Naomi

Inside Sanctuary, everything was chaos. News of what was going on outside had thrown everyone into a state of panic. It worked well for me, meant I could slip by unnoticed. I knew I had a limited amount of time before the Saviors got their shit together, but, with any luck, they'd think I'd either died out there or made a break for it.

I made a quick stop-off in Dwight's room. I was still in the sweater they'd made me wear when I was working the fence, and if the Saviors stopped losing their shit for long enough, they'd notice immediately. It would get me killed or thrown back in that cell.

Dwight's room was a goddamn mess, so I had to root around to find anything. I grabbed a flannel shirt hanging on the back of his door and found a pair of pants with a belt that kept them up. I looked everywhere I could think of for some kind of weapon, but there was nothing there. Dwight must have taken everything he had with him.

Gunfire was still roaring outside, but it sounded like it was fading. I had to find something I could use to fight when my friends got in here. I took a baseball cap from one of the cluttered countertops and pulled it down low over my face. The corridors echoed with not too distant voices, panicked and loud, Saviors scrambling for some kind of plan. I kept my head low and my eyes on the ground. I'd been able to wash some of the new blood from my face in Dwight's small sink, but I knew there were still bruises and cuts there. Only a few people passed me, and they were in too much of a hurry to take a closer look.

I was in the stairwell when something exploded outside. It was close enough that I could feel the vibrations of it through the floor. The metal of the staircase railing shook under my hand. Was it my friends trying to get in or Negan's line of defense trying to blow them back?

I remembered the distant explosion I'd seen before. The pillar of smoke rising in the distance that Negan had automatically attributed to Daryl. Rick hadn't denied it. It felt true; I can't explain it any better than that. Daryl would only have been somewhere else if he was doing something. Fighting something. Negotiating wasn't something he liked or really saw the point in. Blowing something up, though? That felt much more like him.

I flew up the last few stairs. That explosion had been so damn close, they must be almost in.

I wondered how much resistance the Saviors would put up, or if any of them had taken up Rick's offer of peaceful surrender. It would take longer than this to get his lieutenants and army of brainwashed soldiers on side. But what about the workers? Sherry had told me there were families here, non-violent members of the Saviors who may have no idea what their leader was really like. What would it take to open their eyes? Would they have even heard Rick's message of peace?

I reached the room I'd been kept in before my attempted-murder of Negan had left me rotting in their other cell indefinitely. It had been half-heartedly cleaned up since I'd last been there. Most of the glass had been swept away. There were still tiny pieces glittering around the edges and a sizeable rusty-brown stain on the floor where my blood had pooled and then dried out. I knelt down by the bed and looked under the little cabinet beside it.

There it was.

That shard of glass large enough to be used as a knife, the one I'd desperately reached for before Simon had hauled me back and beaten me until I passed out. I slipped my hand under the cabinet and gently pulled it out. It felt like a win. A small one, but I'd been on such a losing streak lately that holding that piece of glass while my friends fought from outside felt like a turning point. I ripped a chunk of cloth off the bottom of the shirt and used it to carefully wrap the glass before sliding it into my pocket. It would do as a weapon until I could get my hands on something else.

I left quickly. There wasn't a good reason for anyone to be in that room; getting caught in there would be a huge red flag. I knew Dwight's room was the safest place for me to hide out, but I needed to know what was going on out there. I headed to Negan's wives' room, figuring that nobody would really be watching them right now, and most of them hated Negan's guts as much as I did, so they'd be unlikely to turn me in.

Their room was near the top of the building and would have a good view of the fight. When I got there, they were all crowded around the windows, all talking at once in nervous whispers.

"Amber," I approached her quietly, but her head whipped around to look at me so fast I was worried she'd get whiplash. They were all so on-edge, and I guess they had every right to be. They had no idea this was coming. Her eyes were wide and a little scared. It took her a moment to realize who I was, and then she turned toward me.

"Oh my God," she said, rushing over to me. "That was your people out there, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I said, and I felt this huge surge of pride. That was my people out there. And they were about to set these people free from the violence, coercion, and manipulation they'd been living under. "Don't worry, Rick only wants Negan. Nobody else is going to be hurt. Once they get in here-"

The look on Amber's face stopped me from talking. She frowned. "You don't know what's happening out there, do you?"

My stomach dropped. Rick had been in such a good position when I'd been out there; what had changed? How could the tables have turned so fast? Amber led me over to the window. The closer I got, the more aware I became of a whole new sound. The gunfire was gone, but the snarl of Walkers was loud. Much louder than it had been when I'd actually been outside, which shouldn't have been possible, given that I was now higher up and indoors.

Outside of the window, I expected to see those DIY armored cars and maybe Daryl on his bike. But beneath us was a herd of Walkers. The biggest I'd seen since we cleared one from the quarry near Alexandria. We were surrounded by rows and rows of them, all pushing against one another, trying to get in. Rick and the others were long gone. I doubted that Daryl had even been here. It hit me hard for a second, the primal fear of being faced with so many Walkers and the hopeless realization that I might have missed my one chance of getting out of here by not running into the hail of incoming bullets.

I looked away from the herd as my stomach filled with ice and looked up at the sky. It felt too big again, and I felt small and far away. I took a few deep breaths to calm the nerves in my stomach and reminded myself who it was that put those Walkers there and what they'd come here hoping to achieve. Daryl wasn't out there waiting for me, but he was still somewhere under that same sky. I looked back at Amber and the rest of Negan's wives, who were all filled with the same hopelessness I'd just rid myself of.

"It's alright," I said, and saying it out loud made me believe it more. "They want Negan and the rest of the Saviors in here to surrender. This is how they get it done."

"What, by trapping us all in here to die?" Amber said.

"No," I said. "By cutting this place off from outside help. To stop supplies getting in so that Negan has no other choice."

"Who's to say he won't let us all die?" another one of his wives asked. "Just so he doesn't have to give in to Rick?"

"Or that he won't just keep all the supplies for himself?" someone else muttered. "Let the rest of us starve until he thinks his way out of this?"

"He won't," I said. I was as sure of that as I was any other part of all this. They all looked at me then. I shrugged and said, "People are a resource. Negan won't let his people die… Not all of them anyway. If this goes on for long enough, he will surrender. We just gotta sit tight."

Sit tight. I'm coming for ya.

Maybe that's what Daryl had meant. He hadn't just meant 'sit tight until we get there.' He'd wanted me to keep waiting after they had, to wait for Negan's surrender.

Trouble was, I'd never been very good at waiting. Daryl should've known that.

"Face it," Amber said. "Your friends have left you here to starve to death or be torn apart, just like the rest of us."

"No," I said. "They haven't."

I didn't have my Momma's faith in God or even Daryl's faith in Rick.

But I had faith in him.

The blow I'd felt from realizing I wasn't getting out of here today was starting to fade. Things had been set in motion now; there was no stopping them even if I wanted to. But I could speed things up. That shard of glass weighed heavy in my pocket for a moment. I straightened up, "You guys know where Negan is?"

"Nobody's seen him since this started," Amber replied with a shrug.

That made sense, he'd probably be busy trying to think his way out of this for a few hours. That was good. It gave me time.

"Where's his room?" I asked.

"Two doors down from here," Amber replied with a frown. I turned back toward the door. "On the left. Why?"

"I'm going to kill him," I said. I'd said it, thought it so many times, but each time it felt a little more real and damn sight more possible. "Next time he lets his guard down, I'll be there. All of you sit tight until Rick comes back."

"You don't know he's coming back!" Amber yelled after me. And she was right; I didn't know that Rick would come back. But I knew Daryl would. I felt it deep down in my bones, and that made me sure the rest of them would be back too. Daryl wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise. When they arrived, I wanted them to find Negan gone and a building of people ready to surrender and join us.

I took a look at the room Amber had said was Negan's. Under normal circumstances, it might have been guarded when he was in it, but, as he and the Savior's attention was currently elsewhere, the door had been left ajar. I pushed it open just enough for me to slip inside. It was dark in there. Heavy curtains hung over the windows. A large bed in the center of the room, a large closet, a few cabinets with bottles of something I assumed was booze. Every luxury that could be made or scavenged these days seemed to have been stuffed into this one room.

Selfish asshole.

