Martinez told me what we did was enough, but I couldn't let that be enough. The new window was much fitter than the rest, which meant it would be obvious to Negan that something had happened to the car he desperately needed.

"Fuck him," Martinez told me as he walked away.

I wish I could have just left it be, but I didn't want to have the inevitable conversation about what happened and why when Negan came to pick up his car. So, as soon as the sun came up, I grabbed a bucket and sponge and walked down to the lake.

The water wasn't clean, but it was enough to wash the surface dirt off the station wagon. I dunked the sponge in the water and squeezed it out as I placed it against the car's window, wiping down the wet surface to clean it. Of course, this made the car too clean, and I had to work on the rest of the car.

My mind wandered as I scrubbed, the repetitive motion familiar in a way that used to be comforting. Before all this, cleaning cars had been something I enjoyed. It was just me, a sponge, and a bit of elbow grease. Washing the car was usually the final step, the finishing touch to a job completed. Now, it felt like another chain around my neck, another string Negan could yank whenever he wanted.

The stitches in my palm pulled and stung as I worked. I probably—I knew I should have left it to heal, but it wasn't as if I could just ask for more time, or that I wanted to. Just the thought of that had me picturing Negan's stupid grin. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I'd worked through worse. Better to just push through and get it done.

The dirt on my hands mixed with water running down my forearms, creating muddy streaks that disappeared into the sleeve of my shirt. It should have bothered me; it did bother me, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the weight I'd been carrying since finding out about Daryl. Since learning, Glenn didn't have to die.

I dunked the sponge again, wringing it harder than necessary. I wanted to scrub until my fingers bled, until this car gleamed like it just rolled off the assembly line, or until it rusted into nothing. Both seemed equally satisfying at that moment.

I heard Isaac approaching me as I worked, taking a moment to understand what I was doing before he asked, "Trying to get brownie points?"

"I just don't want to give him a reason to kill anybody because I broke the window on the car he wanted," I explained before turning to meet him. "Don't worry, Martinez thinks it's dumb too."

In all honesty, I didn't think Negan would kill anybody if I had broken the window and fixed it without being told, but I don't know what would have set him off, so I was covering all bases. I just wanted this done, and now this was the last step.

"So we'll hang out tomorrow, huh?" Isaac wondered aloud.

"Just let me be done with this, and we can hang out," I said. "I'm just giving it a once-over to get rid of the dirt on the windows, and I'm done."

I could see that he wanted to argue, but he was torn. "Alright."

He decided not to help me, not wanting to put his hands in the dirty water, and instead just watched me with a disappointed gaze. I knew it wasn't just because of the dirty water, so I grinned at him and looked over my shoulder.

"Come on now," I said. "We hung out yesterday."

"Yeah, and you still have some making-up to do," Isaac reminded me.

I shrugged, turning back to the car. I promised to spend the day with him again since I had broken the window and blown him off. I was partly doing the same thing again, but I wanted to wipe down the car before Negan showed up.

"What are we going to do when I finish here?" I asked.

"Not sure," he admitted. "But, whatever it's going to be will happen after you wash your hands, otherwise, I am gone."

"Not into the sexy girl cleaning the car visual?" I questioned.

"It's not that I'm not into it, but I'm pretty sure you need a wet shirt and a bra showing for that," he said. "Besides, I'm more into you than the visuals."

"All this talk just so we can sit on the ground and look at the pond," I grinned.

His face fell, genuinely betrayed.

"Sorry, but my house is full today, and I'm not doing anything at yours knowing Martinez can walk in at any point," I explained.

"Now I know why people liked the guard towers so much," he sighed.

"We can kiss," I offered, just as excited as I was about the other stuff. "Since I have a lot of making up to do."

He rolled his eyes but smiled. "Well, that we can do at mine."

Isaac didn't seem as excited about that as he was when we were talking about the other stuff. Though, in fairness, we hadn't gotten a chance to do that stuff since the first night, neither of us wanting to get caught again.

"You sure we can't just run away?" He asks.

I stopped. Running away like we had discussed a few days ago hadn't crossed my mind because it hurt too much to lose the dream house we had invented the other day. That, mingled with the loss of everyone else, was slowly killing me.

"I wish," I mumbled.

It took a few seconds to come back around to what I was doing, and when the car looked a little more presentable, I dropped the sponge in the bucket and left the water beside the rusted metal wall. Isaac looked just as depressed as I felt, realising that our plan to live alone was just something in our heads.

