Work Text
Oh how the mighty do fall.
His neck still throbbed, despite nothing remaining but fresh pink scar tissue. That's all that was left of his defeat; the thin line that would always mark where he'd lost everything to Rick Grimes. For the first time in a month his fingertips prodded at that puckered flesh, no trace of a scab left; nothing to open, nowhere to run. Fading into a memory was all that was left on his plate.
Negan had never expected this. It had never been part of the plan.
"Get out," Michonne's steely tone commanded his attention, not having noticed the van coming to a halt. The look on her face hadn't changed since that first day, laid up in recovery; hatred, burning sorrow, a begrudging stoicism. He knew this wasn't her idea, and knew that she wasn't thrilled of it either. But Rick was in charge - and what he said became law. She jerked her head and tugged on his shackles, the young woman across from him keeping a trained aim on his head with her weapon. There was no option but to follow. "Move."
"I'm gettin'." he grumbled in response, stepping out into harsh sunlight. He knew where he was almost instantly; Alexandria, Rick's home base. Where once he'd walked those paved roads a haughty conqueror, now he was just a criminal with a broken crown. With awkward, shuffling steps, his manacles keeping his feet close, he followed Michonne's lead as she and her party paraded him towards his prison. It seemed as though most of Alexandria - the ones that were left - had come to see this shameful march, the tyrant undone. It was eerily silent, as their eyes watched his steps; to some he didn't even look like Negan anymore. His leathers were gone, his scarf, changed out for faded denim and an aged blue button down. His beard had started to grow in, his hair trimmed short - it revealed the grey roots those long expired boxes of black dye had been hiding. Even his shoulders were slung low, though his eyes still held some of that dangerous pride that had brought him up; and in the end, had done him in.
If he remembered the layout right, his new home wasn't far from Rick's personal abode; down they took him, into a vault of cold concrete, a barred window offering the room's only light, the same bars quartering off a portion of the space. This was it. This is where he'd live out his days. This was where he'd be forgotten.
Michonne didn't unshackle him until he was in the cell, her companion still eager to shoot if he was about to pull any punches. He wasn't. As he rubbed sensation back into his wrists, she didn't move. "Shoes too."
He gave her a look of derision; depriving a man of sunlight, fresh air, freedom was one thing, but his shoes? He glanced down at the laced up trainers. "Are you fuckin' with me?"
"Hey--!" Michonne's hot headed friend was ready to make those words his last; but the swordswoman raised a hand to stop her.
"Calm down, Tara," she muttered, returning to her task. "Won't do to have you hanging yourself by your shoelaces, Negan. Lose 'em."
It made sense; a martyr would do more for his people than a lowly prisoner would, and they would avoid that at all costs. "Fine," he muttered, toeing off his shoes at the heel, kicking them past the cell entrance. "Happy to oblige."
She bent slowly to pick them up, keeping her eyes on him like a tiger's on its prey. She nodded to Tara, giving her the go ahead to exit as she shut to iron bars of his cage. It was the first day of the end of his life.
"Rick will come by at some point," Michonne spouted; she wasn't sure why she felt the need to explain that to him. "Lunch is at 1:00. You'll take what we give you."
Negan's dark eyes showed he was listening, though he seemed to resist every word. "Of course I will; what else would I do, complain to the fuckin' concierge?"
His attempts at levity weren't something she would tolerate; Negan had done too much, been too wicked inside for her to allow him his jokes. "You'll be quiet. You won't fuss. And maybe you'll finally do some good for people."
She paused before she left, taking in every inch of the beaten down warlord; even now, he barely seemed a shadow of who he'd been. That didn't matter though. His actions still demanded payment. Negan merely shrugged in response, raising his brows. "Go on n' stare," he sighed; it wasn't a dare, so much as it was a surrender. "I ain't goin' nowhere."
Michonne's lips pursed, her gaze more steely than her sword. "No," she said firmly. "You're not."
For the first time in months, Negan was alone. Nobody watching him, nobody treating his wounds. He was locked away, in silence and solitude, and it felt different than how he'd imagined it.
It felt so much worse.
He thought he'd feel like a circus animal; chained up and gawked at, his monstrous nature on display for all those who walked by, a clear warning of what happens when you live too large, when your heart grows too black. He thought his cautionary tale would be one he'd take part in; but no. He wasn't some animal to stare at, he wasn't any living thing at all. He was a memory; a bad dream that everyone was trying to forget. He was worse than a ghost; he was being tethered there by others, forced to be an observer as the world carried on without him. In some ways, it was worse than death.
It didn't help the rage that still festered quietly in his belly.
He inspected his new home; 10 feet by 10 feet, the unfinished cement cube was all he'd know now. It was more than sparse; a bedpan he was most certainly not thrilled with using, a stool, and a bed roll. This was his reality now; but what good were possessions to a ghost after all? What need had he when he was on an infinite 'time out'? A shade of worry crossed him for a moment; perhaps he'd go mad, left to his own devices for days on end, to silence and nothing and noone. One could only jack off so many times before chaffing became a problem, and then?
Then it'd just be him and his thoughts.
Pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, he took a breath as he tumbled down to his cot; it was hard but not lumpy. He'd sleep, but not well. Eyes closing, his chest tight with fury, he breathed the only word that brought him some peace in dark moments.
"Lucille."______________________________________
It was the sound of metal against metal that woke him again; it sounded familiar but wrong. He'd grown used to the sound of wire on metal bars, but this sound was softer, tinny. Just a repeated, ongoing tapping that didn't have him opening his eyes. It was annoying.
"Up n' at 'em, big bad."
The voice was decidedly unfamiliar; and that got him to stir. He blinked open to an unknown woman at the door, half hidden by shadow. Her foot was tapping impatiently, but what really caught his eye was the tray of food in her hands.
'At least I'm eatin'.' He ran a hand across his face, moving to stand before the sound of scraping metal stopped him; she'd slid the tray under a small opening at the bottom of his cage. It was clear the Alexandrians wanted as little contact with him as possible, physical or otherwise.
"Go on," her voice coaxed with no particular emotion in it. He tugged the meal closer, seeing a scoop of baked beans and a hunk of bread waiting for him. It wasn't anywhere close to what his kingly palate was accustomed to. "It's not poison."
He cocked a brow at the shadowy woman, snorting. "That really inspires fuckin' confidence don't it," he scoffed, pinching the bread between his fingers, dragging the crust through the slimy beans. It was gelatinous and barely warm, but it'd fill his belly. "Scrumptious, darlin'."
She didn't reply but for a quick, haughty exhale, standing awkwardly in the dim light of his jail. She'd been instructed to wait til he was finished. It wasn't much food, but if the man was half the attention-seeker everyone claimed he was, he'd want to drag it out as long as possible.
Sure enough, he paused his chewing, gazing up to her face. "You just gon' watch?" He wondered aloud, draping his hand on his bent knee. There was the circus animal feeling he'd been expecting.
"They told me to wait til you're done," she replied matter-of-factly. "So I'm waiting."
Negan, never one to say no to company, particularly to that of a woman, nodded and dipped his bread again. "Gotcha," he murmured, continuing despite a mouthful. "Where y'from? That's no Southern accent, know that."
His caterer had no plans to reveal much of herself to the captive beast. "Don't have to tell you that," she shrugged. "Don't see how that's any of your business, either."
His brow furrowed; she was a tough nut. But that's likely why they chose her. "Just gettin' to know my new pals, sweetheart--"
"Don't call me sweetheart." Pet names were reserved for intimate relationships; and she hadn't been privy to those in years.
His lips formed a thin, exasperated line. "Fine; what do I call you then?"