There was so much crammed in here that there were plenty of spaces to hide. I thought about getting into one of them now and lying in wait until Negan got back, but I'd prefer to get my hands on a more reliable weapon than the piece of glass in my pocket. Something that wouldn't break if I sat on it wrong. So, I headed back to Dwight's room to think through my next moves.

The chaos inside Sanctuary was calming down now that there was no active gunfire outside. Focus had shifted to the herd. I sat in Dwight's room and tried not to think about where my friends had gone and what they might have to do now. I hated that I didn't know. I hated that I couldn't be out there with them. I'd made the wrong choice. If I'd known this was what was coming next, I'd have taken my chances with the bullets.

I heard a set of footsteps getting real close and slipped into a hiding space I'd made for myself in Dwight's cupboard in case it wasn't him. Seconds later, the door creaked open and shut again. I peered through the crack between the cupboard door and the wall. A weary Dwight sank down onto an armchair.

Now, I felt a little stuck. I didn't want to leap out at him and give him a heart attack, so I cleared my throat. The effect was more or less the same. He leaped out of his chair and raised a gun, his eyes darting wildly around the room.

"Who's there?" he snapped.

"Hey, Dwight. It's me," I tried to say it in the quietest and least-threatening way possible. I pushed the door open very slowly, but all that did was give his gun and his wild eyes something to fixate on. Who was he so afraid was in here? I realized my introduction might have been a little vague, so I added, "It's Naomi."

"Fucking hell," he lowered his gun, and I stepped out of the cupboard. He was still looking at me like I was a ghost, so I gave him a moment to recover. "I thought you were gone."

He didn't specify whether he meant 'gone' as in left or 'gone' as in dead.

"I couldn't get out," I said. "It was too risky, too many bullets. But it's fine, while we're all stuck in here, I'm gonna kill Negan."

Dwight closed his eyes for a moment, lowered his head, and sighed.

"Not this again," he muttered, looking back up at me. "Didn't you hear Rick out there? He's getting them all to surrender."

"That'll go a lot faster if Negan's not around to say no," I pointed out.

"Look, I know you want this over with, but that's what we're doing," Dwight said. "Right now, every major Outpost that the Saviors have is being taken out by your people. Any weapons they could use to get Negan out of this building will be seized. Every escape point, every supply chain will be cut off. He'll have to surrender. And all we have to do is-"

"Sit tight?" I finished for him. "Yeah, I'm done doing that. This will all be over much faster if I just-"

Before I could finish, there was a knock at the door. We both froze. Dwight turned to me and whispered, "Hide."

I nodded and quietly backed into the cupboard I'd been in before. I heard Dwight open the door. Part of me expected to hear Negan. My fingers found the edge of my cloth-wrapped shard of glass in anticipation.

"I'd like to express my sincere thanks for your support at the recent conflab," Eugene's voice reached me through the cupboard door. "I was doing my level best to stay fully on the DL, but sometimes the mouth-brain neuronal connection experience is a misfire, and foot met mouth at an unavoidable velocity."

Before all this, I'd found Eugene's way of talking almost endearing, but now that every note in his voice was tinged with the hint of unforgivable betrayal, listening to him made my fist want to meet his mouth at unavoidable velocity.

"You were right in there," Dwight said. "If you didn't say it, I would have."

"As a token of my appreciation, I brought you some primo cukes from my private stash," Eugene said. "I'd like you to accept these as a sign of my faith that we will, in fact, find a way out of this pickle. Pun intended."

Dwight didn't laugh. I could almost feel his stress bouncing off the walls. I heard Eugene move further into the room, and I held my breath. I knew it wouldn't help. Eugene didn't have superhuman hearing, and if he was going to open up this cupboard, he'd do it whether or not I was mid-suffocating myself. But it was almost instinctual and kind of comforting, like when you'd hide under your covers as a kid thinking if you stayed still and quiet enough, then whatever monster you'd dreamed up wouldn't get you.

"Hold up, it's… it's still wet," I heard Dwight say and guessed that they were over by his figurines. Or the chess pieces he was carving. I prayed that Eugene wouldn't ask to stay for a game. My leg was already cramping up.

"My apologies," Eugene said. "You DIY'd these?"

"That's right."

I heard the soft click of Eugene putting down whatever it was he'd picked up. He moved in the room again, but I couldn't tell in which direction. "I fully understand the reasoning behind yours truly being the prime suspect in pretty much any Benedict Arnold type situation. And in light of that, I'm doubly grateful to have you watching my six."

"You were right back there," Dwight said. "I didn't say anything more than that."

I heard the door close. I waited, Dwight waited too and then said, "Alright, I think you can come out now."

"What was that about?" I asked as I emerged from his cupboard for the second time that day. Dwight hesitated.

"Negan's missing," he said. "Maybe even dead."

I waited for it to sink in. If it was true, it was the best news I'd heard since finding Mia alive. But part of me wouldn't believe it until I'd seen it for myself. Negan was so loud and brash, always putting on some kind of twisted show, that it felt his death would be so quiet and unobserved. The only thing that felt right about it was the uncertainty. That even if he was dead, people would continue to whisper about the possibility of him being alive until his Walker was found. I hoped I'd be the one to take it out. Or at least stamp on his head a couple of times after.

"Simon's the one we have to worry about. He's making a play to be Top Dog without Negan around," Dwight said. "He called a meeting of all of Negan's advisors as soon as he realized. Started asking us for a plan as if he'd been put in charge by Negan himself."

Dwight glowered at the floor.

"What did y'all come up with?" I asked, trying to get the conservation back on track. I didn't give a hoot who was in charge as long as the plan they'd come up with was ineffective.

"Regina wanted to use the workers as bait so that we could sneak a team past the Walkers and get to the Fat Lady."

"Who the hell is the Fat Lady?" I asked, not even a little surprised that Negan had nick-named someone that. I'd met Fat Joey.

"Not a person." A little smile creased the scars on Dwight's cheek. "We've got a whole bunch of portable speakers stashed at a warehouse to draw big groups of the dead away if we need to."

"Is that one of the Outposts Rick's hitting?" I asked.

"Nah," Dwight said. "We keep it for emergencies. There won't be anyone around to get to it when Rick's done with the Outposts."

It didn't put me at ease. The thought of something useful to the Saviors sitting out there for anyone who escaped the Outposts to bring here felt like too big a risk.

Dwight saw the look on my face and tried to reassure me, "I know it's hard to sit here and wait, but everything's in motion now, and it's going to work. I convinced Simon and the other Outpost heads that Regina's plan was dumb, so they aren't going for it."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Eugene pointed out that using the workers like that would turn them against us," Dwight said. Then he shrugged. "I just backed him up."

"It would be good to turn the workers against them, wouldn't it?" I asked. "They might pick up weapons and join us."

"Yeah, it would," he said. "But Regina's plan might work if we let it happen. And I already know which of the workers are restless, who'll be able to stir up more discontent down there without risking anyone getting out and bringing the Fat Lady here. I've got some weapons for them. So they're ready when they need to be."

I nodded. It was a good plan. One that gave me some kind of hope that this would be over and won in a few days.

"Why ain't you handing them out now?"

"Simon and the others think there's a rat in Sanctuary," Dwight said, and it took me a second to realize that he meant a snitch and not a rodent. Because there were plenty of those. I'd heard them squeaking through the walls when I'd been locked up. "They don't know for sure, but the attack happening while all of the Outposts heads are here has got them suspicious. For now, they suspect Eugene, but…"

He shrugged and let his sentence trail off, making it clear that they were all so riled up that suspicion could turn to anyone at any moment. Including him.

"Let me go and hand the weapons out," I said. I said it a little too brightly, but I was just so damn glad I'd thought of something to do rather than more sitting around and waiting for things to play out.

"No," Dwight said immediately. "You're not safe outside of this room."

"You're not safe if you get caught down there," I countered. "And you're way more recognizable than I am. The only person who'd give a shit about catching me is Simon, and I'm willing to bet he won't be down there."

"I don't know, Naomi," Dwight said, but he was thinking about it. "It's risky."

"I know it is," I said. "But it's a lot riskier for you than for me. The workers don't know who I am. Why would they?"

Negan had been good at keeping them away from the nastier side of Sanctuary, which was a slight worry when it came to how easy it would be to turn them against him. Did they really see him as their savior? It might be easier to turn them against Simon and the others, who were more openly cruel.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," I said. "If I get caught, they'll kill me, and that's… well, that ain't ideal, but if they catch you… Rick loses his inside man. You're far more valuable to taking down the Saviors than I am."