"Come on," he said. "We can play a game at mine, or nap or something. You don't look like you've been getting a lot of sleep."

I nodded, actually liking the idea of a nap.

Isaac was silent as we began to walk back up towards the house. People were getting their weapons ready by their houses, ready for another day of searching for supplies for Negan. I was afraid that eventually, we may have to start sending people out on longer runs like Tara and Heath or into the city, which was closer but more dangerous if Atlanta was anything to compare.

We turned the corner at the crossroads, the house in sight. Carl was sitting outside on our porch with Judith in his lap, taking care of her while Rick and Michonne were likely helping the others get ready or taking watch around the community.

"I want to go to Hilltop," Isaac blurted out of nowhere. "Someone should go up there and see Maggie, make sure the Saviours haven't found her there."

I was silent for a while, considering his idea. It was good, but there was no way of knowing whether it was safe anymore. The Saviours had already blocked our path to get there, which means they probably knew about the alliance. That made it more uncertain about whether Maggie was okay, and I understood why he would be worried about that.

"You think she's okay?" I asked quietly, the worry I'd been pushing down suddenly surfacing. I hadn't let myself think about Maggie much, afraid of what it would do to me. She'd lost her husband, her child's father, all because of someone's rash decision.

"I hope so. But we don't know what . . . what was wrong. Whatever complications she was having," Isaac said, clearly struggling with wording it. "I'm glad they at least have that doctor, but she doesn't know him. She doesn't have anyone she knows with her. After everything . . . show shouldn't be alone."

"She has Sasha." I reminded him gently, trying to assure both him and myself. The thought that he'd put in my head of Maggie suffering alone made my chest feel tight.

"I know. But . . . I'm just scared for her, I guess. More than scared, worried, sad . . . I just keep thinking about everything we've been through. Then I think about everything she's been through. After everything with Beth, and then her dad, and . . . then . . ."

Glenn. I silently finished. Relieved that he never bothered to say it himself, we knew who he was talking about. He knew I knew. He'd said enough.

The idea of Isaac leaving, being gone with no communication or updates until he returned, filled me with anxiety. Anything could happen the moment he left the gates. Even more could happen since the Saviours.

But even if he wanted to go, I really had no say on what anybody did anymore, whether they were allowed to leave the camp or do anything aside from gathering supplies for Negan. I was one of the only people who even had a different job, but what I did was still for Negan.

"Are you sure that's safe?" I wondered quietly.

"We have people going out on runs all the time now," Isaac reminded me as we walked up the porch to go inside his house. "If the Saviours were going to be waiting for anybody, we'd have found them by now. The only reason we ran into Negan the other day was because we were all searching the same buildings."

I frowned at the tone. "It's not like I don't want you to go and see Maggie; I want to see her too."

"I know." His face softens.

"Besides, it's not me you talk to about that stuff anymore," I reminded him. "If you want to do something like that, then you have to talk to Rick."

"Yeah, that's what I was worried about," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Rick doesn't hate you," I told him.

He shrugged. "He doesn't like me."

"How do you know?"

"We just don't talk that much, alright?" He said. "And I know what's going to happen, I'll tell him I want to go, and he'll say how we can't spare any people. I don't need any more people, I am perfectly capable of getting myself to Hilltop."

"That makes one of us," I joked—I wasn't sure I could navigate to Hilltop again.

He didn't seem as entertained as I wanted him to be, but he was still working through the fact that he would have to ask Rick about going to the Hilltop to see Maggie. They never really had the best relationship since Rick was one of the people involved with his mother being left behind.

"Okay," he conceded, glancing around the room. "What do you want to do? Game, sleep, kiss?"

"Option D," I decided. "All of the above."

"I'll go and find the cards," he said.

Isaac disappeared upstairs, returning a few minutes later with the deck of playing cards.

"Switch again?" he asked, shuffling the cards with practised hands.

"Something else this time," I said. "Unless you're scared I'll beat you again."

Isaac rolled his eyes, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. "Just for that, we're playing Rummy. My mom taught me, and I was unstoppable."

"Big talk for someone who lost at Switch three times," I teased.

"That was just me being a gentleman," he insisted as he dealt the cards. "This time, no mercy."

I picked up my hand, trying to keep my face neutral as I sorted through them. Not bad, but not great either. Across from me, Isaac was already rearranging his cards.

"So, all this talk about you being unstoppable," I started casually, "was this before or after you learned to count cards?"

"I'm offended," he gasped in mock outrage, clutching a hand over his heart. "I would never."

