to the head that he wouldn't come back, but one of the Saviors would take care of that. It wasn't like Walker Mark would get far with shattered bones. He realized with a pang that he hoped there weren't any of the kids outside watching.

Negan looked out over Sanctuary and thought of that little mountain community of children. How did the pretty woman manage to keep them in line? In the beginning, Negan fought tooth and nail to keep the group from descending into a "Lord of the Flies" level of chaos. They lost so much to get to where they were.

But Mark, that was a loss that only Amber would mourn.

Negan sighed, and turned back towards the stairs as shouts and screams grew louder below. Maybe Dwight had tracked down that little community, or at least the general whereabouts. Negan was itching to pay them a visit.

/ / / /

AN: I hope all of you are staying safe and well. Apologies for the lack of updates, but these will be a little sparse until I can get caught up, things are hectic with me as I'm sure it is for many of you. With the ongoing pandemic and some major personal things going on, I found I didn't have much time or creative energy to put into writing, but I'm getting back into the swing of things and working through all this so we can continue on our adventure together. Please remember to take care of yourselves, wherever you are, and I appreciate each and every one of you.

Take care lovelies, and until the next chapter, much xoxo for all of you, from an appropriate and safe distance