He wanted to fight me on it, I could tell. And I knew what his points would be. That it would be harder for him to keep Rick's trust if I died here. That Daryl wouldn't let him live to take another breath once he'd delivered the news.

But none of that mattered if we didn't win this. I put a hand on Dwight's shoulder, "Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll do it."

Dwight told me who to ask for, who to talk to. He handed me a bag flecked with paint from the chess pieces he'd been carving and filled with guns. He gave me strict instructions on who to pass them to and a quiet warning about how many they were expecting. His meaning was clear: he knew how many there were, and he'd know if I took one for myself.

When I got down there, the workers were uneasy. If I'd thought the Walkers sounded loud from up in Negan's wives' room, it was nothing compared to how loud they were from the former factory floor. The doors rattled under the pressure of hundreds of dead bodies pushing against them. People were scared, and it was easy to see why. If I hadn't known that this was planned by someone asking and fighting for peace, I'd have been scared too.

I relayed Rick's message to the workers that Dwight had told me to find before I handed their guns over. Those who were unconvinced still looked skeptical. They'd heard that Rick wasn't to be trusted either and that he left one of his own for dead in this place. I couldn't tell them that I was the one he'd supposedly left behind or that I'd chosen to come back so that I could get to Negan, in case one of them ratted me out. So instead, I spread a rumor. I told them that I'd heard some higher-ups talking about Regina's plan to use them as bait.

It spread like wildfire.

Within fifteen minutes, it was all anyone on the former factory floor was talking about. Their fear started to turn to anger. Their unease about how close they were to the horde outside was bubbling over, and they decided it was time to move upstairs, where it was safe. To demand answers from those who lorded over them, demanding sacrifice while shielding themselves. I couldn't move up with them. I couldn't risk being spotted by Simon, who I had no doubt would take great delight in shooting me dead, so I took the first opportunity to slink back to Dwight's room.

When I got there, I saw he'd cleared out the bottom of his cupboard and filled the space with a pillow and a blanket. He wasn't there to say so, but I assumed it was for me. It was weirdly sweet of him, and the first time I'd felt good about anything since Daryl and Mia left. I sat in there in case anyone came in and waited for Dwight.

I'd done so much waiting around lately, but this was the first time I'd been able to do so somewhere with a window, with any sense of time passing. I could see the light change. I could get up and move around. Dwight even had a couple of books I could read. I was such a change from waiting in that dark hole they'd been keeping that it was almost enough of a distraction to keep me from me worrying about what was going on elsewhere. Almost. .

When Dwight came back, he looked more than a little tired. He closed the door behind him and heaved a sigh. His eyes fell on where I was. He hesitated, "Well, it worked."

He didn't seem all that pleased about it. I wondered what the catch was.

"Yeah?" I sat up and straightened out one of my legs, which was close to falling asleep.

"Oh, yeah," he said, throwing down his gun. "You hungry?"

"Yes," I said, but I could tell he was trying to distract me from something. "What's happening out there?"

"The workers came up from the factory floor, demanding space on upper levels in case the doors don't hold and the Walkers get in," Dwight said. "They were mad. Simon and the others didn't handle it well."

"So… how did they resolve it?" I asked. I knew if there was any kind of uprising underway, Dwight wouldn't be here to fill me in on it.

"They're back downstairs for now," he said with a shrug. "But don't worry, I'm sure they'll be eager to fight again by tomorrow. We just have to stick to the plan."

I was tired of sticking to plans I knew nothing about, of waiting around.

What's more, I got the sense Dwight was hiding something from me. He made us both some food, sharing whatever rations he'd been given. The Saviors were already cutting down and conserving supplies, so it wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Dwight was quiet and evasive, no matter how hard I pushed him. It grew dark outside, and I wondered how the fight had gone at the Outposts. Surely, they'd be over by now?

"You can, uh…" Dwight gestured to the cupboard.

"Yeah, I saw," I said. "Thanks."

"Bit cramped," he said apologetically. "Sorry."

"Don't be," I said. Cramped and uncomfortable had been my default sleeping position for so long now that I doubted I'd notice the difference. "Do you know how long it's been since I last had a pillow?"

I looked up, and my smile faltered. Dwight knew exactly how long it had been since I'd slept anywhere comfortable because he'd been the one enforcing it. I was so used to Dwight being on my side, to secretly working with him, that I occasionally forgot he had technically been the one with the keys to my jail cell.

"Sorry," he said again, and I knew that this time it wasn't just about the lack of space he'd given me to sleep in.

"It's okay," I said. Any anger I had toward Dwight was tied up in the way he'd treated Daryl. And we could settle that outside of these walls.

Sleep came easier than expected. I was exhausted from spending a few restless hours drifting in and out of sleep the night before, anticipating the arrival of my friends. Now that they had, and things were in motion, it was easier to catch a little shut-eye.

When I woke up, Dwight wasn't in the room. I crept to the door and listened for any sounds, any clues of what was going on. Sanctuary was quieter today than it had been yesterday. I climbed up on Dwight's countertop to look out a small and high-up window in his room, worried that something had drawn the Walkers away, and that's why everyone was so calm. But they were still there, pushing against the walls. I had to believe that meant the attacks on the Outposts had gone well, too. Nobody had come to save the Saviors.

The door burst open behind me, and I scrambled down. No time to hide. But it was only Dwight again, another bag of guns in his hands. He looked annoyed. I wondered for a moment that it was because I'd come out of hiding, and if anyone other than him had come in just now, I'd be dead. He shut the door behind him and looked at me. His jaw clenched.

"Where were you?" I asked.

"Another meeting," he said. "We've got a problem. Negan's back."

I think he expected me to be shocked, but I wasn't. I had questions, sure, but I wasn't surprised that it had happened. There was a twisted kind of sense to it. Had anyone really expected Negan to do the decent thing and die quietly?

"When did he get back?" I asked. "How did he get in?"

"He covered himself in Walker guts so they couldn't smell him," Dwight said. "He was with one of yours, actually. The priest?"

"Gabriel."

"Right, yeah," Dwight said. "Gabriel. He's now in your old cell and Negan's… elsewhere."

"So, they were just hiding out somewhere together all night?" I asked. Dwight hesitated, got that look on his face when he was trying to avoid saying something. For someone who was currently working as a double-agent, he really needed to work on that.

"Not exactly," he said. "They actually got back late yesterday."

"Yesterday?" I repeated. "They've been here all night, and you kept it from me?"

"I didn't want you doing anything rash," he said. "But I think you're right. I think we might need to speed things up here. Negan's asked Eugene to work on getting the Walkers away from Sanctuary."

Shit.

If there was one person in this dump smart enough to work something out, it was probably Eugene.

"You've gotta stop him," I said.

"I know," Dwight said. "I will."

"And Negan?"

"Take this," he said, handing over a pistol. It was the smallest one in the bag, but that would make it easy to conceal. "Do what you gotta do."

"You serious?" I asked, but I'd already taken it from him in case he changed his mind.

"Things are changing," he said. "I gotta stop Eugene, and if they work out that I'm the rat, you'll be on your own. You should be able to protect yourself."

"Thank you," I said. Dwight nodded. There was a steely determination about him now. An urgency in his eyes. He turned back to the door and paused, his hand on the handle.

"I hope you make it out of here," he said, and it sounded sincere.

"You too," I said quietly, and then he was gone, out into the hallway.

I hid the small pistol he'd given me in the sleeve of his flannel shirt. I felt the cool of the metal against my skin, and my hands started to shake. It wasn't fear, not really. It was the same kind of steely anticipation I'd seen in Dwight's eyes as he realized that it was his time to play a part. To do something for the good of everyone fighting that might get him killed. After all this time unarmed, all the threats I'd thrown at Negan, it was finally time to make good on them.

I'm done waiting.

I took the baseball cap from the back of the door and pulled it low over my face again before I left Dwight's room for the final time. I knew where I was heading, and I wasn't sure I'd be coming back from it. I walked fast, and with purpose, my head bowed low again. I found Negan's door shut but unlocked and unguarded.

Is he already in there?

I glanced behind me to check that I wouldn't be caught going in, and then I turned the handle real slow, not wanting to make a sound. The door opened, just a crack, and I paused. Listened. Didn't hear him call from inside or make a move to see who had opened his door, so I opened it a little wider.