"Uh-huh."

"It was pure skill. Mom used to say I had a natural talent for patterns."

"That's what all the card counters say."

Isaac and I did all of those things, finishing up by sleeping on the sofa in the living room. It was a lot longer than the nap he had suggested before because every time I shifted to get more comfortable and open my eyes, the room was getting darker and darker. I was really tired.

We were lying together, me on the inside of the sofa pressed up against the back, and him on his side next to me. It should have been the other way around, because I was boiling being tucked up between his warm body and the sofa, but as it got darker and the room got colder, I found myself liking the added heat.

When it was completely dark outside, Isaac jolted awake at the sound of the door slamming closed and rolled over before falling off the sofa and hitting his knee on the table. The sudden movement startled me, so I sat up quickly to untangle my legs from the blankets that trapped them. The lights switched on, making the room fuzzy.

"What the—?" Isaac groaned, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes.

I cupped a hand over my eyes and looked around the room for a moment before finding Martinez standing in the doorway. He only grinned at my confusion and Isaac's pain before shrugging his shoulders in dismissal.

"Sorry," he said, trying to look innocent through the fake apology. "So . . . what was going on in here?"

I groaned, pushing myself back until I hit the cushions behind me. "We were sleeping."

"Sleeping, huh?"

"Yeah, sleeping until you came in here, slamming all the doors," I snapped.

"There's only one door." He raised his hands defensively when he saw my glare. "I'll make dinner."

I sighed, rubbing my temples as he began to walk away, a little embarrassed about his first thought when he saw me and Isaac asleep on the sofa. It was everybody's first thought after Rick saw that hickey on my neck the first time we were together. At least he didn't resort to teasing us too much.

As Isaac pushed himself back up onto the sofa beside me, Martinez called back from the kitchen, "You need it after all that sex!"

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as I felt Isaac shoot up from the couch. "For fuck's sake, Martinez."

"I heard that!"

"I wanted you to hear it!" I yelled back.

"What?" Martinez appeared back in the doorway. "Like the whole house doesn't know what you two get up to. These walls are thin, you know."

"We were sleeping," Isaac and I both said in unison. Isaac stressed the point more, and I may have continued to raise my voice with it.

"Sure, sure," Martinez nodded, returning to the kitchen. "I'm just saying, if you're going to do it on the sofa, maybe put a blanket down first. Common courtesy."

"I hate you," I called.

"No, you don't. You love me—everyone loves me," Martinez said loudly, voice carrying from the kitchen. "Now come eat before you waste away to nothing."

Isaac and I exchanged glances before reluctantly following him into the kitchen.

Isaac and I went back to sleep in the garage that night, leaving the sofa for Martinez, who lost his bed when the Saviours took our furniture.

The Saviours showed up long after we had gotten up to go about our days, and I opted for waiting beside the station wagon that Negan wanted. Either he or someone else would be there to pick it up and show me what I needed to fix for the week after.

Some of the Saviours gave me a look as they passed to go and see the infirmary, storage building and apartments, but none of them had any intention of coming to give me another car or any instructions. That's not to say they didn't give a sneer or jut their heads towards me like they wanted to fight, only to laugh as they walked away. The Saviours were really just a group of teenage boys.

I leaned against the car, trying to look casual despite the way my heart pounded in my chest. The constant anxiety of what they could do and what could happen was almost worse than the actual visits.

Almost.

It was Negan who was the first person to come over to me, giving me the usual look and spin of his bat that made me shudder. But I stood up straight, keeping my arms crossed over my chest and the bandage over my hand hidden beneath my elbow.

"Mac, I was talking to a lovely fucking person over there asking where the hell Mac is with my station wagon, and they said they didn't know any Mac, but the person who works on all the cars is over here," Negan told his story like I had any interest in what he had to say, though, it didn't take a lot to see where he was going with this. "Your name is Ace? That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard!"

I looked up from what I was doing. "It's a nickname."

"It's still dumb."

"You're—" still dumb . . .

Something told me I shouldn't have said that. The words died in my throat as Negan's gaze sharpened. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual mocking smile.

"I refuse to call you Ace." He all but stamped his foot.

I shook my head. "What is it you want from me?"

"I just want your name to be Mac!"

"And how is that better than Ace?" I asked.

He didn't answer, not that it would have made any more sense if he did. He'd probably just gotten used to tormenting me, making fun of the fact that I still had my name on my clothes like a child, only to find out that it wasn't my real name. Now, he had to find a different way to grind my gears, which wasn't all that difficult anymore.

