Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Negan first stepped out of the RV that night with Ricks people on their knees. He expected redneck hillbillies that would be pleasurable to take out, but he was soon faced with the most beautiful eyes he ever laid eyes on. Those electric-blue eyes stared right at him that night and begged and pleaded with tears streaming down his face. Right then he knew he had to have this man laid out in front of him preferably in his bed. Begging, sobbing, and trembling for Negan to fuck him hard into the mattress.

Negan tries to shake these intrusive thoughts from his head as he looks out the window seeing they are arriving at Alexandria’s gates for the first time after killing Spencer. Negan has a plan to ask Rick to go on a solo run with him to test his loyalty and just maybe get lucky and fuck the younger man. He knows his thinking is getting ahead of him, but he just can not seem to get Rick out of his head.

Negan waltzes in as soon as a person he can not quite remember opens up the gate and sword-wielding women meet him and starts to talk but he quickly cuts her off.

“Where is Rick?” Negan ask not caring what she has to say.

Michonne sighs as she crosses her arms over her chest and tries again to explain what she said before Negan rudely interrupted “Like I was saying Rick did not expect you this soon and he is finishing up something at home he will shortly join us.”Michonne explains.

Negan rubs his hands together and smirks smugly before walking towards Rick's house “I’m headed to see Rick. I got an important meeting with him, and nobody can interrupt me. So, you stay here.”He ordered as he points at Michonne for the last part.

Negan strolls up to Rick’s door and walks in without knocking and makes his way to the kitchen where he hears laughing and clattering around. He stops at the door knowing he was not noticed yet and at the sight, he was seeing he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed.

Rick is standing in the kitchen shirtless and wiping down Judith who has applause all over her face and Carl who is picking up the mess on the floor near the high chair. Rick is talking to Judith and makes her laugh. Carl is also making snarky remarks from where he is and also laughing.

Negan clears his throat making the whole family turn to him because they were obviously caught off guard.

“What a beautiful sight! I hate to break up this happy moment but Rick I have some business to discuss with you.”Negan exclaims as he walks in the kitchen and not hiding that he was checking Rick out, As he looks him up and down smirking at the younger man.

Rick's face goes a slight red, and he clears his throat going to set Judith back on the ground. “Carl, why don’t you go get Judith dressed and throw me a shirt from the dryer on your way there?” Rick asks Carl as he walks closer to his son.

Carl, still glaring at Negan, picks up Judith and replies with a simple “yeah sure dad.”And he walks out of the room but soon returns to throw his dad a white T-shirt.

Negan waits until Carl is out of hearing range before getting in Rick’s personal space and leaning his head towards his ear before whispering quietly “ there is no reason to be modest and cover up darling. I quite like what I am seeing.”Negan says purring out the last part.

Rick’s eyes shift around the room quickly before taking a few steps backwards and yanking his shirt over his head.

“What do you need Negan?” Rick asks as he runs his hands through his curls. Giving Negan more inappropriate thoughts of Rick looking up at him with tears in his beautiful blue eyes as he chokes on his cock and Negan own hands pulling on his curls.

Negan is brought out of his thoughts as Rick clears his throat and questions Negan again.

“So, are you going to give me the reason why you needed to talk, or are you going to continue staring at me all day?”

Negan smiles at Rick's sudden sass towards him Negan smugly replies to him “How I would love to continue staring at you. I do have to talk about some business with you. So, Rick let’s take a seat at the table and have a friendly chat shall we?”

-

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Negan tried to sneak in the idea of going on a run together with Rick but he kept avoiding the conversation and changing the subject. Finally, Negan had enough with Rick's antics to avoid the conversation.

“Shut up Rick and listen,” Negan says in a serious tone, and Rick simply shuts his mouth and tenses up at Negan.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you about going on a run with me.”

“And I’m trying to subtly avoid it,” Rick muttered as he crosses his arm over his chest.

Negan throws his head back laughing at Rick's comeback towards him “Damn Rick.”He says in between laughing.

Rick is taken back in surprise at Negan laughing at his comment. He surely thought Negan would be angry, but he is leaning back in his kitchen chair laughing. Rick doesn’t notice himself doing it, but he takes the time to look at Negan from a different view. This is the first time Negan wasn’t laughing in a threatened tone but in a friendly tone. He notices the crinkles by his eyes when he laughs and the dimples in his cheeks but his thoughts get rudely interrupted when Negan suddenly slaps the table. Rick ends up jumping a little as it surprises him.