The room was dark. Even darker than it had been last time I'd looked in. I glanced behind me again, one last check that I wasn't being watched, and then I snuck inside, closing the door quietly behind me. The darkness in the room enveloped me for a moment, and it occurred to me that Negan might already be in here. Sleeping. Or waiting for something like this. I could hear my heartbeat and my own shallow, nervous breaths as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I scanned every shadow for a sign of him or any of his men.

There was nobody in here but me.

A shiver ran up my spine. Keeping an ear out for any movement on the other side of the door, I weighed up my options. There was no guarantee Negan would be the first one to come in here. I didn't want to end up shooting one of Negan's wives or whichever poor bastard he had cleaning up after him. So, where to hide?

The closet seemed too risky. Negan might open it to hang up his dumb leather jacket and find me before I was good and ready. His smaller cupboards were too full for me to make a space big enough without it being obvious that someone had tampered with his shit. Behind the curtains felt too easy to spot. Which only left under the bed. Even if he just came back to sleep here, I could get him then. Plus, what kind of grown man checks for monsters under his bed?

I crawled underneath and lay down on the dusty floor. After all of the endless waiting around I'd been doing, I was ready to wait some more. Like this was what all of that had been training me for, but I wasn't waiting long. I heard the unmistakable sound of Negan's voice echoing down the corridor, and my whole body froze up.

He got louder. Closer. The door opened and flooded the room with light. I could see Negan's boots facing away from me and out toward whoever he was talking to. I could get up right now and shoot him in the back of the head. It would be done. Only, he was talking to people - four other sets of boots. I didn't know if I'd have enough bullets to take them out too. Or, if I'd be able to get a good enough shot at Negan before they got me.

Why didn't I check how many bullets I had?

I couldn't do it now, it would make way too much noise, and they were all far too close. The gun felt heavier in my hand. And then I heard Negan say, "Alright then, that's all for now. You assholes are dismissed."

I watched his boots turn and face into the room while the others walked away. Negan shut the door, and I tracked his boots as they walked across the floor. Closer to where I was hiding. And then, in the middle of the room, he stopped.

"You can come on out now, Naomi," Negan said. At the sound of my name, a jolt of dread shot right through to my stomach. Ice cold. "It's just you and me, sweetheart."

Shit.

How did he know?

My rapidly beating heart lodged itself in my throat, and I tried to remind myself that I was the one with the gun. I crawled out from where I was, gun raised and trained on Negan, so he didn't get any ideas about using Lucille. He grinned. Negan didn't seem bothered by the gun, and he hadn't even raised Lucille from where she hung by his side. He had that glint in his eye. That one that made me feel like I was seconds away from walking into some kind of trap.

"Don't want to call for back-up this time?" I asked. I'd almost beaten him before; I could do it again.

"You here to kill me, are you?" he asked. I scanned the shadows of his room. I'd checked it thoroughly when I'd come in, but he was so calm and collected it was making me doubt myself. Why wasn't he defending himself? Maybe this was part of it; maybe he thought I wouldn't shoot an unarmed man. Ordinarily, he'd be right, but for him, I could make an exception.

"It didn't have to be this way," I told him. "You could've left us alone. You could've kept this empire, but you got greedy. Now Rick's going to take everything, and you'll be dead and forgotten."

Negan nodded like he was taking in my points, but he still had that dumb smile plastered all over his face.

"That why you're doing this, huh?" he said. "For Rick? The guy that left you here to die?"

"That ain't how it went down," I said. "And this ain't just about Rick. This is for Abraham and Sasha. For Olivia and Spencer. For Dwight and Sherry, this is for Amber and Mark, and any other poor bastard that got the iron. Any of the women you've coerced into that bed."

"Is that so?" he said. Still fucking grinning. It made me so mad that he was so amused by all of this. "Well, before you shoot me, let me ask you something. If things had been different, if I'd plucked you out of the road like we did when you saved your sister, you think things would've been different? Think you'd have been on my team, or were we always gonna dance this dance?"

I thought about it for a moment, all the while keeping an eye on him so he didn't try and make any sudden moves.

"I'd have worked out who you are eventually," I said. "Probably would've just left, though. You brought this part on yourself. Sealed it in stone the minute you hurt Daryl."

"I didn't lay a finger on Daryl," he said. "I believe it was Dwight who did that, maybe some of my men. But, me? I didn't do any of that, darlin'."

No.

This wasn't going to happen. I wasn't about to let him talk his way out of it. Or direct my anger elsewhere.

"Y'know, I had a dream like this once, minus the gun, of course," Negan said. Then he smirked and ran his eyes over my clothes. "Minus a lot of things, actually."

Asshole.

I pulled the trigger. The anticipation of the gunshot caused an involuntary flinch to course through my body. The gun clicked in my hand. But it did not go off.

No bang, no bullet.

No!

No, no, no!

Negan started to laugh.

I pulled the trigger again. And again. Still nothing.

"Get that gun for Dwighty boy, did ya?" he asked. My heart started to sink, a sick dread rising up from my stomach to replace it. Negan straightened to his full height and swung Lucille up to rest on his shoulder. He took a step toward me. I took one back.

"Y'know, there was a moment back there where I thought damn this girl has had no contact with the outside world, no way of communicating anything to them. Yet, somehow she's managed to orchestrate an attack on this place when all of my Outpost heads just happen to be here; she's got some kind of telepathic warning to Alexandria that I was on my way," he said. "Not only that, but she's been in that hole with no food and water for a week, and she's still alive. There was a moment where I'll admit I thought you were gonna beat me by sheer force of will. Even though I knew you were locked up."

"We're still gonna beat you," I told him. Even if this had failed, I knew that much.

"Is that so?" he asked with a smile like he didn't believe me. "Once I figured out someone in here was helping you, feeding you and keeping you alive, it was pretty clear who it was. So, I made sure none of those guns I gave him today had anything in them. I am curious, though. How'd you turn Dwighty-boy against me?"

"You did that to yourself," I said. "There's only so long people will put up with being treated like crap."

"That's not true," he said. "I am good to my people for as long as they follow my rules. I've been running this place in the same way for a long time."

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?"

"Fine until you and Rick and his piss patrol showed up," he said. "And now you're gonna die, and I'm gonna crush every last one of them. Starting with your little sister. In fact, I'm gonna make Daryl do that one himself. How does that sound?"

Over my dead body.

I flipped the gun around in my hand so that I was holding the barrel. I flew at him, smacking him across the jaw with the handle. The gun might not work as intended, but it hit his face with a satisfying crack. He pushed me back, blood pooling in the corner of his mouth.

"Alright then, enough chit-chat," he said. "I've had a hell of a day, and I'm not in the mood to make it any longer. Goodbye, Naomi. It's been a painful kind of pleasure."

Shit.

He swung Lucille at me. I think he was expecting me to duck, so he swung lower than he needed to. I leaped out of the way. She hit me, but only on the arm. Hurt like a bitch, a sharp sting of barbed wire cutting into me through the material of Dwight's shirt, but my brains were still where they were supposed to be. I'd survived to fight on.

Negan cursed under his breath and swung for me again. This time, I ducked and ran toward him, landing two punches before he knocked me to the ground. It pushed the wind out of me, and I couldn't move for a second. It was long enough for Negan to get on top of me, pin me down.

I felt something sharp digging into me from the floor. And then I realized what it was. That shard of glass I'd so carefully wrapped up and slipped into my back pocket. I struggled underneath Negan, feeling for it with the hand he'd pinned under me. My fingertips brushed the edges of the cloth it was wrapped in.

Negan grabbed me by the throat with one hand, raised Lucille with the other. I tugged on that piece of cloth as hard as I could, my fingers scrambling to get hold of the glass nestled inside it.

The building shook from its very foundations. It was so strong that for a moment, I thought I was feeling the impact of Lucille hitting my head in a near-fatal blow. But I looked up and realized Negan hadn't hit me yet. Objects had fallen around us under the impact of whatever it was. Another explosion? Had something hit the building?

Whatever it was, it was big enough to disrupt even this, just for a moment. And a moment was all I needed.

Screaming started from deep within the bowels of the Sanctuary, and Negan paused. Something was wrong.