I just crossed my arms and stared at him, waiting for him to get over his new revelation and say what he wanted before he found out my name. In all honesty, I couldn't wait for his reaction when he discovered that Ace wasn't my real name either.

Negan seemed to recover quickly, his posture shifting as he leaned into my space just enough to make me uncomfortable without seeming threatening. It was a skill in its own twisted way.

"So, where's my car?" He grinned. "Mac?"

I raised a hand to the station wagon that was waiting at the gate where I had been cleaning it just before he showed up.

"I managed to find out what the problem was— I mean, I replaced everything that could have been making it cut out. The pump, some electricals . . . driver's side window."

Negan raised a brow as he circled the car, his gloved hand trailing along the hood as he inspected it. Each tap of his fingers against the metal sent a jolt through me, like he was marking his territory. In a way, I suppose he was.

"I don't remember there being anything wrong with the window."

"Yeah, I broke it. Threw a wrench through it, cut my hand," I raised the bandaged hand, "and had some help replacing it with a window from the station wagon where you found me the other day. That's why I cleaned it, because the new window was so much dirtier that it would have been obvious anyway."

His eyes dropped to my bandaged hand, something almost like amusement flickering across his face. "Let me see."

It wasn't a request. I hesitated before extending my hand, palm up. Negan caught my wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he turned my hand over, examining the bandage with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

"Who patched you up?" he asked, a little too casually.

"Aaron," I answered, seeing no reason to lie.

"Good job." He nodded, releasing my hand. "Wouldn't want those precious mechanic fingers getting infected, now would we?"

I didn't answer. Just watched as he turned back to the car, going back to the window and staring at it intently. His eyes seemed to be critically assessing it, as if checking it for the cracks that would have been there the night I broke the window. My chest expanded with a sigh, and I rubbed the back of my neck.

"Sorry," I said after a long stretch of silence.

Negan raised a brow. "Sorry?"

"I'm not going to say I didn't mean to break it, but I should have known better." Why was I apologising to this guy? Whatever, hopefully, it'd make him leave sooner.

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, abruptly, he laughed, a sharp bark that made me flinch despite myself.

"Honest. I like that," he said, tapping Lucille against his leg. "Most people would've lied their asses off. Made up some bullshit about how it got broken on a run or some shit. But not you."

I didn't respond. There was nothing to say. My honesty wasn't a virtue; it was just exhaustion. I was too tired to come up with a lie he'd see through anyway.

"This have anything to do with what I told you to ask about?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter to me," I said helplessly.

Nothing would ever matter to me as much as losing Glenn did. Not this car, not him. Nothing.

"It doesn't?" He raised a brow. "You aren't hurt knowing you only had to lose one person that night."

The question hit like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I fought to keep my expression neutral, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply his words cut.

"Didn't have to lose anyone . . ." I left the rest unsaid. If Negan had ruled the way Rick did, we could have had with the Sanctuary what we had with Hilltop. A new trading partner and friend. But instead, we ended up with this—with him.

He grinned. "I beg to differ."

There was a moment of tension, his eyes locked on mine like he was waiting for me to break, to give him some reaction he could feed on. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

"What am I supposed to be doing this week?" I asked, changing the subject.

Negan walked back around the car.

"Well, it turns out you were right." He slapped a hand down onto my shoulder. "The guys think it's the timing belt, and none of them want to change it. But you're in luck; they wrote down some instructions so you have some idea of what to do."

He turned me around to look at the truck that had been rattling back on the road before he pulled out a folded, yellow piece of paper from his back pocket and held it up in front of me. I took it and methodically revealed the worst piece of instructions I had ever seen written on a piece of paper. It was more like hieroglyphics than actual writing.

"Who the fuck wrote this?" I scoffed.

"Fucking awful, ain't it?" Negan grinned. "If they send anything up for me I gotta ask someone else down there to write it out because Johnny is a fucking jackass. Anyway, I hope you know how to do it so you don't need that to help."

I wanted to ask for another week just to try and understand the written instructions that were handed to me, but that wasn't in the deal we had hashed out the other day. Whatever, if I was going to spend a week ripping my hair out, then this car was as good as any to do it over.

"I, uh—" When I finally started to understand words, I nodded. "Yeah, okay. Fine, whatever. I guess I'll take it up and get started now."

"Great," he grinned. "You do that, maybe I'll be up to pay you a little visit before I go."

Oh, goodie.