She swallowed, glancing at the tray then back at him; halfway done. "Cook." It was the most accurate thing she could think of.
He gawked a minute, a grimace on his face. People weren't going to trust him, he knew that all too well, but what could he possibly do with a measly name? He sopped up a bit more bean juice with his crust, staring at her all the while. "Cook," he snorted. "Isn't that beautiful. Is that a family name?"
She rewards him with a snort of her own; in another life she might've found his sarcasm charming. "It's what you can call me, and that's all you need to know."
His skin prickled at that, fingers tensing and flexing in annoyance. He thought he was getting somewhere with her, but she wasn't budging; it was true. He wasn't going anywhere. He shook his head and returned to his food, finishing the last morsels and sucking his fingers clean of any drippings. Something tapped his lax knee; he looked down to find a half empty bottle of water there.
"Finish that too." She instructed. She wasn't letting big bad Negan die of starvation or dehydration on her watch. Though it did surprise her as he downed it of his own will.
He smacked his lips, exhaling a quenched sigh. He piled the now empty bottle onto his tray and slid it back to the hole in the door, just enough so one edge came out the free side. "Menu leaves somethin' to be desired, Cookie," she hummed in derision and he smiled. "Think you can scare up some fried chicken for tomorrow?"
She knelt down, into the light cascading between the bars, and Negan got his first good look at her. She was pretty, with a smallish mouth and nose, and dark hair beginning to fleck with strands of grey. Her eyes were a startling green, like sea glass, and flickered in the sunlight as if they themselves were a light source.
He'd be lying if he said she didn't make his dick twitch.
"You'll take what you get," she stated coldly, jade eyes sharpening on him. "You're in no place to make demands, tyrant."
He met her hard stare with a smile, throwing his hands up in submission. "Chef's pick then." She gathered up the used kitchenware and moved back into her shadows, pausing as Michonne had to look at the felled warlord. 'Go on n' gawk,' He thought to himself, staring right back. 'Get your kicks.'
"You're really not what I expected." Her dark hair cascaded to one side as she cocked her head. It felt like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out.
He returned her inquisition with a salacious wink that almost made him feel like his old self. "I rarely am, sweetheart."
She stiffened again, starting up the stairs. "Cook," she corrected. "Or nothing."
Maybe his sentence wouldn't be so terrible after all.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Lenna didn't understand, at first, why Rick had selected her. She'd been called in to the makeshift council shortly before Negan was scheduled for imprisonment. She'd never seen the man, had only ever done battle with his underlings. All she had were stories from the front, and they made him sound like a living nightmare. So when Rick Grimes had decreed she be the one to feed the fallen villain, she was understandably confused. "Why me?" It'd come across whiny, but it was an honest disbelief. On the other side of a long table sat Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Gabriel, the leader equipped with a notebook. He stopped writing at her question. "I-I don't mean to make waves, but why choose me? The guy's a monster, isn't he? I'd think this task would go to somebody..." 'Tougher? Better equipped? Not me?' She could think of a hundred reasons. Rick's blue eyes were intense as they cast over Lenna. It was true, she'd never even seen Negan during the war; the closest she ever came was to the lieutenants, most of whom were dead. She hadn't been colored by Negan's actions, she hadn't been there, at Sanctuary, at the clearing; that was part of her selection. "Let me ask you, Lenna," Rick drawled in answer. "D'you think you'd kill 'im on sight? If you just walked into a room, n' there he was - behind bars - would you end 'im without a second thought?" She eyed her worn, steel toed boots for a moment, and tried to picture the man she'd never seen. It was hard to conjure based on stories, but even knowing the atrocities he'd committed, she didn't feel that murderous urge. "I s'pose not." She finally stated. 'Might even thank him.' Rick nodded slow. "Afraid I can't say the same of everybody else here. I need someone who won't be a threat-" "--Negan should know he's threatened," Daryl's rough scratch of a voice piped up, still furious at Negan's every breath. "He shouldn't get to feel safe." Rick shot him a look that shut him up quick. "Be that as it may - the remainin' Saviors don't need a martyr. We're not them; and we don't need t' stoop t' their level," he threw a grim smile at Lenna. "I have faith that she won't." "It ain't about who's on what level," Daryl wasn't finished, apparently. "It's about him payin' for what he's done. Payin' for the lives he stole--" "--is blood s'posed t' pay for more blood?" Rick spat back. "What's it gon' do? Will Negan's death bring back Glenn? Abraham? My--" he swallowed the word - true though it wasn't Negan's hand that took Carl, but the pain was fresh. Rick Grimes was done with death. "He is goin' to live with the pain he caused. He'll know what he's done; and that's all the life he'll ever get." Lenna stood and listened to the two men bicker; she was surprised it was still an argument. While she was fully aware of all Negan had done, she'd never been a big believer in the death penalty. As she herself could attest, sometimes living was a fate worse than death; and as terrible as the tyrant had been, not every casualty broke her heart. It made sense, choosing her. "I'll do it," she cut both men off before their voices could raise any louder. "I'll be the lunch lady, or whatever." Rick seemed to visibly relax while his compatriots tensed simultaneously. "Thank you, Lenna," he rasped, flipping through his notebook and tearing out a page. "This is what we've set aside to feed him. I know it's scant, but--" "He'll live," she rolled her eyes as she took the sheet. It was mostly canned goods - or used-to-be-goods - and stale, homemade loaves of bread. It'd keep him fed. "Besides, I'm used to stretchin' a meal. I'll get creative." Rick gave that grim, tight smile again, lowering his tone. "And you'll tell us," he added, sounding firm and forceful. "If he says anything worthwhile. 'Bout any stashes of food or ammo, anything useful." "Sure thing."____________________________ The man was vulgar, she learned that quickly. True, his exposure to women was limited to herself and sometimes Michonne, but it was clear Negan was a horndog long before he wound up in that basement. He'd take any opportunity to ogle her backside when she bent to pick up his tray, and even as he ate he had a way of picking her apart with his stare. She didn't care all that much, though. Bars between them kept him from acting on anything. A low whistle flew through his lips when he saw her stretch; a full body yawn had got away from her, arms raised and pulled above her head, making her back arch, chest raise and her shirt rise up. He made a mental note of a scar on her belly; he wondered where it'd come from. "Damn, Cookie, you takin' requests? Wouldn't mind you turnin' round n' showin' me how you touch those little toes." She snapped back into a neutral stance, tugging the hem of her Henley past the waist of her jeans. "I'm not here for you to get your rocks off, dickhead. Eat your food and be done with it." He paused on his last bite of a strangely tasty veg sandwich; she didn't leave til he was done, so why be in a hurry. "Think I'll take my sweet time," he purred, his eyes dragging over her like claws. "Rick sure was generous, pickin' you to look after me. Guess even a prick like him has to recognize a man's got needs." Her brows knitted into a glare, but she didn't balk; she'd heard worse things from worse people before Alexandria. "Fine, you want to talk? Go for it," she ground out. "That's all you are is talk; nothing for you to do behind those bars." In an instant he was gripping said bars, the remnants of his sandwich tossed to the side. It was suddenly abundantly clear that he did not like his imprisonment being made light of. "These can't hold me forever," he growled, tightening his grip on the irons. "Rick's obsessed with gettin' his new world; he's just makin' it all fuckin' pretty for me. And when it's done, and it's ready," his eyes went almost black as they zeroed in on Lenna. "I'm comin' to you first." She felt a twinge of fear run down her spine for a moment - she was witnessing a glimmer of the Negan everyone else knew. But she had faith; this prison was well made, and bless Rick's sentimental heart, he'd never let this monster out again. "It'll be a cold day in hell when you walk free, Negan," she hissed, in no way afraid as she stepped closer to the divider. "This is the bed you made yourself, and you'll lie in it alone." As much as it infuriated him, he liked her stepping closer; he could see her better, the little lines in her skin, a scar here or there. "You just wait, Cookie," he grinned. "Rick didn't put you in my path for shits n' giggles, I can tell that much. He wants you to be a distraction, but all you are is another goal," his tongue darted across his lips. "That I most fuckin' definitely will achieve." She didn't want to admit it, but that thought gave her doubt. She knew her particular situation made her a good choice for the job, but