“Lighten up Ricky. It’s going to be so much fun just the two of us out on the road killing some dead fucker. Pack your bags tonight Rick we leave here tomorrow morning.”Negan says as he smirks at Rick.

“I can’t Negan I have.”

Negan shushed him “You can not get out of this Rick. Pack your stuff and be ready first thing in the morning.”Negan gets up and pushes the chair in and walks out of the room but stops at the door to turn around and smile at Rick“We are going to have a good damn time Rick. I fucking guarantee you.”

Without waiting for a response Negan walks out of the house leaving Rick standing in his kitchen speechless and very confused at that the whole exchange.

-
“Do you have any idea where we are going?” Rick asks as he turns away from the window to glance at Negan.

“Rest your pretty little head, Rick. I know exactly where I am going.”Negan beams as he takes his eyes off the road to look at Rick.

Rick simply rolls his eyes at Negan. Causing Negan to bark out a laugh.

“Maybe if you keep rolling those blue eyes, you will find a brain back there,” Negan says it playfully, trying to engage Rick.

Rick continues to stare daggers at Negan. “Whatever, you are just petty,” Rick says as he looks away from Negan to stare at the window.

“Damn right I’m pretty!” Negan exclaims as he takes one hand off the steering wheel to grasp Rick's shoulder.

“I said Petty not pretty,” Rick actually says forming a small smile and Negan smiles bigger at finally accomplishing getting Rick to smile at something.

“You hurt me, Rick.” Negan teases as he removes his hand from Rick's shoulder to clasp his heart in fake pain.

Rick just shakes his head and continues to stare out the truck window and both of the men fall into tenses but comfortable silence.

-

After another hour they finally pull up to a shopping mall and the first thing they noticed was overrun.

“Shit Rick. When we passed here a couple of weeks ago it was not this bad.”Negan grumbled as he scans the area.

Rick scowls and runs his fingers through his hair and starts to mumble to himself. “We can take them if we work together.”

“Well, Ricky I can set aside our sexual tension to make sure we don’t die. But Rick can you put it aside?”Negan suggests as he steps closer into Rick's space and rests Lucille on his shoulder.

Rick's face burns in Irritation and he clenches his fist. “I-it’s not sexual tension Negan its pure hatred.” Rick sneers leaning more into his space giving him his side look.

“Well, Rick I could agree with that but we would both be wrong,” Negan says as he smiles brightly causing Rick to look away and take a few steps back.

“Fine what’s the plan then?” Rick questions trying to change the subject.

“Well, my plan was to follow your plan, but I know there is a pharmacy, grocery store across the street, and a cute Boutique with children's clothes and necessities. I thought you could pick some things for Judith and decorate her nursery a little more and pick some clothes out.”Negan says as he rubs his hands through his hair trying to avoid Ricks's eye contact.

Rick is taken back on how Negan was thinking of his family, and he is touched by Negan thinking of Judith, but quickly feels guilty for feeling something other than hatred for the man. ” Let's get going before we lose daylight.” he says as he clears his throats and starts walking towards the mall.

Negan and Rick make their way down the hill to the mall being careful not to draw attention to themselves. As they get closer, the more walkers begin to swarm around them and they both use their weapons to take them out. Rick looks ahead and sees an entrance to the side that’s not blocked and grabs Negan’s arm to quickly get there. With much effort, Rick swings the door open and runs inside waiting for Negan to get in before closing it.

As soon as Rick closes the door the walkers bang into it scratching and banging against it. “Looks like we can’t exit the way we came.” Negan notes as he has a look around noticing it was a little to quite fit his liking.

“Let’s stick together Rick something about this place is giving me heebie-jeebies.” Negan remarks as they make their way down the hallway.

Rick gives out a huff of breath and continues walking. They spot a department store that does not look picked over. Negan and Rick make their way over to the store and start to grab the necessities. Some of the noise they were making made a few lone walkers make their way over but other than that the place seemed empty, but that was until they made their way into one of the offices. Negan thought it was smart to see if the Intercom was still working. When he turned it on it made the world's god awful sound.