"The hell...?" Negan muttered. He thought he had me beat, that he could take the time to listen to whatever was happening out there. I felt the end of the glass come loose from the rag I'd wrapped it in. I grabbed it tight, I knew I only had one shot at this, and I couldn't risk dropping it. The end of it cut so deep into my hand that I screamed in pain. But I had it!

Negan's turned back to look at me. I made one last, desperate, swipe at him.

He was shocked. We both were. His eyes widened with it when he realized he couldn't breathe. And then Lucille clattered to the ground, his hand let go of my neck as he reached up to try and stop the blood that was pouring from a deep gash in his throat. Flowing thick and fast, streaming on to me, and soaking through my borrowed shirt. It was all red.

Negan tried and failed to take another breath. His body was heavy now, and he could hardly hold himself above me. I pushed him off. And just as I got to my feet, the door opened.

Daryl

I thought I'd feel something more when I got to Sanctuary. I even half-expected to cry. Maybe having Michonne and Rosita there too stopped me. Maybe seeing surrounded by the dead and knowing that Naomi was most likely dead as well made the whole place feel lifeless. Like a tomb.

I was still angry. But I'd been angry for so long now that even the rage felt normal. It had set into my bones, taken control of every muscle, and that's what had brought me here. I was already filled with it. I couldn't feel anymore; there wasn't space without me exploding.

I passed the rifle scope I'd been using to look at the building over to Michonne. She took a look through it. We'd parked the truck at a good vantage point, one I was pretty sure the Saviors wouldn't be able to spot from where they were. Even if they did, who the fuck cared? And what the Hell could they do about it? I was coming for them no matter what.

Rosita leaned up against the truck while Michonne and I scouted out the place.

"Our people are gonna be at the Sanctuary soon, asking for their surrender," she said." We're almost there."

"That's why we do it," I said. "We make it happen."

"So we cover you with crossfire from the upper windows," Michonne repeated my plan out loud. I couldn't tell if she was doubting it or checking she'd got the details right. "You crash the truck into the Walkers and into the building."

I nodded and hoped she didn't follow up with any questions about what my plan would've been if they hadn't been there to cover me with crossfire. Because I didn't have any answers to that. Nor did I really care if anyone had my back as long as it got done.

"You know the workers will make it away," Rosita asked, "up the stairs?

"They're on the other side of the building," I said. "They should make it."

"You sure?" Rosita prompted.

No.

And I don't give a damn, either.

"After we do this, their only choice is to give up," I said.

"It's risky," Michonne said. "They could see the truck coming."

Maybe.

I also don't give a damn about that.

"We work with what we got."

"You got me," Morgan approached us. He must've seen us from his position in the buildings around Sanctuary and overheard the plan. "Other snipers, too. Saviors see you coming; we've got your covered, whatever it takes. I want it done. I want them done."

I felt another small surge of relief. Although, I'd felt the same when Michonne and Rosita had joined me. Now that they were dragging their feet about the whole thing, I wished I'd stuck with coming alone. I could've made them turn back to Alexandria after I'd run into them trying to take out one of the Savior's trucks, but they'd both been so set on coming here and seeing it for themselves. Michonne had barely recovered from her injuries in the first fight; she'd had to sit the second one out.

"Good," I said, nodding to Morgan. "So, we doin' this or what?"

"Why don't we just wait it out like we planned?" Rosita said. "Michonne's right; what you're talking about is risky. Things could go bad."

Fuck that.

I am done waiting.

"It almost did go bad. Damn truck with the speakers almost took those Walkers away," I pointed out as if they needed any reminding of what they'd been fighting when I ran into them. "I ain't waiting around to see what else they got up their sleeves. We don't got the Kingdom fighters no more. If the Saviors want to put up a fight, we don't got the numbers to make 'em surrender."

"That's why Rick's talking to the Scavengers," Rosita pointed out. I felt a small hit of guilt at how I'd left things with Rick, but there was still enough anger there to smother it right away.

"They lied to us. You believe 'em now?"

"I believe in Rick Grimes," she replied.

Well, that makes fucking one of us.

I almost told her about how he'd lied to me. About how he'd let one of our own get beaten - maybe to death - while he just looked on. But I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want them to know why I was really doing this. I didn't want anyone stopping me or holding me back.

"I'm doing this," I told her. "With or without you."

"Then it's without me," Rosita said. "I'm out."

"We got some cars parked near the East-side lookout," Morgan told her. "You can take one and go home."

Rosita nodded and then looked at Michonne. "You staying? You good with all this?"

"I helped get this started," she replied, but she was looking less sure by the second. "Got to see it through."

"You think it's easier to come out here and risk than to stay back there and wait. And I get it - I used to believe that, too," Rosita said. "Thing is sometimes you just have to wait. Sometimes you don't get to know. I just wish it didn't take seeing Sasha walk out of that coffin to realize it."

She walked away from all of us. Michonne and Morgan watched her go, but I watched them, trying to see if anything she'd said had an impact on whether or not they were willing to do this. I didn't mind if they bowed out. I just couldn't have anyone trying to stop me. Didn't much appreciate all of this standing around debating it either.

"C'mon," I said, "Let's go."

I climbed into the truck and waited for Michonne to follow, if she decided to. After another couple of seconds' hesitation, Michonne climbed in beside me. She still didn't look sure. Her nerves filled up the front of the truck. It was jarring to be around because I didn't have any. I was so burned up with rage that I was hollow now.

In the wing mirror, I saw Morgan heading back through the door to his sniper post. I started the engine. We drove closer to Sanctuary in solemn silence. I kept looking at Michonne, expecting her to say she was out. But she stayed quiet.

"Hey, cut that engine. Any closer, and you'll draw Walkers from the yard," Morgan's voice crackled over the walkie. I brought the truck to a stop. "If they fire from the windows, we fire back."

This was the point of no return. I sat back in the seat and looked at Michonne. She'd been looking less and less sure the closer we'd got to Sanctuary. But now she looked like she was about to spew.

"You up for this?" I asked her.

"I came here 'cause I wanted to see things for myself. I wanted to know that things were gonna work," she said. "But you know what? I don't get to know that. None of us do. What I do know is that things are working now. So maybe… we just need to trust that things are gonna keep working because this… what we're about to do… it's not worth risking us."

I nodded because I got it, not because I agreed. Michonne hadn't been here before; she hadn't seen how many Walkers we'd got around this place. Now that she had, she could see how dangerous this all was and that if it went wrong, neither of us would come back from it. I wasn't planning to. But I didn't want her taking that risk if she didn't feel the same.

"It is for me," I said quietly. "Just is."

She looked at me for a moment. I knew she wanted to talk me out of it. She wanted to stop me from this potential suicide mission. But there was an understanding there too. If Rick had been in there, she'd have been exactly where I was. And I'd have been the one in the passenger seat. Eventually, she said, "I hope it works. I really, really do, but I… I can't do it. I just can't."

"Then you shouldn't," I said.

I was good with this. I was at peace with it. I didn't want anyone coming along who wasn't. I still had the snipers around me. They had my back, but even if they didn't, I'd still be doing this. Michonne got out of the truck.

I drove into position and listened to Morgan and the other snipers confirm one by one that they were ready over the walkie. I thought I'd be scared going into this, but I wasn't. I was still empty, hollow of anything but anger.

I pulled out the walkie and yelled, "Now!"

I slammed my foot on the accelerator. The truck was big and heavy, the kind of weight I needed to break down the Sanctuary walls, but it took a while to get it up to full speed. What if it wasn't enough? What if all this did was flatten a couple of Walkers?

I broke through the gate in the chain-link fence and into the Sanctuary yard. Everything moved real fast after that. I aimed for a set of doors, knowing they'd be weaker than the wall. I ducked down and pulled up a brick, dropping it down on the accelerator so that it wouldn't lose any momentum. Then I opened the door, saw the ground racing underneath me. Heard the Walkers I was about to crash into.

I braced myself and dropped out of the truck. I tucked up as tight as I could, the ground rushing to meet me, and I slammed into it. The world was a blur of sky and concrete, wind and Walker snarls rushed in my ears. I came to a stop. I mentally scanned my whole body for injuries and found I'd probably have a few bruises later, but nothing felt broken. I felt the truck hitting the door. So hard, a tremor ran through the ground I was sitting on. I turned around to take a look.

Yes!