there were other Alexandrians who hadn't seen him up close, who had less complications; had Rick chosen her for eye candy before anything else? "Ou, there it is, I see it," Negan's index finger spun in the air, gesturing to her face. "Now you're not so sure -- why else would Ricky boy stick such a fine drink of water on dog-feeding duty?" His grin only grew wider as he saw the uncertainty deepen. "Maybe he thinks you'll keep me occupied. Docile." Sure, she did worry that was the case; but if it kept the beast fenced in, she'd live with it. "So I'm somethin' to look at," she shrugged, her gaze steeling. "So be it. Spout off whatever conspiracies you want, too; I've got my own reasons for being down here." He raised his brows in intrigue. "Oh do share with the fuckin' class, baby." Anything to keep his attention; to keep him from being alone. She smirked at that; the upper hand was hers again. "Another time. I've got more important shit to do today," she gestured to the fallen apart food on his floor. "I'd suggest tidying up your cell. Unless you want rats." He was fuming, but the idea of rodents crawling around him didn't seem to appealing. He scraped up the bits of veg and bread he could, piling it onto the tray before kicking it under the door. As she knelt to retrieve it he made a mental note that she was at level with his dick - some things would never change about him. "You know you could try not being such an asshole," Lenna offered with a grimace. He'd eventually bent to her request, but she knew it was a massive adjustment. "There's only so many people for you to piss off before nobody comes to see you." He didn't respond, just watched as her ass swayed up the cement steps, up to freedom. She was right, he knew that; she was a minor reprieve from the endless loneliness, and so far he was just shoving her away. He had to take what he could get. ____________________________ As she left the prison basement, Negan's feeding completed without much of a hitch, she couldn't help but wear an expression of perplexity. That was the vicious Negan everyone had warned her about? Who kept people up at night? It didn't seem right. It felt like she was looking at a strung up shark or a stuffed tiger; any real threat was gone. He was just a chained up dog, barking at the end of his leash. "Have fun with your Savior?" A sneering, lilting voice hit her ear from a nearby stoop, and a headache almost immediately came on. "Bet you had plenty to thank him for!" Jessica. Of course it'd be Jessica. Lenna turned, an exhausted expression on her face as she clocked the blonde on a stair. She was pert and tiny, but perky in the right places; she'd survived by sleeping her way to safety. In the last months though, she'd gotten skinnier to the point of bones, and her face was looking more pinched than slender. That particular afternoon, her eyes were puffy and red from tears. She clearly missed Steven far more than Lenna did. "Is he the big bad beast everyone keeps saying?" Jessica went on, sniffling like a child. "Or is he all sweet to you? You'll take what you can get, huh?" Lenna's hand crunched around the water bottle in it, but she didn't want a fight. Not another one. "He just ate," she replied. "Now if you don't mind, I have my own daily shit to deal with. I don't need to put up with you too." "Bet you swallowed!" Lenna struggled not to see red at Jessica's accusatory sobs. "Bet you dropped to your knees, opened wide to thank him for doing what he did!" She wanted to whirl around, slam the tray into Jessica's blond head til it turned red; but instead she just got in close, eyes as cold as the frozen sea. "I'm no whore," Lenna hissed. "And last I checked, the only one who's been sucking dicks they shouldn't be sucking around here is you." She turned and stormed off before the ditz could get another word in. She just wanted to get home; even if the quiet was that much more disturbing. She'd just concentrate on her newest chore. He'd need to eat again.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It came to her as a practicality. She was making food anyway; why go about preparing two completely different meals when she could just do one? It's what lead to her scrambling eggs, seasoning them with past-their-prime spices, and throwing in veggies from her weekly allotment from the council. She made it for her tastes; and with the condoned extras of bread and beans from the council as well, both she and Negan would be eating better. Maybe he was used to something spiffier - but she'd not stand anymore lip from him. She carried the tray out under a tea towel; as much as there wasn't anything wrong with what she was doing, she didn't want the citizens of Alexandria getting the wrong idea. It wasn't meant to be a kindness, merely a time saver; but to the wary eye, it would look like sympathy. She didn't attempt to dwell on why she'd mind as she made her way down the basement steps. He was waiting for her, holding onto the bars at attention. "You're back," he sounded strangely relieved. She didn't think she'd put that much fear in him with her little snap the day before. But then, isolation was regular for her, and new for him. He feared it more than she did. "Didn't think y'would be." She stood awkwardly a moment, shifting her green eyes to some corner of the room he didn't occupy. "Somebody's got to feed you," she replied. "And I don't see anybody else volunteering." Negan nodded, a sigh breathed through his lips. "Brave little thing, aren't you sweetheart?" "Yes, yes I am," she agreed, setting the tray down and sliding it under the bars. "and I've told you before, Cook or nothing at all." Normally he would've protested, flirted to get his way; but he needed to come to terms with the fact that this limited way of life was now his normal. "Cook," he took his spot, back leant against the wall as he slid down, tugging the covered food over; he was shocked to find what looked suspiciously like an omelette staring back at him. "This... this is real food." She forced down the hint of a smile; it'd been years since anyone was honestly impressed by her cooking. "If you keep staring at it like that it's going to get cold." His first bite almost made him feel like the man he once was; the peppers and tomatoes in it still had a fresh crunch, and was that garlic he tasted? He tipped back on his ankles, humming in delight. "Holy fuckin' fuck," he groaned praises, going for another fork full. "That's like sex in my mouth!" Lenna knew she shouldn't feel any glimmer of pride over a murderer's praise, but she did. It'd been a long while since she'd cooked for anyone but herself. She didn't accept the praise verbally though, simply watched him chomp away, eating with the gusto of a free man. He finished it in half the time he normally took. "Hot damn," he purred in satisfaction, licking the remnants of egg from his lips. "Cook, your talents are wasted down here; that's the best thing I've ate in goddamn years." She allowed a smirk at that. "The other half of it is waitin' for at home," she wasn't sure why she was bringing it up. "Good to know I've got something to look forward to." "Damn straight you do," Negan chuckled, glancing up at his personal chef; he liked her smiling. It made him feel younger, freer; but he knew he couldn't follow where she went, or anywhere at all. He glanced to his now empty tray, and scolded himself for eating so quickly. "Guess it's a short lunch today, huh?" She didn't miss the sadness in his tone as he toed the tray beneath the opening. Sighing, she did something unexpected; she sat down, fully planted on her bottom, side by side. Aside from the bars. "They give me a half hour to do this," she explained, crossing her legs, moving to massage her denim covered ankles. "Who's to say how long it takes you to eat?" He stared a moment, a playful grin stretching under his beard. "Cookie, look at you, bein' the risk taker!" "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you've smartened up since yesterday," she suggested pointedly, raising a brow. "This doesn't have to be a long visit." She was right; and he'd realized it the moment she'd left the day before. He wasn't king of any castle anymore, and if he wanted time with anyone he'd have to play nice. "You were on the money; I was a proper fuckin' asshole yesterday," he shrugged an admission, much to her surprise. "But to be fair, I'm an asshole every goddamn day. It's my nature." Her disappointment was evident on her face, arms crossing over her chest. "Wow, heartfelt. Really, I'm so touched." Negan grimaced and wrung his hands on the bars; he apologized often enough, but it was few and far between he actually meant it. "I was sayin', it's in my nature, but I'm still sorry. I'm still new to this whole 'prisoner for life' song n' dance... I don't really know the steps yet." She frowned, shaking her head. "It's not a song n' dance; its your life now. I don't know exactly how you got to where you are, but it's where you're staying. You can try and make the best of it... or keep being you." Negan snorted in response, crossing his arms. "I've been me for a long ass time now, Cookie. That's what my momma always taught me, be myself - hard to bust out o' that." She felt a mild chill, but Lenna didn't let it show. She knew he was appealing to her better angels, but it wouldn't be so easy. "So you think your momma would've been A-OK with all you did during the war?" His eyes narrowed at that, his lips pursing. "Fine with you swinging that bat, bashing heads, shouting how big your dick is with every move you made? Because none of that strikes me as momma's boy behavior." "I was taught t'save people," he grumbled; the bubblings of his old self were near the surface. "Sure it didn't exactly pan out like I planned... but there are plenty folks alive today 'cause of all I did." "Plenty folks dead, too," his Cookie seemed to have a retort for any argument. "And that's well and over with now. Only people you need to concern yourself with now are Rick, Michonne and you." 