Everything in this building was cold. Cold, hard metal biting into your skin. Cold air seeping into your bones no matter how close to the fire you sat. Cold whiskey burning your throat so you could stomach what you had to put yourself through. You felt more at home at the prison you had called home for nearly a year than you did in this plush bed. Even the bed felt like a coffin made of ice. Cold and alone. More alone than you had been in a long time. Sure, Negan didn't let you out of the sight of at least one of his more trusted henchmen, but you were still alone. You cursed yourself for all those times cramped in the Greene Farmhouse you wished for some time to yourself. Now, you would give anything to be back in that house, crowded around with all the people you now considered your family. The people who had saved you from dying bloody and screaming in a grimy gas station bathroom in Atlanta. But after what Negan did to you, what he did to Abraham and Glenn, maybe dying that day wouldn't have been so bad. At least you would have gone quick, never knowing the loss of all the ones you loved.

"Don't go throwing yourself a pity party," You say to yourself, looking up at the grey ceiling. It had only been a week at the Sanctuary, but it felt like it dragged on for years. Each agonizing touch of that murderer's skin on yours lasted a lifetime. You mostly got through it by picturing yourself taking that barbed wire bat he loved so much and bringing it straight down on his skull.

You shook your head, pulling yourself up in the bed, covering your naked body with the silk sheet. Who had time for silk sheets in the end times? Of course, Negan would. While you never minded a bit of luxury before all this shit went down, after spending so long sleeping on dirty sleeping bags and sometimes even just plain old dirt, even the standard cotton bedspreads of Alexandria felt excessive. That's probably why Daryl took to sleeping on the floor of Baby Judith's room.

Daryl.

The image of the quiet archer appeared in your head abruptly and you recoiled like a hand from a hot stove. It was like that every time you let your mind wander enough to forget that he was trapped in the Sanctuary as well, a prisoner in a more traditional sense. You were sure he was festering in his own guilt much like you were. But his was in part your fault.

When you had first met him, when he and Glenn saved you from being walker bait, he hadn't really wanted to speak to you at all. Glenn assured you it wasn't personal; Daryl wasn't much of a talker. It wasn't until you cleaned up one of his wounds and screamed at him to take care of himself instead of hurling himself at every dangerous situation her could find that he decided you could be trusted. When you lost track of everyone in the prison after the Governor's attack, you were surprised how hard he embraced you when you found him again. You had your differences, but now, he was your closest friend, a confidant in times when someone you could trust was as rare as finding water in the desert.

One of the other wives, Sherry, the newest besides you, had told you to wait to try any funny business. You were being watched closer than anyone else. The other wives could move pretty freely throughout the building. Sherry assured you that Daryl was alive, but that's all she would say. She had tactfully avoided answering you when you asked if he was okay. If you were being honest with yourself, you knew the answer to that already.

A knock on the door pushed your heart beat into overdrive. You calmed yourself down, reminding yourself that Negan never knocked.

"Come in," You said as if you had any control in this personal hell.

Almost as if summoned by your musing, Sherry stepped into the bedroom. "We're needed downstairs," She said.

"Oh," You said shortly. So far in your stay at the Sanctuary, you hadn't gone downstairs for anything other than to watch someone get their face melted off. It wasn't your idea of a good time.

One of the guards who had been standing outside the door moved as if to come into the bedroom as well, but Sherry held her hand out, stopping him short. "You think Negan would let you see his wife naked?" She asked.

"I-uh-," The guard stammered. You felt bad for him for a moment. He was even younger than you were. But then you remembered the sneer he had given you when he marched you into Negan's room earlier and suddenly you didn't sympathize with the boy as much.

"Right," Sherry said. "Just wait outside for her to get dressed, we'll be out in a second and you can walk us down."

The guard nodded dutifully and shut the door. You were learning that confidence was key here. With the Saviors in general, but also with Negan himself. Sherry appeared to have it in abundance. Maybe that's why Negan seemed to trust her despite her deceiving him at every opportunity.

Sherry turned back to you, her eyes showing an intense urgency. She picked up your discarded dress from its place on the floor, where Negan had tossed it earlier, and handed it back to you. "We don't have much time, come on," Sherry said. You hopped out of the bed, not really caring if she saw your bare body. There was no privacy in the wives' quarters. You had seen more of your sister wives' bodies than you had ever seen in your own.