The truck had burst through with enough force to create gaps on either side of it. The Walkers started pushing their way in as screams from inside poured out. I got to my feet real fast and picked up my gun.

"Daryl, you're clear to the South," Morgan told me over the radio. "You should head home."

I had no intention of heading home. What was done was done, and there was nothing any of them could do about it. None of them could come in and pull me back now. Not only was it too dangerous for them to try, by the time Morgan came back down from his lookout point, I'd be in there. Or, so I hoped. The yard was filled with Walkers, and more were getting drawn in from the other sides. I took cover by an abandoned car nearby and watched them through the scope of my rifle.

"Daryl, what the Hell are you doing? Get out of there!" Morgan's voice crackled over the radio on my shoulder, but I didn't budge. I wanted to rip it off and throw it away, but I didn't. I knew I might need it if I made it back out of Sanctuary. Getting out wasn't the goal, though. I was coming out with her body, or I wasn't coming out at all.

All I needed was a way in, and I'd made one. For the Walkers and for me. This was win-win. I was done waiting for Negan's surrender. Now that I knew they'd most likely only be returning Naomi's body to bury, I wasn't interested in making this peaceful. I wanted every last one of them to suffer. There were even more Walkers than I'd bargained for, though. If I got too close, I risked distracting them away from the building. I shot at one of them. Took it out with a single bullet to the brain.

"Daryl, what the hell is going on down there?" Morgan yelled over the radio. He sounded out of breath like he might have been running to come and stop me. I ignored him again and darted out from where I was shielded from the Walkers. I grabbed the one I'd shot by the feet and started to drag it back to where I'd been so that I could cut it open and cover myself in its guts. Get in there with the Walkers without them smelling me.

I was about halfway back when something rolled and scraped against the ground under the truck. The glint of metal around it was what caught my eye. I thought maybe part of the truck had got broken in the crash and had now come loose under the pressure of the Walkers crushing against it, shaking it as they passed by. But then something rolled out from underneath.

Lucille.

All I could do was stare at it. Where the Hell had it come from? Was I imagining it?

Something shifted beneath the truck, and I saw a shadow moving there. Bigger than a bat and struggling more than an engine piece. It was a person crawling out of there.

Negan?

Had driving a truck into the side of this place accomplished nothing but giving him a way out? I'd never forgive myself if he lived. Not after everything he'd done. Everything he'd taken from us. I raised my gun. I would not let him live long enough to see the other side of the Sanctuary. The moment his head came out from under there I'd shoot. Execution style. Seemed too good for a guy like him, and I'd wanted to look him in the eye when I made him pay for what he'd taken from me. A single bullet was too quick and painless, but I had to take that shot. I needed this.

A hand shot out from underneath. I should have realized right there and then that the hand was too small to be Negan's, but I didn't. I was too blinded by my own rage, my hatred. I wanted that son of a bitch dead, and it felt so close.

"Hey, Morgan, you see that?" I yelled into my radio.

"See what?" Morgan replied. Still sounded like he was running. "Daryl, what the hell are you doing out there?"

"It's Negan," I told him. "I think I got him."

Walkers around the back of the truck had noticed that someone was trying to get out. A few of them started to turn to where the hand was clawing desperately at the ground, probably in search of Lucille. Their shuffling feet blocked my view of where the top of a head was emerging. I thought about taking out the Walkers, clearing them so I'd have a straight shot at his head, but I didn't. Seeing him get torn to pieces by them wouldn't be so bad either. I hoped they ate him slow. Saved all the vital organs until last.

A second hand came out from under the truck, and I moved closer, ready to take my shot if the Walkers around him didn't do what they were supposed to. In moving around to take a shot, I got a better look at that second hand.

And the crescent moon scar that was on it.

Naomi.

For two heartbeats, everything stopped. My whole body froze up. My finger still on the trigger. Shock and disbelief seized me. After all this time, existing on nothing but other people's word that she was alive. After being so sure that Negan had killed her when we'd lead Walkers to this place. Could that really be her hand? Or was I imagining that scar, dreaming it up out of nothing but hope?

And then she pulled herself out, her head and shoulders reaching for Negan's bat as the Walkers closest to her broke away from the ones that were streaming into the Sanctuary. Their dead hands reached for her, and mine sprang back to life. I shot at the ones who'd turned toward her. When I looked back at her, she was on her feet, Lucille gripped tight in one hand.

The scream that came out of her as she swung that bat, I'd never heard a sound like it. Scream ain't even the right word for it. It was more like a battle cry. It was all the pain and rage that had built in her in this place. It tore out of her. Sounded strong enough to rip her in half.

More Walkers turned her way, drawn to that scream. She was ready for them. Like the fight was now such a part of who she was that it had become all she was. There was so much anger in her eyes. So much more fire than I'd ever seen in her. A dangerous amount. Could burn her right up from the inside out if no one put a stop to it. She'd been fighting alone for so long, I didn't think she knew how to stop.

My girl, she's made of fire and steel.

I tried to call out to her, to reach her in that dark place, but I was so choked up at the sight of her that her name got caught in my throat. I kept shooting as she fought her way further from the truck. There were so many of them, but I had her back. I would always have her back.

I took a shot, and the last Walker that was a threat to her dropped to the ground. She looked around for more, ready for them, but she was far enough away now that the rest of them were more interested in getting into Sanctuary than getting her. Naomi looked back at the one I'd shot for a moment like she'd only just realized some of the Walkers around her were dropping without her fighting them and thought they were falling of their own accord. And then she slowly put the pieces together and looked up. Looked at me.

All of the anger and pain on her face dissolved for a moment, and she stared at me like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Like it was a miracle that I was here, not that she'd just crawled her way out of Hell.

There was so much blood on her. The front of her shirt was stained with it. It soaked through the sleeve over one of her arms. It all looked fresh, but there was no way she could've lost that much blood and still be standing, still be fighting. Right? New bruises covered old ones. Tiny half-healed cuts marked up one side of her face.

The Hell have they put her through in here?

How could I let this go on for so long?

"Naomi," I said. It was all I could say. All I could think, feel. The sound of my voice seemed to snap her out of her shock, and she ran at me.

I opened my arms just in time for her to fly into them. I held her tight. Her arms wrapped around my shoulders, and it was like once I was holding her, she let some of the anger in her go. She let someone else hold her up after weeks of doing it alone.

There was so much I wanted to say to her, but I couldn't get it out. That hollow emptiness inside of me was filling up fast, and it hurt. Relief, joy, hope, love... things I thought I wouldn't feel again flooded back all at once. I closed my eyes for a moment, knew I'd break down if I didn't, and I concentrated on how she felt in my arms again. The smell of her hair. The way she fit so perfectly against me. In the middle of a goddamn courtyard of Walkers, I was home. She held me together, like always.

She pulled back so she could look at my face. Her hands brushed the hair from it while her eyes searched every inch of it like she expected it to be some kind of trick. Then her eyes met mine in that way that feels like she can see into my soul. I used to hide from that kind of look. Look away from her because I didn't know what kind of man she'd see in me.

"It's really you," she said, a tremor in her voice. She was close to tears. I knew that if she started crying, I would too, and we might never make it out of here. "You're really here."

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

I should've come here a hell of a lot sooner.

For a moment, my arms around her were all that kept her standing, and I would've stayed that way forever. Or at least, for as long as she needed me to hold her up. But the longer we stayed here, the more Walkers at the back of the crowd would turn our way. The more danger we were in of getting shot at from the windows.

We had to move.

"Are you hurt?" I asked her. I didn't mind carrying her away from this place if I had to. I still didn't know why there was blood all over her. If it came from her or someone else. "Can you run?"

She just nodded. Didn't make it clear which question she was answering, but I guessed both were true. I didn't know which parts of her hurt, so I put a gentle hand on her back as we started to run, lightly steering her to where Morgan had said it was clear. Back to where the cars were, that would take us both home.

Bullets cracked above our heads. Didn't know if it was our snipers keeping us safe from Walkers we were running into the path of or if it was Negan's guys. It was too hard to tell.

Our feet pounded the pavement, and I could not stop looking over at her. Felt like if I took my eyes off her for too long, she'd disappear. She had this wild, lost look in her eye that scared me. Guilt snapped at my heels as we ran. Whatever she'd been through in there, whatever it was that had got this look on her face, it was on me. I should have come back sooner. I never should have left her in the first place.

