I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this story, but we finally made it to chapter 50 (holy crap)! I apologize to y'all for making it seem like I had abandoned this fic; I always promised I'd finish this, even if it took 50 years, and I'm holding to that. The past year was full of many ups and downs, and I really just needed a break from writing and to take a step back and focus on other things. Now, I'm hoping this update marks the start of a refocus on writing and this story, because I really want to be able to mark it as completed at some point. It's been such a journey (I started this over 3 years ago!), and I want to personally thank each and every one of you who is still hanging around and interested in the story. I seriously think I have the best group of readers a fanfiction writer could ever ask for. I know it's been forever since the last update, so you might need to go back and refresh your memory of the last chapter, since this one is jumping right back in where we left off. Enjoy! 3
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Your ability to speak had momentarily left the building, as you stared back at Negan with what was sure to be a deer in headlights expression for a long, drawn-out moment. Mind whirling with how to respond to his accusation without also throwing Trixie under the bus, you finally stammered out a shaky, yet truthful, denial.
"I don't know what you were told, but the test wasn't for me."
A muscle started ticking in the side of Negan's jaw, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He looked as though it was taking all of his physical effort not to start yelling, for which you were grateful, since him losing control of his temper usually meant there was slim-to-none chance of reasoning with him.
Continuing hesitantly, you added, "I asked for one from Carson, but it was for someone else."
At this point, you realized that it must've been the doctor who told him about the test. Your subconscious suggested that perhaps it was Amber, since she had probably been in here not long ago with his dinner tray. However, your brain insisted that Trixie had been truthful when she said she was done with Amber. Besides, Carson was terrified of Negan and would probably rat out anyone in the compound, especially if he thought it meant getting on the leader's good side.
"You really expect me to fucking believe that?" he growled through gritted teeth, hands leaving the desk as he straightened to his full, imposing height. "Fucking think again."
A spark of anger ignited in your gut at his immediate dismissal of your words. Part of you wanted to give some snarky reply or go off on him for his lack of trust in your honesty. How dare he jump to his own conclusions and refuse to consider that they were wrong! He wouldn't be satisfied unless you gave the answer he was expecting, the only answer he currently saw as truth. The helpless realization hit that he'd rather you admit to fucking someone else behind his back instead of getting off his high horse and realizing that perhaps his assumptions about the situation were incorrect.
You didn't want to go down this rocky path again, thinking back to your last fight a week and a half ago, out in the gardens. Both of you had thrown words like knives without stopping to consider the repercussions, and you had come away from the experience emotionally bloody. You didn't have the mental capacity to go through that again, and if every hurdle with Negan was going to lead to an all-out brawl that set your relationship back multiple paces...then was it even worth it?
Shoulders sagging in defeat, all angry retorts died before they had a chance to leave your lips. If, despite the last few days, he could still think so lowly of you, then why even try to argue? He'd jumped to anger and accusations, rather than rationally asking for your side of the story, and that hurt. God, you were so sick of situations with him leading to you feeling hurt. No one deserved to feel unheard and misunderstood by someone they cared about, and you'd be damned if you fell into his trap by even continuing this conversation.
Looking him square in the eye, with what was hopefully a neutral expression, you deadpanned, "I told you the truth. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you."
Turning for the door, you made it two steps before his voice barked out your name.
"I didn't fucking say you could leave!"
Twisting your upper body so that you could glance at him over your shoulder, it took everything in you to stay calm, to not fight fire with more fire. Instead, you wanted to douse the flames of the fight before they could truly be ignited.
With a wave of your hand towards the box on the desk, you said, "If that's what you really think of me, then we're done here."
And with that, you turned and walked out the door. Half expecting him to say something else or come out in the hall and demand you turn back around, you weren't sure if it was relief or despair that cause a loud sigh to leave your lips, when all that came from behind was silence.
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Focused on getting back to your room, which was a safe space away from any prying eyes and ears, you speed-walked down to the third floor. You vaguely acknowledged passing Maria in the hall; she said your name as you walked by, as if she wanted to stop and have a conversation, but you ignored her and just kept walking. You didn't have the energy to deal with anyone right now and just wanted to be alone. Your silent dismissal was probably rude, but you didn't overly care at the moment, instead making a mental note to apologize to her later.
When you were inside the small bedroom, with the door closed and locked, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe. This tiny space had become your own personal sanctuary within the Sanctuary, and for the umpteenth time since your interactions with Negan first began, you were beyond glad to be assigned a single room with no bunk mates.