'At least til I get out of here.' He ran his tongue over his lips, giving her the once over again. "You forgot about yourself there, swee-- Cookie." She threw her hands up in a devil may care fashion. "So far I'm not seeing any reason to stick around; so I doubt it'll be me bringing you chow for much longer." It was a bluff - she had no idea if she could just walk away from this job - but he needed to know what his actions were doing. With a drop of his shoulders and a relinquishing sigh, he dipped his head in a nod. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "I know I was a dick to you - I apologize," he'd make his concessions now; when he got himself free he'd sing a different tune. "Just bein' stuck down here, listenin' to Rick go on and fuckin' on about his new perfect world, it makes a man antsy." "You're making excuses," Lenna's time alone had made her biting, honest. "You can say it's your nature, or you're adjusting, or whatever the hell you want, but explanations aren't improvements," he had to wonder if she was some kind of self help guru bullshit before the end, her language was so strange. "I accept your apology. Hope I get to see some nicer Negan in the future." Regular, free Negan wouldn't have stood for that snarky motherly talk, but something in her stance, her no nonsense tone, had him wanting make good on himself. To be better. "I'll do my damnedest, Cookie," he crossed two fingers over his heart, that dimpled smile appearing in earnest. "You're way better company than the Prick... if that takes some pleases and thank yous then I'm all for it." She sighed, but nodded. Baby steps. "Guess that's the best I'm gonna get out of you, huh?" "For now," Negan quipped. "Nowhere to go but up." 'Nowhere to go at all.' But he didn't voice that. Right at that moment, he simply basked in the company of his mysterious lunch lady. Her body relaxed a little, relented some of its stiffness, as she accepted any interaction with the intriguing monster in the cell would be an uphill climb. "I best see some strides then." He smiled then; but it looked unfamiliar on him. It was soft, compromising, and with it brought on a tired brow and weary eyes. It didn't look like the Negan she'd gotten to know at all; and it made her wonder if this was the version that lived underneath. "You'll see 'em," he swore, crossing his heart with his fingers. "I mean, fancy ass food and top notch conversation? I'll make it happen." She felt a little hope then; but quashed it quickly, remembering the tales of his charm and disarmament. "Good." She decreed. Nowhere to go but up. ________________________________ Lenna was still surprised at how apologetic the old beast had been that afternoon; somehow, it didn't check out. She knew the horrors, she'd survived, the day the Saviors had come with Sasha. Negan was a monstrous hulk of a man who wanted things his way, not some diplomatic, friendly faced type... or was he? She'd only ever heard the stories. It had been dumb luck and skewed timing that kept her from ever setting eyes on him in his former glory. During the attacks on Alexandria, she'd been tasked with watching over the children. In the visit that killed that brat Spencer, and her friend Olivia, she'd been tending the beginnings of a garden. In all honesty, Lenna happened to have any and every excuse for not coming into contact with the Saviors or their leader. And in herself, she knew why; she'd been afraid. Almost everyone had been afraid, but she called herself cowardly for it. She knew the death and desolation that laid past the sheet metal walls, but that merry band of murderers were something beyond her. She'd seen a handful tromping through the streets, the odd brute grabbing and shaking down another civilian; she'd helped to treat Aaron's wounds when he was beaten by them. It all stoked a fear; one that was thoroughly quashed when she'd set eyes on the fallen leader for the first time. Still, the conversation irked her. He'd come up with the right excuses, the sympathetic ones that would make him look tragic, forgivable. She knew that tactic, had heard it before; but there was nothing to be gained from playing that game with her. She just brought his food, stood there for thirty minutes. In the grand scheme she had no say on what happened to him, how he was treated. He had nothing to gain, but for her being there. A daring part of her, something from her youth, wondered if her presence and uniqueness really meant that much to him. The practical, world-weary self she'd become decided he just liked her cooking. Alexandria was quiet, in a gentle hour of peace when she ventured out for a stroll. It wasn't quite dusk, the sun just beginning to turn the town gold for the evening, and it happened to be her favorite time to be out. The rest of the community were settling for the day, eating their dinners, some paying social calls, but for her part, she enjoyed the quiet. It was a chosen quiet, somewhere she could be comfortable. She often wandered, at such times, just letting her feet take her where they willed; and somehow they walked their most familiar path, the usual route to the cell. Of course, she made no move to descend; no way in her right mind would she choose to socialize with him. It was strictly prohibited; and on top of that, it'd be societal suicide. She was already a grey spot amongst the Alexandrians; making nice with Negan would turn that grey to black.And yet, when his face peered up from the window that lit his cell and his hand jiggled in a greeting, she almost instinctively waved back.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The day to day of prison life dragged on for Negan. He got used to his only visitors being Rick, the Cook - Cookie, which she'd stopped objecting to - and sometimes Michonne. Aside from that, his days were near undisturbed, only the hustle and bustle of life going on without him outside to keep him occupied. He was quickly beginning to understand why solitary confinement was considered cruel and unusual punishment. Even at his worst, he never kept his prisoners confined for more than a week; death, he'd found, was better for weeding out the unworthy. So with him still breathing, what was he worthy of? That question hung in the air more than any other. Whenever Rick came to see him, it was most often to gloat. He'd go on about catching another one of his Saviors, how he'd convinced them to turn over new leafs, and how the communities were starting to knit together, accept each other. Negan never bought it; Rick couldn't see the forest for the trees. His Saviors were scavengers, surviving on what could be found. Or taken. And now they were to be turned into some farmers? It'd never work. On top of that, Negan could sense the rest of Rick's dissolved militia were not as forgiving. By his word, the Saviors had done terrible things; it would not be forgotten so quickly, and the wounds they'd left would only be soothed by blood. Vengeance was on everybody's minds. He didn't need to be out in the world to know that. But what was he to do about it? There was no stopping Rick on his feel-good, togetherness tour, and as vigilant as he was, he couldn't watch everyone every moment of every day. Negan had given up on offering warnings; if this was his only means of entertainment, he'd watch Rick Grimes fold in on himself, until everything blew up in his face. At least it was something to do. Well, outside of his time with Cookie, anyway. "Soup's on, big bad," he'd gotten to like her voice, sweet but chiding, when she showed up each day. In her hands was indeed a thick stew; the gardens of Alexandria were beginning to flourish. "Somethin' a little different." "So long as it's you bringin' it, Cookie," he stood on ceremony, sauntering the few steps to the edge of the cell where she stood. She smirked through the bars, wide enough that she could just hand him the bowl. "Might as well be a banquet." "Go on n' eat," she waved a hand dismissively. "I've got stuff to do today." "You're a shit liar," Negan chuckled, leaning against a cement wall as he dug in. For a prisoner, he always felt he ate better than his station allowed; all thanks to this woman who wouldn't give him her name. There was always a bit more spice, a heavier flavor than there should've been in standard issue slop. He liked to think it was because she liked him. "I know damn well this is the highlight of your day." She didn't respond, just shook her head and sighed; she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of knowing he'd grown on her. She took her usual spot, leaning against the free wall as he ate, slurping down the soup. It was mostly roots - potatoes, turnips and carrots were sprouting plenty - and a chicken bouillon cube from before the end lended a richer flavor. A little flour and it was good to go; she'd made enough to last them both a few days. She liked the cooking part of the job; it'd been her chosen profession, before life had got in the way, before all the dead and heartache. Sure, she didn't have the luxury of popping to the grocery store whenever she wanted, but the new restrictions offered a challenge. It was something to