I wanted to stop everything, go back to that moment where it was just her and me so that I could apologize to her, but we were coming up on the spare cars, and I could see Michonne and Rosita up ahead. They hadn't left yet, both leaning up against the hood of one of the cars. Maybe they were still debating whether or not they'd done the right thing. Maybe they were waiting for me. Either way, they straightened up when they saw me coming, and their mouths dropped open when they saw who was running with me.

"Hey!" I yelled over to them. "You got a first-aid kit?"

Rosita dove into the trunk of one of the cars while Michonne ran toward us. Morgan burst out of the door of one of the buildings. Michonne reached us and pulled Naomi in for a hug while she looked at me with more disbelief than I'd ever seen.

"You did it," she said to me. Then she pulled back and looked at Naomi. "Hey, you alright?"

Naomi didn't answer. I'm not even sure she heard. She was breathing hard, her face was pale, and she looked like she was about to fall down.

"Course she ain't alright, you seen all that blood on her?" I snapped. I knew I'd said it too loud as it was coming out, but I couldn't stop myself. I was terrified. I looked for Rosita, "The hell's that first-aid kit?"

"Here!" Rosita yelled back. She was moving fast, but I wasn't sure it was fast enough. She opened up the medkit, started pulling bandages out as she ran.

"That ain't Negan," Morgan said with a smile as he reached us.

Michonne stepped aside so Rosita could take a look at Naomi, "Okay, what hurts?"

Naomi held out her hand. She'd been holding it in a loose fist, and when she uncurled her fingers, it opened up a deep but thin cut across her palm. Like she'd been slashed with something. Felt like I'd been slashed with something when I looked at it.

"Who did that to you?" I asked. I wanted a whole list of names. Anyone who'd laid a finger on her in there was getting skinned alive and dipped in acid.

"Daryl," Morgan said calmly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Now isn't the time for-"

I rounded on him. "It'll tell you what now's the time for-"

"It's okay," Rosita shouted, shutting both of us up. "I can bandage this, and it'll be fine until Denise can take a look back in Alexandria. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Naomi didn't answer right away. It looked to me like she was hurt just about everywhere. Every time I looked at her, I saw something new. Some new cut or bruise that she'd probably got days ago. Days that I'd been sitting around doing nothing when I could've been here getting her out.

Naomi was looking at that cut on her hand like she couldn't even feel it. Rosita glanced up at me. She was worried. So was I.

Rosita finished bandaging her hand, and then Naomi used it to move the collar of her flannel shirt down and over her shoulder. There were a whole bunch of cuts there, and they all looked uniform like they'd been made by the same thing. The same small knife? But who would do something like that? Sab someone over and over in the same place with the same small object?

How could someone do that to her? It was sadistic even by the Savior's standards. And there was almost a pattern to it too; most of them looked evenly spaced. What left marks like that?

And then it dawned on me: Lucille.

It was marks left from barbed wire being pressed into her skin. I ain't squeamish, but I could've thrown up right there and then. Negan had done this to her, beaten and abused her. I couldn't breathe, couldn't stomach it.

Had he caught her on the way out? Tried to stop her? Or was this just the last of what she'd been subjected to while I sat on my ass?

Rosita covered her arm with another bandage, and Naomi pulled her shirt back up, but it didn't make me feel any better. So much blood all over her. Why wasn't she screaming or crying or saying something?

"Okay," Rosita took a step back. "That's all I can do, for now. We should get going."

"That can't be it," I said. "You can't be done."

"I am."

"Nah," I said. "All that blood didn't come from just them places."

"Maybe not," Rosita said. "But she's not bleeding anywhere else."

How could she be sure? Naomi hadn't said anything, and it would be just like her to have been stabbed in the gut and not tell anyone because she didn't want to worry them. Worry me.

"Check her over," I snapped at Rosita. I wasn't taking any chances.

"Daryl," Rosita snapped back. "I am doing my best, but I don't see any other cuts. Will you calm down for half a second?"

"I ain't-"

"She's in shock," Rosita said firmly. "I need you to calm down. She needs it."

Shock.

From what?

I glared at Rosita, breathing hard. I couldn't take any of it. The blood. The silence. I knew Rosita wasn't wrong, but my heart was still beating as hard as it had been when I'd been running. I still didn't feel like we were out of danger. Naomi was right in front of me, but it still felt like I was losing her.

I looked at her, and her eyes met mine. She saw something in them, saw that I needed her, and it pulled her back.

"Negan's," Naomi said. She said it quietly, but it was enough to stop all of us in our tracks. "It's Negan's blood."

Suddenly her calmness made sense. There was a storm all around us, and she was the eye of it. Things started to fall into place. I couldn't believe that it had taken so long to question why she was the one holding that damn bat in her uninjured hand. I'd been so glad to see her alive that I hadn't questioned any of it.

Naomi swallowed hard. Around us, I felt Michonne, Rosita, and Morgan exchange a look that was filled with hope and dread all at once. But I didn't take my eyes off Naomi.

"Did you say Negan's?" Michonne asked very calmly, to make sure we'd got it crystal-clear. Naomi looked at her and nodded. Michonne took a few deep breaths, "What happened in there?"

"I made it back into Sanctuary when you guys left," she said. "When I saw all the Walkers, I knew I wouldn't be able to get out, so I waited for Negan. I thought if I killed him, they'd surrender faster. Dwight gave me a gun, but… it was out of bullets."

"That son of a bitch," I fumed. "When I get my hands on him-"

"He didn't know," Naomi said quickly. "Negan tricked him. We fought."

"You and Negan?" Morgan asked to check again that she wasn't talking about Dwight. She nodded.

"He swung Lucille at me, I dodged it, but she got my arm," she said. She gestured down at her arm like any of us needed any reminding of the cuts she had there. "I hit him a couple of times, but he... uh... he got me on the floor. Pinned me there. He was about to use Lucille, but then... the building shook when Daryl..."

She looked up at me, and the end of her sentence trailed off into nothing.

"When Daryl drove the truck into the building," Michonne finished for her. She nodded.

"Negan was distracted," she said. "I had this piece of glass in my pocket. A piece of a mirror he'd thrown me into-"

"He fucking what?"

"Daryl!" Rosita shushed me.

"I got it out of my pocket. I grabbed it," Naomi said, holding up her bandaged hand to show that this was where she'd injured it. "He was leaning over me, and I just... swiped at him. I slit his throat."

Holy shit.

A silence settled over all of us. I didn't know what to say to her. Or how to say it. I didn't know what she needed. Nobody else seemed to know what to say to her, either. She looked at me then, like I was the only thing holding her in this world. "I think I killed him."

I took a few steps towards her. She flinched a little like she wasn't expecting it and didn't want it, so I stopped.

"What do you mean, you think?" Rosita asked.

"I don't know for sure," she said. "He was bleeding. A lot. I shoved him off me. I was going to finish it with Lucille, but then Dwight came in... to tell me you were..."

Again, she looked at me. And again, she trailed off. I remembered that look of disbelief on her face when she'd seen me. Even though she apparently knew I was out there. She looked away from me again and shook her head like she was annoyed at herself.

"I should've stayed to check," she said. "I should've made sure. I'm sorry, I knew I only had a minute or two before there were too many Walkers coming in for me to get out under that truck, so I just... left. I shouldn't have... I just wanted to come home."

"You did the right thing," I said. There was something so desperately sad in her eyes. I wanted her to look at me so I could fix it. "Hey. You don't gotta be sorry for this. If the son of a bitch survived somehow, we'll get him. You did the right thing coming home."

"You did," Michonne agreed. "But we need to get moving. We need to get home. This changes things."

"I'll get the car," Rosita said, turning to head back to the one she'd got the medical kit out of.

Michonne looked at Morgan, "You heard from Rick?"

"Not today," he said. "But I'll get the word out, see if I can get him on the radio. I listen in to any Savior channels I can find too, see if I get any news from them."

"Keep us updated," she said, turning to follow Rosita back to the car. Morgan hesitated, looking and where Naomi and I stood like our feet were stuck to the concrete. They'd all sprung back into action so quick, but I could tell Naomi needed more time. I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to give her the world.

"You good?" I asked her quietly, taking another few steps toward her. She nodded. I pulled her towards me again, let her rest her head on my chest. This time when I held her, I was sure to be gentle with her. I didn't know how badly bruised she was everywhere else.