Refusing to just sit and dwell on the situation until you worked yourself into a panic or flood of tears, you instead grabbed your notepad and flopped down on the bed. Laying on your stomach with chin propped on the pillow, you tried to focus on the meal plan and kitchen job assignments you had started organizing for next week. However, you barely made it through Monday before the words turned blurry on the page and you were blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. When one of the bastards escaped, rolling down your cheek and plopping onto the lumpy pillow, you cursed before throwing the pencil and notepad onto the floor and turning over onto your back on the mattress.
Staring up at the ceiling, you started counting the tiles, noting a tiny crack in one that was two rows down and three columns over from the door. After you finished tallying up all of them, you did so again, and again. You were on your fourth round, the simple task just mundane and simple enough to calm your mind, when you were startled by a light knock on the door.
Rather than respond, you kept counting, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and leave. You had just started the exciting game of Tile Count for the fifth time when the knock came again, this time a bit more insistent. The hair raising on the back of your neck at the first light tapping had already given away who was on the other side, and you refused to fight anymore with the probably still pissed-off man standing outside your room.
"Go away!" you called, irritated that the noise had caused you to lose your place, and starting back at the corner from zero.
There was a long silence, so long that you started to think perhaps he had actually listened, when his voice came, deep and slightly muffled by the door.
"We need to talk, doll."
The locked door as a barrier made you brave enough to flippantly reply, just loud enough for him to hear, "Why? You apparently think you know everything already."
Another long silence. You had to admit, that was surprising. You had expected his reaction to a comment like that to be anger and a demand for you to open the door immediately. In fact, you could almost feel him struggling to keep his cool, which gave you a small zing of satisfaction.
"Doll, are you gonna let me in or…"
Sitting up on the bed, the tile game forgotten, you fired back, "Or what?"
You ignored your brain and subconscious, both of whom were looking at you with exasperated expressions. This might not be the most productive of interactions, but hey, you had tried to explain things to him in his office, and he hadn't wanted to listen. Why should you want to listen now?
"If you don't open the door, then we'll just have to talk about it like this," he replied, voice still surprisingly calm and collected.
You paused and thought about that for a moment. Would he really discuss something like that out in the hall, where anyone could hear? Your brain and subconscious quickly answered at the same time with, Of course he would!
Giving a heavy sigh, you got up off the bed and walked across the room, dragging your feet with every step. You really would've preferred he give up and leave, because letting him in this room would give him a chance to either hurt you further or get back in your good graces. At this point, you didn't know which was preferable. Did you want him to push you further away or bring you in closer? And what the fuck did it say about this "relationship" that you didn't know the answer to that question?
Unfortunately, you knew that Negan wasn't going anywhere, stubborn as he was, so with a deep breath for courage, you threw open the door and tried to give him your best neutral stare. It was a bit difficult, once you saw the look on his face. The heat you had expected to see in his eyes wasn't there; instead, his face looked drawn and, dare you say it, almost ashamed. No, that couldn't be right. It must just be the glare from the overhead lights and your own buried hope that was causing you to see things that weren't there.
"What do you want?" you asked, trying to mimic his cool and collected tone.
"I want to talk, doll," he replied, staring back and waiting patiently for you to decide what would happen next.
Holding eye contact in silence for a long moment, you finally gave a sigh and stepped back, letting him in. He was dressed in a simple, navy blue t-shirt and dark grey pants, and you got a lungful of his unique cedar and spice smell as he walked past. Once the door was firmly closed, you turned and leaned back against the smooth wood, putting both hands on your hips and lifting an eyebrow at him expectantly.
When all you got in response was him looking everywhere in the room but at you, impatience caused your foot to tap and your mouth to give a slightly sarcastic, "I thought you wanted to talk?"
Finally looking over at you, he took in your body posture and facial expression, mouth tightening as he ran a gloveless hand down over his beard. Seeing his bare skin made you realize that he also hadn't brought Lucille with him, which caused a jolt of surprise. He took that bat everywhere, and you had to wonder how distracted he must've been, to forget something so important.
"Damnit, doll. I'm trying to fucking apologize!" he growled, hands now stuffed in his pants pockets.
Both eyebrows raised this time, as you gave him a quick look of surprise before schooling your features. "Well, then do it."