do. "Mm-mm!" Negan's tongue slid across his lips, savoring the thick broth of her cooking. "Really Cookie, you treat me way too good; beginnin' to think you're sweet on me, darlin'." She met his dark eyes through the cage door, screwing up her face in a frown. "Just got to keep you fed," she shrugged, eying the half empty bowl in his hands. "Makes more sense if I just cook in a batch. Saves me time." "Yeah? You used to cookin' for two?" He asked. As much time as they spent together, he knew very little about his provider. "Is there a Mister Cookie I don't know about?" He didn't miss her body tensing at that, her fingers flexing into white knuckles for a moment; he'd hit a nerve, and he wouldn't forget that. "None of your business, inmate," she called him that when he really pissed her off. "...but no." He took a moment from his daily meal to appraise the woman across from him; she was younger than him, but past her mid thirties. She looked like the type of woman who'd lived a life before the end, not that she was saying a peep about it. He wasn't going to rush though; no need to go burning a bridge that wasn't yet built between them. "So," he sucked on his spoon, relishing the broth. "All o' the sudden you've got other plans? You're hot shit around here now aren't ya, big brave badass puttin' Negan in his place every lunch hour." "Don't talk in third person, you can't afford to be more pretentious," she quipped back. "I uh... I'm reporting to Rick today. About your meals." He gawked at her with an insulted look. "Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" He scoffed, attention entirely pulled to his cook. "The dickhead's handing out report cards for fuckin' lunch time now?" He did have his way with words; but Lenna merely shrugged. In the back of her mind she wondered if she shouldn't have mentioned the meeting at all. "It's more like a physical. Wants to be sure I'm watching you eat, that you're not cheekin' the food. He's not about to let you starve yourself." She chose to omit the part where she was to tell Rick of any useful info Negan might've slipped in; because there was none to speak of. The man wasn't too chatty about the inner workings of his fallen empire. "Good lord, what an anal-retentive son of a bitch. Everything's got to run just so for that guy," he may have been caged like an animal, but Negan's dislike for Rick had only grown with each passing day. He still wished he'd never paused, that terrible day under the tree. "So, what happens if I get an A? Gold star? Extra dessert?" He cocked a brow. "Recess?" She smirked, shaking her head. "You know that no amount of good behavior is going to get you out of here. I don't know why I even bothered telling you," Lenna cast her eyes away, though she wasn't sure why. "He just wants to know what I know." Of course he found frustration in the reminder that he would never again know freedom; but he was more so intrigued that she'd told him at all. Setting down his now empty bowl and spoon, he set his focus on her. "Maybe you don't like keepin' secrets from me, Cookie," he offered, draping his hands past the crossbar of his cage. "I'm good n' honest, maybe I'm just rubbin' off on you." Her brow furrowed at that; she wasn't picking up anything from him but empty lunch trays. He just happened to be the only person in Alexandria who didn't know her lamentable back story; it was nice to not get looked at the way all the other Alexandrians did. "I'm just making conversation," she muttered. "And may I remind you, you don't know nor do you need to know shit about me. Now if you'd kindly pass your utensils back to me, I have a meeting to get to." His blood bubbled up, and a snarky comeback leapt to his throat; but he pushed it down before it left his lips. His mystery chef was under the Prick's scrutiny that day; if he said the wrong thing, she could get pulled or replaced. No more extra special meals, no more snappy talks. No more pretty little Cookie. So he used his bare foot to slide the tray and its contents back to her, complacent and polite. She looked a little dumbstruck. "I can play ball too," he explained, still ogling her as she bent to retrieve her tray. "Recess or not. No reason t'go being a dick to ya; not when you're such a peach to me." The terrible Negan, choosing not to be a dick? Now that was worth talking about. __________________________________ "I just wanted t'say, before we get started," Rick set down in the chair across from her, sharp blue eyes looking bashful. "That I do appreciate you doin' this for us, for me. I know how Negan can be with women... so I'm sorry if he's bothered you so far." Rick had come to see her at her home; it was unusual, given that it seemed like council business. He must've thought she'd feel more comfortable within the privacy of her house, but he was wrong. It felt invasive, like a repossession; he'd certainly never been to her home on any other ocassion. Almost no other Alexandrians had. She cleared her throat, eying her hands in her lap. "He... the prisoner has been fine," she started, noticing a look of skepticism on his face. "W-well not fine, of course-- he's just... he hasn't been bothering me about anything." Rick's arms crossed, a little bewildered. "...really?" He marvelled. "He's just been eatin', nothin' to shoot his mouth off about?" She blinked quickly, her words not coming off right. "No, I mean he is eating, and he talks... talks alot... but he hasn't been insulting me or anything. He just... babbles, I guess." "Uh-huh," Rick nodded slowly. "And this babblin'... he go on about anythin' important?" Lenna knew that part of her job had been to listen, keep an ear out for any secrets the former warlord would spout, but in truth he just hadn't. She'd been wracking her brain, trying to find some hint at what could've been helpful... but most of their talks consisted of him cracking bad jokes or complimenting her food. He wasn't spilling top secrets, not to her. "Not really. He'll try to make jokes, he'll ask me my name, try n' find out more about me. Outside of that, nothing too handy." Rick's brow knit together. "He doesn't know your name?" 'Shit, why did I say that?' Lenna's cheeks pinked for a second, but she didn't have anything to be embarrassed about. "I just don't want him knowing it. He just calls me cook, I'm happier that way." She likely had some deeper seated issue there - wanting to be someone other than Lenna Wilkes - but she wasn't delving into it. Rick's face didn't change, but he found himself quite pleased with her words. He'd hoped, in choosing Lenna, that not only would she be the least likely to kill Negan, but she would provide some level of distraction to the inmate as well; and she was. She'd created a mystery to herself, and Rick knew enough about Negan to know the man must've been curious. Time spent thinking of his cook was time not spent planning escape, revenge; it was a better outcome than Rick could've asked for. "That's all fine. I'd be glad t'go back to a day when I didn't know his name," he offered wistfully; the war had taken so much, and it'd all begun when they'd learned that monster's name. "I can't fault ya for not wantin' him to have yours." Her smile was thin and tight on her lips; it felt strange to be smiling there, in that instance. "Thanks. Aside from that..." she eyed the ceiling, studying the cream shade on the plaster. "Not much else to mention." Why hadn't she told him about the argument? How Negan swore that when he got free, he'd be coming to her first? She thought it an empty threat, as he was locked up tight, no odds of him weaseling his way out; yes, that's what she told herself. No use crying wolf when the wolf could do nothing but whine. It seemed to satisfy him; she was serving her intended purpose, the plan was working. It seems the choice of an indifferent, attractive loner was the right one in the end; and it stroked Rick's ego. "Well I'm glad t'hear you're toughin' it out," he decided the situation of his own making was a benevolent one. Lenna had a decent job, Negan kept at bay. "I got to tell ya, I wasn't set on lettin' a lady deal with his crap from the get go, but you're holdin' up strong." She assumed he'd meant it as a compliment, but Lenna was offended; he didn't know a thing about her, never bothered learning. Just took Steven at face value, took her introversion as guilt. He'd never bothered to find out what she herself was capable of. It had her feeling jilted, and a bit mischievous. She threw on a cool smile, looking Rick square in the eye. "I'm glad I could surprise you," she said, standing from the table. "You know, it's almost dusk now; are you hungry? I was just about to heat up a stew." He looked a little nonplussed, awkward. "Oh I-- I wouldn't want to put ya out, I've got a few more stops--" "Nonsense!" She snickered, swatting his shoulder as she walked past him for the kitchen. "Even you need to eat, Rick. Besides, I've got enough saved up for two." There was no further arguing from him; with a few quick stirs over her stove, she was spooning an extra bowl of roots and broth for the community leader. Rick's southern sensibilities had demanded he'd stay; and maybe something old fashioned in him liked her gentle smile, setting the stew before him. It took him back to a time in the before. "Thanks," he hoisted a spoonful to his mouth, surprised by the quality and flavor that found his tongue. "Damn that's-- sorry, that's real good, Lenna." Lenna simply nodded, working on her own dish, laughing in the back of her head as the great Rick Grimes ate 'prison slop'. 'Holding up strong, my ass.'