”Turn the thing off Negan!” Rick yells over the noise and grabs his ax making his way to the door to be the lookout.

After a few failed attempts to turn it off, Negan finally turned it off, ”whew that was a close one.”Negan says as he chuckles nervously at Rick's glare.

”Let's get out of here just in case we happen to attract any Walker towards us.” Rick explains as he walks out of the office into the lobby.

Negan just nods in agreement and follows Rick out but not before running into his back. He was fixing to ask what he was doing, but he looks up and notices a swarm of walkers wandering towards them.

”Turn around, go towards the fire exit in the back.” Rick yells out as he pushes Negan in that direction.

They run to the back of the building pulling the door open and when they did a group of walkers we're pounding on the door and the walls and they shut the door before letting any in.

”Well shit, we are trapped.” Negan blurts out.

”Yeah no shit Sherlock.” Rick bites out trying to control his anger.

”Well any bright ideas Ricky.”

Chapter Text

Negan and Rick sat back to back in the office listening to the growling and the pounding of the walkers on the door. They both sat in silence with their thoughts rolling around in their head.

Negan was excited for this trip because maybe he would connect with the younger man but all he does seems to piss him off even more. Finally, without much thought, he turns to look at Rick “Do you think if we meet under different circumstances we could have been friends or at least tolerate each other?” Negan asks with a little uncertainty in his voice.

Rick looks up at Negan and doesn’t say anything for a long minute ”Maybe but you are not making me not hating you any easier.” Rick comments quietly.

”You and your people killed a whole damn lot of mine and I need to show you who was in charge to get the point across.” Negan tries to explain but Rick just shakes his head and stands up.

“I’m going to look around.” He grumbles not looking Negan in the eyes

-

Rick surveys the small office they are in while Negan keeps lookout “Found us an exit but it is a little bit of a drop.” Rick says as he walks back into the room Negan is in.

“Well, we got to go now because those doors can’t hold on any longer.” Negan reports as the walkers keep piling up and scratching at the door.

Rick climbs up and opens the little window for Negan to examine. “Little drop! That’s a good way down and not to mention the little fucks at the bottom.” Negan says but at that same moment they hear the glass shattering from the door.

“Shit! Negan this is our only way out so shut up and jump.” Rick exclaims as he ducks out the window

“Ah Shit fucking Rick Grimes!”

As Negan stands to climb out a walker grabs onto his pants legs and more join in pulling him away. “Fuck off!” Negan manages to kick them off and throws himself out the window but lands on his leg the wrong way.

Rick is swinging his ax at the leftover walker “took you long enough.” Rick says sarcastically as Negan hits the ground and groans at the impact of hitting his ankle.

“Come on I can’t keep them off much longer,” Rick exclaims and starts for Negan's truck

Negan tries to get up but falls back down so he tries again making sure not but all his weight on his ankle. When he looks up walkers are starting to surround and Rick turns back but just stands there.

“Rick come help me!” Negan exclaims as he grabs Lucille and slams her into a few dead ones.

“I could say it was a tragic accident and I barely made it out. I can take over if I just let you die.” Rick says as he steps away

“My people have their orders Rick don’t be stupid you prick.”

Rick is analyzing the situation knowing everything could get better getting Negan out of the way and knowing he was so close to that. Something pulled at Rick and he jumped in swinging his ax and grabbing Negan to help him walk.

“Good boy. I knew you had some brains.” Negan says trying to play off his nerves of actually thinking Rick was going to leave him

“Shut up and I’m driving back.” Rick scowls

“Yes sir.” Negan mocks as Rick helps him up in the truck.

As Rick drives off he gets lost in thought. “Why did I save the bastard? Because maybe you want to see the good in him. He killed Glenn and Abraham!” These thoughts are eating at Rick and he doesn’t know what obsessed him to save the bastard but he hopes he doesn’t regret it later.
It

Chapter Text

The ride back to Alexandria was long and tense. Rick couldn't stop thinking about why he saved him. He could have easily left him to die and found a way to sneak back to Alexandria and warn Michonne so they could plan an attack to get rid of the saviors for good. He didn’t though he saved the bastard and he doesn’t know why.

These thoughts kept replaying in Rick's mind over and over eating him alive. Until it’s interrupted by Negan trying to break the tension.