While part of you was floored that he hadn't come here to continue fighting, another part of you wasn't ready to dole out brownie points just because he was trying to apologize. After the things he had just accused you of in his office, trying wasn't going to be good enough.
He gave a sigh and gestured nervously with his hands, before saying, "Perhaps I was...a little hasty with my judgments...regarding the situation."
You huffed out a humorless laugh at his stumbling efforts to say that he was wrong. "A little hasty?"
He chewed on his lower lip while looking at you with a gaze dulled by discomfort and guilt. When you didn't offer any more support, just crossed your arms over your chest and stared back expectantly, his eyes dropped to the floor.
"I'm sorry, doll. I shouldn't have said what I did," he mumbled in a voice so low that you strained to hear. You opened your mouth to respond, but he beat you to the punch by adding, "I don't want this to be a repeat of last time. I don't want to almost fucking lose you again."
His words were like a punch to the gut, and you were glad he was still looking downwards and so didn't see your mouth hanging open as you stared at him with wide-eyed shock. While his words didn't totally wipe the slate clean, you knew what they had cost him to say. A straightforward apology from a man such as Negan was about as common as a walker turning vegetarian. You took a tentative step towards him, then another. Reaching out, you laid a gentle hand on his bicep, causing his gaze to finally rise and lock onto yours.
Giving a tentative smile, you whispered, "Apology accepted."
The tight lines around his mouth visibly relaxed, as his jaw unclenched and shoulders slightly dropped some of their previous tension. You stared at one another, both seemingly uncertain what to say or do next. Trying to lighten the mood a bit, you joked, "Did we actually just make some progress and communicate like semi-rational adults?"
He gave a light chuckle and raised his hand to cup your jaw, the calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across your lower lip. "I'd say we did, doll. I'm about as fucking surprised as you are."
His eyes became a bit more focused and intense, as if he was trying to read your mind. You had a split second to think oh no before he added, "I still need to know what happened though, and what you were doing with that pregnancy test. I'm willing to hear your side of the story and forget what Carson told me, but I need you to be fucking honest with me."
Shit. You didn't want to backtrack, not after how well things were going and the steps forward that were being made between the two of you. But you also couldn't break your promise to Trixie, not when she had placed her trust in you.
You knew Negan saw the conflicting emotions and panic written all over your face, because his hand dropped and he gave a warning growl of, "Doll..."
Muttering a curse that made his eyebrows raise in surprise at your vehemence, you dropped your hand from his arm and took a couple steps back, needing space to get your thoughts together. Gazing at him imploringly, you replied, "I want to tell you, but I made a promise."
You could see the first sparks of anger in that tawny gaze, and so hurried on. "Someone came to me, in confidence, and asked for my help. I can't tell you who she is, but I will say that it wasn't one of your wives. She thought she might be pregnant and didn't want to cause a fuss if it wasn't true. She didn't even want the potential father to know unless she was certain."
You took a breath and analyzed Negan's reactions to your words so far. His head was cocked slightly to the side and he remained silent. Satisfied that you had his attention, and that he was still calm and willing to listen, at least for now, you continued.
"I wanted to help, so I asked Carson for a test, that way he wouldn't know who it was really for. I told him it was for someone else, but it was obvious he didn't believe me. Not that I cared much at the time-" your eyes rolled upwards in annoyance, "-though I should've guessed he'd run to you the first chance he got. But the test was negative, thank god. And it wasn't that she was being unsafe; she assured me that they were using condoms, and it was probably just stress that messed up her cycle and caused her to panic. The situation is handled, Negan, I promise. I was there when she took the test, and I even saw the negative results. You don't have to worry about it anymore."
He studied you, searching your face as if looking for clues to fill in the gaps you had left. You knew that he didn't appreciate having information withheld, and hoped he wouldn't take your unwillingness to reveal Trixie's identity as a personal offense.
"I hope you're fucking sure about that. Because if it becomes an issue for me down the line, I'm gonna be fucking pissed, doll."
Bringing up your chin and using your no-nonsense voice, you replied, "I said it's handled. Which means it's handled."
Hazel eyes widened in surprise. "When did you get so damn authoritative?"
"When I started hanging around you too much."
Giving a smirk and genuine laugh that let you know he wasn't upset, Negan started towards you. You wanted to smirk in return, but instead backed up, maintaining the gap between your bodies.
"I'm still mad at you," you warned.
"Why, doll? I fucking apologized, didn't I?"