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The new world with its burgeoning peace was a tense one, to say the least. The people of Alexandria steered as clear as they could from the house, the cell where Negan was kept; he couldn't harm them anymore, but he was a nightmare none wanted to walk back into. The wariness resulted in almost silent surroundings for him, only the odd mumble or scrape of metal drifting down to his ears, and in that he learned that he missed the sounds of others more than he loved to hear himself talk. It made him appreciate his visits from Cookie all the more; and not just because her meals seemed to better with every visit. He liked her, and her wit. He was enjoying the last bites of one of her specialties - a vegetable sandwich, that she somehow reinvented each time - as she curled up against the further wall. The days were getting shorter, autumn was coming on; or so she'd told him. "Squash are coming in really nicely," she wasn't specific, sort of listless and elsewhere in her speech. "The gardeners planted acorn, butternut, pumpkin... the kids have been pretty excited about seein' them grow. Some are so young they don't even know what pumpkins look like." He studied the far off look in her eye, but again, didn't press. Negan wasn't going to fuck up his one good thing. "I could fuckin' demolish a pumpkin pie or two when I was growin' up," he chuckled, tugging a chunk of zucchini from his sandwich. "Think you can rustle me up one o' those?" He expected a scolding, maybe to be called inmate. "Yeah, we'll see." She wasn't even looking at him. It was decidedly clear that Cookie was not in the same room as he was. "Whipped cream, too?" He dared, digging to see how far away she really was. "Maybe if I'm good you'll let me lick it off your titties?" She didn't respond at first, so he cleared his throat pointedly; it snapped her eyes to him, suddenly aware. "Did you say something?" "Okay," he sighed, adjusting his position to sit cross legged, right up against the cell bars. "What's got you so distracted, Cookie? What, am I not good enough entertainment?" Huffing a breath, she ran a hand over her face, trying to shake free of the gloom filling her head. "Believe it or not, I don't spend every second thinking about you, Negan," she could see that he wasn't taking that as an answer, hazel orbs still drilling into her expression. "Just got some shit on my mind. I don't like this season much." "You could talk about it, if it'll help that sour puss on your face," he cast his arms out with a smirk that was meant to disarm. "Not to point out the obvious here, but ya got yourself a captive audience." She grimaced; she didn't talk things out to anybody anymore, and giving a piece of herself to the former monster didn't seem like a good choice. Where would she even start. "I'm just here to make sure you're fed," she stated. "Last I checked, you're the chatterbox who likes to talk my ear off." He wasn't taking the jibe as bait. "Thing about talkers; they make pretty fine listeners, too. Promise I won't tell anybody whatever's eatin' ya," her eyes met his again, soulful but looking particularly empty. "You... you just look so sad." And that set her off; she snapped up to her feet, her weary expression turning to a fiery glare. "I look sad!? Gee thanks, asshole, just what a lady wants to hear from a fucking inmate!" He matched her stance but tried to calm her. "Wait no, hold on now--" "I'm not pouring my goddamn heart out to you, and I'm not innocent in your shit sympathy, fake or otherwise!" Venom seeped into her voice, hands clutching tightly in fists. "You have no right even speaking to me like that, like you think you even know me!! Fuck you, Negan!" He got a few protests in before she was stomping her way up the stairs, the door slamming shut with such force that the bars themselves shook. He groaned a defeated sound, staring down at his feet. She hadn't evened bothered to take her tray. ___________________________________ Lenna walked through the streets of Alexandria like a one woman hurricane, her anger and grief blustering inside her. 'How fucking dare he!?' The question repeated in her brain as she tore past any random citizens who were out - not that they greeted her. 'I look sad! He's the guy who's living out his days in a cement box and I look sad!?' She wanted to break something, anything, scream and roar; but not til she was home, til she could be away from innocent bystanders, from people who didn't care-- "S'cuse me, Lenna?" "WHAT!?" She whirled so fast and so violently she nearly smacked the person who'd called to her; in her rage she hadn't even noticed someone waiting on the walk of her house. Aaron. She never minded Aaron, he wasn't the worst of Alexandria in her book. "S-sorry Aaron, I... what's up?" She expected one of Rick's right hands to be summoning her, wanting new intel; he'd come with something much worse. "Uh it's fine... we had our first crop yields. Figured since you're having to deal with that bastard in the basement, I could bring you your share." With that, he gestured to a bushel of lumpy gourds on the lawn; except for one, perfectly round, bright orange sugar pumpkin. Her stomach turned and her heart sank. "Oh gosh..." she finally managed to creak out, giving him a half hearted smile. "Thanks, Aaron. I'll uh... I can do alot with these." He beamed in response, not catching the tearful gleam in her eye. "Glad to do it," he thumped a hand onto her shoulder; it felt unfamiliar. "I... I wasn't really on board with Rick's plan at first, but... I think it's the right call, keeping you at the stern." She kept her smile tight lipped, as well as her curt nod. "Just doing my part," she separated from his touch quickly, scooping up the basket of squash. "If I make anything good, I'll bring you some." Now that'd be a treat - he was one of the few residents who knew how good her cooking was. "With your talents you definitely will!" He chuckled and made his departure, giving a wave as she scurried past her front door. She had it shut just in time for the first sob to pass her lips, her body giving out in privacy and isolation. Her breath came in gasps, as she grasped the offensive gourd in her hands, squeezing so hard she might've crushed it. As hard as she'd fought that day, images and voices flooded her mind, random memories and painful thoughts. 'I want to carve a scary face this year!' 'How does my costume look?' 'You look gorgeous, pumpkin!' 'Can we bake the seeds too? Please?' 'I think I saw a pumpkin patch!' 'Can I go see mommy, can I?' With an ear-splitting shriek she hoisted the pumpkin in both hands, lobbing it with all her force against the closest wall; it burst with a dull thud, chunks of stringy flesh and gooey seeds spattering her home. Even as orange guts coated her shoulders, she curled up in a ball, the destruction barely soothing her pain, as her sobs turned into silent tears. In those quiet moments, the silence was a blanket instead of a poison, and she could steep in her heartbreak; though she didn't dare to do so for long. Dwelling too long in such a deep pit of despair, she might not crawl her way back out; and she was past questioning why she should. She just knew she had to. The sun was setting by the time she drew herself up, eyes puffy and red, but sated. She collected the chunks of pumpkin and its innards that now littered her hallway before heading to her kitchen; the squash couldn't offend her nearly as much if she took away its form, and pumpkin soup could go a long way. Even if she could barely stomach it. ___________________________________ She'd choked down the heavily spiced soup for her dinner, deciding the rest of it would feed Negan for a good few days; it'd be one less thing for her to worry about, and she wouldn't have to waste good produce. The other gourds she tucked into a cupboard, dark and dry and cool to keep them as fresh as she could. She took her time in that, and in her clean up of dinner; soon enough she'd have nothing left to do but to wait for sleep... and with the day she'd had, she doubted that'd come quickly. Lenna's room was modest, as was most everything in her world; her double mattress rested on a box spring, her dresser contained what few clothes she'd accumulated from scavenging, and her nightstand held a few books. She lived practically, even for their