"Time for what?" You asked, sliding into the skin tight black dress. Before the world went to shit, you were pretty used to wearing stuff like this, but after so long in torn jeans and t shirts, you felt as if you were putting on a straight jacket.

"Don't ask questions," Sherry said. "The less you know the better."

She flipped you around to zip up the back of the dress for you as you slid back on the ridiculous heels that made your toes cry out for the comfort of your heavy combat boots. Once you were back in the costume of Negan's doting bride, Sherry steered you out the door.

"All set," Sherry said to the guard.

"What's even going on downstairs?" He asked. "I didn't get a call for anything."

"You think they tell me anything, Peter?" Sherry said. "I just do what I'm told and march where I'm ordered."

You stared at Sherry's face as the guard led you down the hall but you still couldn't tell if she was lying or not. She had said it was better if you didn't know. But it worried you that she was so good at what she did, you didn't know if you were being helped or being hunted.

Just as you got to the stairwell, the guard's walkie talkie buzzed. "Peter," The voice on the other end said. "Peter, we need you back by the wall."

Peter shot a look back at you and Sherry, unclipping the walkie from his belt. "Can't, escorting two wives downstairs."

"Downstairs?" the voice asked. Your stomach clenched as you tried to read Sherry's blank expression to see if that had been part of her plan or not. "They can't just walk themselves?"

Peter looked you over again. "It's the new one."

"The other wife can watch her," The voice said. "Now come on. You wanna question your superior? 'Cause I'd be more than happy to tell Negan-,"

"I'll be right there," The guard said, jamming the walkie back on his belt. "You know where to go."

"I think we can manage," Sherry said, grabbing your arm firmly. The guard nodded at her and took off back down the hall. Sherry watched him until he disappeared before she pulled you along down the stairwell, her hand still gripping your arm.

"What's going on?" You asked.

"I said no questions."

You stumbled a bit on the steps, not used to walking in the heels, but Sherry righted you. You passed all the doors you recognized on the way down, finally getting to the bottom of the steps. Sherry pushed open the door, finding just another hallway lined with windows that still didn't lead to the outside. Music blared loudly, a song that was too peppy for the sullen atmosphere of the corridor. She hurried you down the hall, towards a row of doors. Sherry pulled a key from the bodice of her dress, unlocking one of the doors. You heard a grunt from the inside, but Sherry didn't move to open it so neither did you.

"You don't have much time, okay?" Sherry said. "I have to watch the door, lock him back up when I give a signal."

"What are you-," You said, even as she handed you the key and ran back down the hall. You were almost too afraid to see what was behind the door, but your curious nature won out.

You pushed it open, the creature behind it flinching in the sliver of light.

You felt as if the wind had been knocked out of you as you looked over the pallard skin and matted hair of your friend. You dropped to your knees next to him, wrapping your arms around his broad, naked shoulders.

Daryl winced at your touch at first, but as he realized who you were, he reached out, wrapping his arms around your waist and muttering your name almost as if it were a prayer.

"Jesus, Daryl," You said, pulling back to look at him. You put your hand against his cheek, trying to get him to look at you, but he kept his eyes down.

"Ain't nothing," He said gruffly. You spat out a tearful laugh.

"Bullshit," You said. Daryl finally looked at you, his eyes meeting yours. He glanced over your appearance. His gaze landed on a deep purple mark on your exposed collar bone. You tried to cover it with your hand quickly, but he reached his hand up, grazing it with his fingers.

"He hurting you?"

"I can take it," You assured.

"Ain't what I asked," Daryl said.

"You're worse off than I am," You said.

"You ain't gotta be here at all," Daryl said. "Stupid shit you pulled."

"That stupid shit I pulled saved your life, you ass," You said, your face burning red. This wasn't the reunion you had hoped to have with him, but it was the one you had expected.

"Ain't worth what you gotta do," Daryl said, his mouth a tight line as he looked at you through the greasy strands of hair. "I should be dead. Rather be dead than have to think about what he did. What he's doing."

"Shut the hell up," You said. "You're going to live, asshole."

You heard Sherry call your name from the stairwell. You figured that must be the signal you were supposed to wait for. You didn't want to leave Daryl like that, but you knew a half cocked escape plan would just get you both killed. Or worse.

You kissed his dirty cheek. "I'll come back, I promise."