"Let's go home, please," she mumbled into my shoulder.

I'm already there.

"Let's go," I said. We walked over to the car and sat together in the back seat.

The drive was long and quiet. Hardly anyone spoke. I'm sure Michonne and Rosita were trying to process Negan's death and what this might mean for the future of our war, but I was hardly thinking about that. I kept glancing and Naomi, playing everything she'd said over and over in my head until it was all bent out of shape. She was withdrawing, and I'd never known how to reach her when she did that.

Last time, I'd gone behind her back and tried to find things out for myself. I couldn't do that this time; I wouldn't make the same mistake again. I had to try. For her, and for us.

She barely looked at me. Anytime she did, she looked on the verge of saying something, and then she changed her mind. I was so preoccupied with it all, I didn't even realize when we got close to Alexandria.

"We'll park up here and walk the rest," Michonne said. She looked back at both of us. "That alright with you?"

There were still cars and blockages up on the way into Alexandria. Parking and walking the rest of the way was the easiest thing by far. Naomi nodded, so I nodded too.

"She okay?" Rosita asked quietly as we all piled out.

I wish I knew.

"You two go up ahead and get Denise," I told them. "I want her checked over before we deal with anything else, you understand?"

"We'll look after her, Daryl," Michonne said with a smile like I was overreacting, but they both walked ahead like I asked.

Naomi and I walked in silence for a moment. My heart was a drum deep in my chest. She still wouldn't look at me. It as like she couldn't. I had to make this right, whatever it was. If she was going to open up to me, I needed to take that first step.

"C'mon," I turned to her and held out my hand for her to take. She stared at it like she had no idea what I was doing. I thought for a second that I'd offered her the wrong one and she was hesitating because she didn't want to take it with her injured hand. But I hadn't.

"What?" I said, trying to take the pressure off. "You can slit a guy's throat, but you can't hold hands with your own damn boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend, huh?" she repeated. I felt my ears start to get warm and knew they'd turned red. But there was a smile on her face for the first time that day, so I didn't mind.

"Well… we ain't gotta label it if you don't want to," I said, and I could feel every beat of my heart. "But… I think we're past all that, don't you?"

I sure as shit knew I was. After all this, I was done trying to play it cool. My outstretched hand hung in the air between us. Naomi looked at it but still didn't take it. Felt like my ears were on fire.

"I really thought I was gonna die in there," she said quietly. No hint in her voice that she was mad at me or holding a grudge over it. It was a small but mighty punch in the gut all the same. Was she rethinking this... us?

While I'd been out here missing her like Hell, had she been in there realizing she didn't want to be with me? Had leaving her there so long made her think I didn't care? That I wasn't good enough?

She wasn't wrong. I didn't disagree, but it hurt all the same. I was losing her again. In a much bigger way.

"I'm sorry," I said. I'd meant to think of some better way of saying it, but during that whole car ride I hadn't come up with anything. 'Sorry' felt too small, too meaningless. You say sorry when you accidentally stand on someone's foot, not when you leave them to be beaten and tortured. "I shouldn't have left you there. I should've turned around and found you the moment I realized you weren't with us."

"You took care of Mia," she said, shaking her head. "You did what I asked. That's all I needed."

"Alright, I should've come back for you then," I said. "Sooner, I mean. The next day, I should've been there. I should've been there when Rick showed up. I… could've stopped it. I could've…"

"You did all the right things," she said. "I knew you would."

Then why does it feel like it wasn't enough?

Why does it feel like you're breaking up with me over it?

"I should've done more," I said. I needed her to know she could count on me. To protect her as well as Mia. That even if she walked away from me now, she'd never be rid of me.

Please don't walk away.

"I'll make it right. I promise," I said. I didn't know how I'd keep that promise, not when there were so many things I'd done wrong, but desperation pulled the words from my heart to my mouth. "I'll make it right, Naomi, I swear. I'll make it up to you. Every day for the rest of my life, I'll..."

I stopped. I couldn't get anything else out, I was so overwhelmed by the whole thing, and I don't think she was taking in a damn word of it. She took a deep breath like she was about to speak.

No.

This is it.

Fuck.

"Naomi, please don't-" I started.

"Daryl, I love you," she said.

Wait, what?

I stopped trying to talk. Felt like everything stopped, that I must have blacked out for a moment. I was sure I'd misheard. That I'd talked over the end of what she'd really said.

Did she say she loves me like a brother?

Was that it?

Because I don't think I can hear that, not today.

Had my stress caused some kind of denial-based hallucination as I struggled to accept what was happening here? I must've got it wrong somehow. She looked too calm to have said what I thought she had. Didn't think Naomi could have said anything like that without freaking out.

"You ain't gotta say anything or feel any kind of way about it," she said quickly. "I know it's a lot to take in. Hell, it's a lot for me to take in, but… I thought I'd die in there without ever getting to tell you. And I kept thinking that it was such bullshit that I've been in love with you forever, and you didn't know it because I'd been too young and dumb to realize."

In love with me?

That was twice now. She'd said it two different ways.

Is this for real?

Is this really happening?

Wait, why am I not saying anything back?

"What I did," she said. "Killing Negan... It's going to require an answer. The Saviors will come back. Maybe today, maybe next week. Hell, even if they don't, a Walker could get either one of us at any point. There's always some shit going down, someone else to fight. I just... don't want to die without you knowing. And now, you know."

And then she shrugged.

A goddamn shrug.

Like this was the most normal conversation in the whole wide world, and not the most life-changing words I'd ever heard.

'Daryl, I love you.'

'I've been in love with you forever.'

That was what she'd said, right? I couldn't wrap my head around it. She lingered for a moment, and then she started to walk away from me. I heard the squeak of Alexandria's gates opening up.

No.

I'm not ready yet.

I grabbed her arm. I wasn't ready to let her go or be surrounded by other people. This moment had been just us, and I was letting it slip right by. She turned back to me. I think she was about to say something, but she never got the chance. I caught a second of confusion on her face before I kissed her.

I caught her off guard, and her hands took hold of my shoulders to steady herself. I wrapped her up in my arms and pulled her to me as she kissed me back. I wanted her to feel that she was mine. That I'd never let her go again as long as I lived.

Feeling her lips on mine, the taste of her, I'd never get used to it. It opened up that hunger in me I'd never felt before. It made everything else shrink away. It was her and me and this kiss, and nothing else existed. I kissed her harder, deeper, tried to pour all of the things I couldn't say into that one kiss.

I love you, too.

I could say it, right? God knows I'd tried to enough times. I could just come out and say it.

"Naomi!" someone yelled. Probably the only person in the world who could've interrupted this without me being mad at them.

Naomi pulled away from me, and the world came crashing back down around us. The gates to Alexandria were open, and Mia was running full speed out of them, calling Naomi's name over and over. I watched the smile break out across Naomi's face, and it was so beautiful it made my heart soar.

She's mine. This girl is mine.

Naomi let go of me raced to her sister. I watched them meet in the middle and wrap each other up in a hug so big it sent them both toppling to the ground. My girls. Back together.

I walked toward them both, my lips still tingling from that kiss. My heart still racing a million miles an hour. I felt light-headed. Light all over. As I got closer to them, I couldn't tell if my girls were crying or laughing or a bit of both, but when I looked at them my heart felt full for the first time in my life.

This was it. This was what I'd been fighting for. And Naomi was right. Any of us could die at any point. This might be all we got, but this moment right here, that was what it had all been about. I would lay down my life for the pair of them.

I was going to leave them to it, walk away from them and give them some privacy. Didn't want to intrude on this reunion. But then Mia mumbled something into her hair, and Naomi turned and said, "Yeah, he's right there."

They both looked back at me, through teary, happy eyes.

"Hey," Mia said.

"Hey." I didn't know what to do, what to say. If they both thought I was weird for standing around looking at them. They sure seemed amused by something.

Then Naomi held out an arm and beckoned me over. "Get in here, dumbass."

I knelt down on the ground beside them and wrapped my arms around them both.


A/N: Happy 10 years of TWD everyone! I know I'm a few weeks late but this week is technically 10 years since Daryl's first episode aired so let's celebrate that and pretend that's what I all planned along! (Rather than admit I meant to post these earlier but then they got too long. Why not write shorter chapters, you ask? I TRY TO, IT'S HARD)