pre-modern reality. After all, what's a single woman like herself need frivolous things for? At that point in her life, she had no one she cared to impress. She chose to fight away the dread with a book, turning pages by candlelight, only half invested in the machinations of Paulina and Gerardo. She'd read it countless times, but the words weren't sticking like they usually did. She was repeating the same line in her head -- "I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to fix things up so that everything turns out right for you." "I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to fix things up so that everything turns out right for you." "I don't know how you do it, but you always manage to fix things up so that everything turns out right for you." -- over and over; until a thud from her porch gave her a jolt. Even in their protected community, she couldn't be too careful; slipping on her shoes, she grabbed a butcher's knife from her kitchen before making way to her front door. She heard no rasping or growling through the wood, likely not a dead one; but what she saw when she opened the door offended her all the more. A whole other pumpkin, smashed to pieces when it'd hit her house, now mucked its walls and front step with offensive orange and tangy odor. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a justified scream, and could only stare at the carnage in the instant. She didn't have to think hard to know where this gourd had sailed from; Steven had likely poured his bloody heart out to Jessica, his side of the story with its untruthful strokes and colorful tragedy. It seemed the little tart was carrying on his resentment in a much more open fashion. The emotion that boiled in Lenna then, though, was not the overwhelming grief or the crippling guilt; no, she found herself plunged into white hot rage. She didn't even bother cleaning up the chunks, not in darkness; but she did find her body moving as the anger blinded her. This time, images of that bastard raced through her head, with the lies and the blame and manipulation; it was all she could do to keep herself from grinding her teeth to dust as her body raced around on an apparent mission. She could hardly feel herself grab a candle, didn't even register the burn of the match she struck to light it. She set out with a more purposeful step than she'd walked with in years, though she still wasn't sure of her destination. Her feet just carried her. They carried her a few blocks over. To a walk up. But down, down into a basement. She didn't even realize where she was until she set eyes on Negan, seemingly asleep on his bed roll. 'What the fuck?' She wondered inwardly, the wax of her candle beginning to singe her fingers. 'Why am I here?' A sigh left her lips, just loud enough. Negan's eyes snapped open, his body startling up in a readiness to defend himself; but simply matched her surprise in seeing her standing there, awash in candle glow. A visit by a beautiful woman in the middle of the night? Perhaps his luck was turning. "I..." she breathed, careful not to emit too much noise. Her eyes darted around the cell, anywhere but on him, as she searched for an excuse; and found one. "I forgot my tray." It sat in the place he'd set it, no effort put into hiding it. At first he'd considered stuffing it under his bedding, to bash someone over the head with; but the prospect of a midnight tryst with his intriguing Cook was far more enticing. "So ya did," he remarked, standing and stretching out his long limbs. "Hope you didn't get yourself in any trouble over it; know Rick's got a stick up his ass about order." She shook her head, still staring at the tray. "No," she muttered. "Please hand it back to me." He didn't move to retrieve it just yet; Negan always had a talent for reading others, and it was painfully clear she hadn't come just to collect forgotten utensils. He couldn't just outright ask her though; that afternoon had proved that. She was like a deer, she had to come to him. "How'd you get in?" She blinked, only then noticing the weight in her other hand; she found her key to his cell resting in her palm. She'd done more than she'd realized on autopilot, it seemed. "My key," she said matter-of-factly. "The tray, Negan." Again, he didn't move just yet; she was a different woman than had been there earlier that afternoon. That stoicism she wore so effortlessly now seemed forced, and the signs of tears and anger were evident all over her face. Maybe it as purely out of the fact that she was his only company, but the mystery had Negan interested. Dare he say, concerned. "The tray," she repeated, shoving her keys in a pocket and stretching her hand through the bars. It felt like she was reaching into a tiger's cage. "I'm not supposed to be down here right now; and if you want me to be the one still bringing your lunch, you'll give me that and let me be on my way." She had a point there; but that look in her eye, it was haunting. Somewhat familiar... on the back of his tongue he tasted guilt. He grabbed the tray, standing to his full height and padding over to the bars slowly, close enough that he looked almost directly down at her; but she still didn't look up. She just held her hand out, waiting. "I wanted to 'pologize," he whispered, her head tilting up slightly. "Sayin' you looked sad. Wasn't my business to say it." She was surprised, and glanced up to his eyes; they were a deeper shade of brown, flecked with hazel, than she'd noticed before. Sure, he seemed sincere; but Negan seemed to spend every other second apologizing to her. She didn't buy any tricks; even if she'd been a little unfair in her reaction. "Thanks." She dropped her head once more. "If you are, in fact, sad," he continued. "I fully intend to listen. I get the feelin' you're not much for speakin' up around here, which is a damn shame for all of them, 'cause you've got one smart mouth," he chuckled, and slid the tray between the slots. "And I'll hear what you've got t'say." She would never admit how it moved her; words so gentle hadn't been spoken to her so genuinely in years. She merely swallowed the knot in her throat, and took the tray, their fingers brushing a few seconds. "Good night, Negan," she breathed, not meeting his eye again as she moved to the steps. "Soup tomorrow." He nodded, but was entranced with her touch; it was as warm as the sun.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Just as she'd promised, a warm bowl of thick orange soup sat before him, the thick smell of spices wafting off of it; it took his taste buds a minute to figure it was pumpkin, not carrot. It was delicious, as he'd come to expect, but he was fully concentrated on his cook that day; the night before, the trace brush of her flesh, was stuck in his mind. Again, she sat against the furthest wall from him, arms wrapped around herself in a leant pose. She looked as if she'd hardly slept, and he pondered if the interaction had kept her up too; he bet that it had. Despite the fatigue on her, those sea glass eyes were sharp with intent; even if she was just staring out his window. "Knocked it out o' the fuckin' park again, Cookie," he complimented, slurping another spoonful. "Family recipe?" Total silence on her part. "Little heavy on the spice, but who am I to bitch about world class eats?" Her lips pursed, her fingers digging into her own arms. Something was brewing. "So smooth too... must've been up all night, makin' this." He raised his brows as he finally summoned her attention. Her brows were knit as words tumbled out; but who else was going to hear them? "...whatever I say, you don't get to repeat." It wasn't a question, it was an order; he liked a lady who took charge. "Scout's honor, Cookie. Shit won't leave this basement." Still she sized him up, worried, but at the end of her rope. "You won't use it against me. What it is I've got to say. And don't think I want your pity or some crap, I just..." "You just got to say it," he finished. Sometimes things just needed to be spoken; even if there was no going back or fixing what they caused. "No judgement, I swear." She squirmed in her spot, trying to gather herself as best she could. She had to be selective; she didn't intend to reveal too much of herself. But the grief had become too much to bear in silence. Her eyes returned to the window, to a white, clouded sky. "I had a daughter." Her