Just when he was about to reach out and wrap his arm around your waist, you sidestepped and scurried past him, stopping on the opposite side of the room, near the bed. "I want to know why you automatically assumed the pregnancy test was mine."
The playful smirk that had been on his face dimmed, as he realized he wasn't totally out of the clear. "I was being stupid, doll."
"Stupid how?" You knew the intelligent thing to do would be to let the topic go. He had apologized and admitted to being wrong, but you still felt the zing of hurt from earlier, when he had believed you were sleeping with someone else behind his back.
He sighed and grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "persistent woman," before saying, "When Carson told me you wanted a pregnancy test, my mind automatically jumped to the other day in the kitchen. Benny boy was being awfully fucking protective of you, and I'll admit my thoughts went in a direction that had me stewing by the time you came to my office."
Not this again, you thought. You didn't expect Negan and Ben to ever be the best of buds, but the pissing contest Negan had with someone who had been nothing but a supportive friend to you needed to stop. The easiest response would be to tell him that it wasn't you he had to worry about Ben getting too close to, but knew it wasn't your place to discuss Ben's potential love life. Negan needed to trust you, because you weren't going to keep defending against something that wasn't even close to the truth.
This time it was you who moved forward, coming to a stop right in front of the tense man who was awaiting your reaction. Reaching up, you took his face between your hands, the scratch of his beard against your palms as you locked eyes with him from a distance of mere inches.
"I'm only gonna tell you this once more, so I need you to really hear me. Ben and I are friends. We've never been more than that, nor will we ever be more than that. My love for him is 100% platonic, and vice versa."
His brows furrowed, and he reminded you of a petulant child, though you'd never say that aloud, as he questioned, "You love him?"
You'd swear his voice held a note of jealousy at the idea of you loving someone. No, that couldn't be right...could it? Sure, you and him were taking steps towards what might be some form of a relationship, but that topic was nowhere on the agenda for him. You were too busy watching Negan's face to see the exasperated look your subconscious and brain shared, as if they both wanted to throttle you for being in denial.
"As a friend, yes. I love him emotionally and platonically, but not romantically or sexually. And Ben has never given me cause to believe it's any different for him. He cares about me, so of course he's protective...just as I'm protective of him. And he's not going anywhere, so I need you to accept that he's a part of my life, and that his friendship makes me happy."
Your hands dropped from his face to rub along his shoulders; you could see the wheels spinning as he processed this information, and hoped that the words were finally sinking in. You didn't want two people who you cared deeply about to be at odds with one another, and you refused to be put in a position where you felt like you had to choose your friendship with Ben versus your...whatever this was...with Negan.
He finally gave a nod of affirmation, which caused you to exhale the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. His large hands rubbed up and down your sides, and you weren't sure if his actions were meant to soothe you or himself.
"You're right, doll, I misread the situation. I saw that test and lost my shit without even fucking considering there was another possible explanation. And when I thought of you being with someone else, I…" his words dropped off into silence.
You made a shushing noise and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, standing up on tiptoes and tilting your head to brush his lips with your own. He took the hint and pulled you in close, so that the length of your body was pressed against his.
"You still mad at me, doll?" he murmured into your mouth.
You pulled back and gave a saucy smile. "Only if you don't use that bed to show me how sorry you really are."
The look he gave in response caused a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, which quickly shot lower and became a deep, pulsing flutter of an entirely different nature. He caught your mouth in a deep kiss and pushed forward, causing you to walk backwards the couple steps needed before the edge of the mattress bumped into the back of your thighs. You were breathing heavily by the time he lifted his head, and it took a couple seconds for the hazy cloud of lust to lift enough for you to realize his gaze was distracted by something off to the side.
Glancing in the same direction, you saw the pile of condoms laying on your bedside table. They were the ones you had stolen out of the drawer in his bedroom this morning, and suddenly you were patting yourself on the back for thinking ahead.
This time his lips landed on the side of your neck, goosebumps erupting along your arms as he sucked gently at where the sensitive flesh sloped down to meet your shoulder. "First you take coconut oil out of the kitchen, now you're stealing condoms from my bedroom," he said between kisses and nips to your flesh. "You're outta line, doll."
His hand came up to cup a breast through your shirt, at the same time he whispered in your ear, "Now, how do you think I should punish this insubordination?"
You could only moan in response and gasp out his name, before falling back onto the bed and pulling him down with you.