*I am not a Negan fan. Very short chapter, Negan doesn't deserve a character tag for this, Rick wins the wordplay challenge. I wrote this in under an hour, it poured out of me.*
Chapter Text
"How should I go about this?" Rosita asked, carrying a tray of food in front of the Grimes house.
Rick shrugged. "Act natural, yet bold. In other words, be yourself."
Rosita gave him a closed lipped smile. "Say no more. I appreciate you talking to me about this."
"Really?" Rick put his hands on his hips.
"Yeah. It's been a long time coming, in my opinion. Obviously there have been some roadblocks along the way, so now or never, right? I'll think about my course of action."
Rick returned the smile and saw the tray in her hands. "Hey, I'll go downstairs for you."
"OK. You're not gonna get a fight out of me, because, wow. Is this guy on hygiene strike or something?"
"Darn. I was hoping for the company of someone just a little bit prettier. Not that your blue eyes don't reflect the sparkle of whatever light I get in here, Rick."
Rick slid the tray on the cell, the scent inside the room was reminiscent of a suitcase filled with raw balut eggs. "Eat."
Negan didn't make a move. "So, Rick, did your Valkyrie Say Yes To Dress yet?"
Rick sucked in his teeth and furrowed his brow. Staring at the small window in the cell, hpe grew wistful that Rosita would change her mind and insist on babysitting. "I'm not familiar."
"Valkyries began from Norse mythology, they're female figures that protect—"
Rick nodded. "I know who my Valkyrie is. I read one of Carl's comic books. I'm talking about the other part."
"Oh. Rick you're in luck, let me tell ya all about it. Say Yes To The Dress was a prestige television—"
"I know what that is too." Lori used to watch it. Rick checked himself to keep his tone even, no matter how annoyed he was becoming. "I just thought if you kept talking, you'd run out of words in your vocabulary and finally shut the fuck up."
Negan whistled. "If that were true, buddy, you'd let me finish both explanations. But I can tell I got under your skin." Through the shadows Rick spotted an oversized grin.
"Maybe. Who is giving you inside intel?"
Pause.
Rick uncrossed his arms and lunged forward, gripping the steel bars tightly. Truth be told, he almost did not care that Negan knew, because, even if there was a wedding, he would not be invited. But Rick wanted to give him a show of his own. "Don't make me ask you again. Who is telling you my business? I need to know who is plotting with you."
"I don't reveal my sources, Rick."
Rick let go of the bars and leaned back against the wall, propping one of his feet on it. This was a 'no no' with Michonne, but she wasn't there right now to catch him. "Fine. Whatever. Ill find out eventually, one way or another. You can help me out though. Can you tell me how did you propose to any of your wives?"
There was a shuffling of feet. "Excuse me?"
"You don't want to dole out advice to me? Was there a bouquet of red roses? Champagne? Or did you find six of the most fragile looking, terrified white women and go about it another way?"
Negan muttered something.
Rick raised his voice. "You're going to say that to me again. Louder."
"I said, 'one woman was Black, Rick'."
He crossed his arms. "You expect me to golf clap to that?"
"No, but I don't want to be labeled as a discriminatory shithead. I know about Jamaican castor oil too. That particular supply run was quite memorable."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't give a fuck. Just like you didn't when you sent this 'wife' to live in a gilded cage with those other women. I'm sure she didn't feel ostracized at all."
Negan stepped out of the shadows, his weakened, small body finally visible to daylight. "Who the hell are you? Weren't you a cop in a small town in Georgia before all this? Not exactly the beginning of Gloria Steinen's memoir."
Rick sighed and headed for the steps. "Eat your food or don't, I don't care because Michonne isn't around. By the way, you're taking a shower tonight if you ever want to see Rosita's face again."