voice was soft but steeped in pain; 'had.' Negan repeated in his head. Somewhere along the way, she'd been lost; and loss was all too familiar to him. He didn't say a word; he only listened. When she was confident she wouldn't be interrupted, and wouldn't lose her nerve, she continued. "She was... she really loved this time of year. The leaves changing, halloween... the pumpkins," she focused on the dull white of the sky, fighting off the orange in her brain. "It was... when... this season is just hard, now." She stilled, silenced; Negan still waited a handful of beats to be sure she'd said all she wanted. He dipped his head in a respectful nod, studying the cement. "I fuckin' hate hospitals," he offered, finding her face again. "For similar reasons." He was trying to empathize, and she found herself grateful for his meager attempt at connection. Maybe that made her pathetic; but she didn't seem to care. "I'll, uh... I'll tell them not to grow any hospitals in the gardens then." It wasn't funny, not by a long shot; but it was her own awkward attempt at connection, and Negan laughed charitably. "Much obliged, Cookie," he thanked her, stirring swirls into the now questionable soup. "Now, uh... if you don't mind, why...this?" He pulled up a spoonful just to let it drip back down to the bowl for emphasis. Her mouth formed a thin line, closing her eyes. "Like I said, the squash are coming in," she gestured towards his meal. "Everyone gets a share of the crops; and I-I couldn't stomach it." He nodded and swallowed another mouthful; she'd still put the effort in, even with her disdain for the vegetable. "Y'won't get in trouble for feedin' me this, will ya?" The question jumped to his mouth before he could consider it. "Givin' the inmate special treatment?" Her skin prickled and her face changed to shock, at the implication. "I'm not giving you-- I swear if you're trying to blackmail me--" "I'm not, I'm not," he waved a hand in defense, hoping to calm her down. "I really just don't want ya gettin' in shit 'cause of me. Rick's got it out for me, for some crazy reason," he shrugged a laugh - but she wasn't in the mood for joking. "I'd hate to see you in hot water just for treatin' me like a person." She screwed up her face in a look of confusion then, but seemed to believe him. "Why do you have such a vested interest in me?" Nobody had been so intrigued by her, not since she'd first arrived in Alexandria, back in Diana's days. "I don't get it. I can't get you anything, I'm not gonna help you escape if that's what you're thinking." "Trust me, I know," he replied. "I... I'm a people person, Cookie. I like knowin' folks, and I like helpin'...savin'," and those dark eyes fell on her again. "And I like you." 'Great, attracting the attention of some solitary monster,' she mused in her head, mulling his words. He only saw three people - tops - in the months he'd been there, so it wasn't as if he had much choice on obsessions. She was just there... but something in her was still flattered to be thought of. 'I guess there are worse people.' "Well, I don't need any saving, not that there's much to be done down here," she couldn't let him know he'd moved her again. "But... thanks." She spoke softly; and Negan saw what he believed to be her first genuine smile at him. He could get very used to seeing that. "You're welcome," he twirled his wrist with a mock bow, making her scoff, but he liked that too. Still though, they'd been taken off topic - and though he wouldn't say it to her, there was still something sad in her eyes. "I'm sorry about your little girl." She hadn't forgotten who they were discussing - she'd never forget her baby - but the knot in her throat resumed it's choking. "She... she was young. She didn't have to go through much of the worst of this," her eyes closed again, picturing that sweet face, covered in blood. "But there isn't a day that passes that I don't wish her here with me." He knew that feeling, and his fingers itched for the touch of well oiled wood and barbed wire. "I know right where you're comin' from," he swirled his spoon again, trying to find her fading memory in his brain. "My uh... my wife, she was a fuckin' sunbeam. All kindness and gentle... it's cold comfort knowin' she didn't have to see the shit I saw." A wife - one who likely wasn't coerced into the position - was hard to picture next to Negan. There had been talk of the harem he had kept before and during the war; but with how he spoke of this one, it seemed like she'd been real."I'm sorry you lost her, too." She couldn't find more to say - not without having known her. Negan sniffed, her face marred in his memory, but he could recall the feeling she gave him when she smiled. "I didn't deserve her to begin with," he confessed what he'd known for years. "I just hope she wasn't hurtin' when she went." Lenna's eyes didn't have to close to picture the moment her daughter died, the song she'd sung to her a distant echo; it had hurt, without a doubt. "I know it hurt her," her voice was crackling, coming to the end of her comfort level. "B-but... she wasn't afraid. And she knew she was loved... my girl was so brave." He wondered if she knew she'd begun to cry, silent streams trickling down her face; he decided not to call attention to it. The hurt needed to be felt. "Must've taken after her badass momma, then," she was a little surprised by the outright compliment, her face going a bit dumbfounded. "Keepin' the bastard leader of the Saviors in line, havin' him all 'pleases' and 'thank yous'...oh yeah. That's an inherited trait right there." "You don't have to patronize me," he'd gone too far; her guards had jumped back up, not trusting his sweet words. "I don't do anymore than anyone else, just my share... this time of year is just rough. You don't have to go buttering me up just because I'm sharing." "I'm not butterin' anything, Cookie; just hate seein' you..." her face bordered on anger again, the same one she'd worn when he'd called her sad. "Feelin' rough." The man before her was a conundrum, there was no dispute there. She knew he couldn't care the way he claimed; it just wasn't in his nature. In her right mind, she knew he was preying on her grief, that the kindness and support were a means to an end. But overwhelming sorrow tends to skew even the sharpest minds. Even if it was false... she'd cautiously gorge herself on his empathy. Years of neglect had it tasting especially sweet, practically addictive. "Then, uh... thank you," she traced patterns on the concrete with her vision, anywhere to look but at him. "I appreciate it." It was a singular, baby step; but it felt like a victory and had Negan beaming. "Any fuckin' time, Cookie," he paused, deciding to chance his good luck. "Day or night, I'll be right here." What luck - she didn't bite his head off. "Heh, it's not like you can go elsewhere," she ribbed him, though he didn't find himself minding that. "But what happened last night... it won't be happening again. I can't go breaking the rules any time I get a little worked up." "Damn shame," Negan shook his head. "I love a surprise, and you, darlin', are full of fuckin' surprises." Lenna's face changed in confusion, for a moment, before she stood. Surprising was never an adjective that she'd been associated with. Still, his compliments weren't something for her to risk her station over. Rick despised Negan; who knew what he'd do to someone sympathizing with him? "Pretty sure that was my only surprise," she shrugged, reaching just barely through the bars for his meal tray. "Time's up for today though. Thanks for listening." He was intentional in his movement this time; he stood as well, and when the tray passed from him to her, he not-so-subtly dragged his fingertips across the inside of her wrist. It was enough to get his heart racing; even if she pretended she hadn't felt a thing. "Glad to listen," he assured her, wishing her a good day as she left. "Any fuckin' time." He couldn't possibly know that when she arrived in the safety of her home, she stared at her wrist as he did to his fingers. He marveled at her warmth, where she wondered at the cool sensation that still lingered on her skin. It was chilly, exactly; more like a brush of pure peppermint. Refreshing and perplexing. The spot tingled long throughout the day, and it left Negan fresher in Lenna's mind than he'd ever been.