“This is going to sound controversial to you, but I think that went well.” He joked, giving a weak chuckle.

Rick ignored Negan and tightened his grip on the steering wheel tighter trying to control his anger. Negan opened his mouth to say something else but they were rolling up to the gate at Alexandria. Negans men started shouting and pointing their guns at Rick demanding him to get out.
When he did he was shoved to the ground and someone’s heel was in his back.

“Let him go! Get off of him!” Rick heard from a distance. Thinking it had to be Michonne.

Rick went to pick his head up to tell her it is okay but before he could get it out his head was shoved back into the ground. Rick grunted as his head hit the ground and he felt blood go down his face.

“Great I saved the guy but now I'm being punished for it.” Rick thought to himself.

“Let him up, Simon, are you stupid? Ricky here saved my life.” Negan announced gleaming as he was leaning on the truck for support.

Simon lets Rick up and mumbles an apology. Rick stands up and looks around to see Michonne and Aaron being held by two saviors. Michonne looks angry and is practically fuming as she fights for them to let her go.

“Negan, can you tell your men to let them go.” Rick tries to ask in a calm tone.

Negan smiles curls and limps a little closer to get in Rick’s face “What the magic word Ricky.” Negan asks as he keeps smirking

Rick has this anger bubble inside him and he tries to shove it down “Please can you let them go?” Rick sneers out

Negan tsks and leans in Rick's ear “Come on Rick I know you can beg better than that. I have heard it before.” Negan leans back and smiles at Rick, motioning for him to try again.

“He definitely should have let him die.” Rick thought to himself as he attempted to push down the anger.

“Please Negan, can you let them go please,” Rick asks, looking right at Negan. Rick added the extra please in there hoping it helped it sound more convincing.

Something flashes in Negans eyes and he licks his lips looking Rick up and down smiling. He turns to his men motioning to them to let them go and they do.

“Good boy Ricky,” Negan says, giving him one more look and smile. “Alright everyone let’s load up and go home!” Negan yells to his men.

“Bye, Rick see you in a few weeks,” Negan says with a wink and he limps off to his truck leading the way for the rest of his men to follow.

Rick did not breathe until all the saviors were gone and the gates were closed and secured. He continued staring at the closed gate until he felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” Michonne asks as she steps into Rick's viewpoint.

“Yeah… yeah I’m okay. I’m going to go inside.” Rick says as he walks towards the direction of his house.

Flash of that night hit him and he remembers how he begged Negan. He cried and begged at his feet and Negan took a sick liking of him begging and crying.

Rick falls into one of the kitchen chairs and he sits there letting all of his thoughts run through his head.

“Here let me clean your head up,” Michonne says quietly as she gets the first aid supplies together.

“I saved his life. I could have let him die and this whole thing could have been over.” Rick tells Michonne

“Yeah, or he could have died a martyr and made everything worse.” Michonne tells him as she tilts his head to clean his forehead “Rick I think you need to use this weird liking of you Negan has to your advantage. Get him to trust you and get to know him and his weaknesses then we can attack.” Michonne suggested

Rick thinks about it for a little bit and reflects on Negans gazes and questions about friendship.

“I don’t know Michonne. That’s a long shot, it might not even work.” Rick says not entirely sure what to think about this plan

“Rick, from what I have seen, I'm thinking it’s the best plan we have. We are outnumbered by men and weapons. We barely have enough food to scrape by. It’s the best plan we have.” Michonne says looking straight at Rick

“So I need to get Negan to trust me,” Rick ask

“Yes, that means you need to start playing nice Rick,” Michonne tells him as she starts putting away the supplies.

Rick sits in deep thought and rethinks everything. He needs to play nice and get Negan to like and trust him. That shouldn’t be too hard right?

Chapter Text

Rick spent the next few days with Michonne’s words echoing in his head, trying to prepare for what lay ahead. It felt wrong to him, playing nice with Negan after all that had happened. But Michonne was right—they were outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of time. The Saviors had control, and for now, Rick needed to play the long game.

It wasn’t long before Negan made good on his promise. A few weeks later, the rumble of trucks announced the return of the Saviors. Rick’s stomach twisted as the gates of Alexandria opened, revealing Negan in the passenger seat of one of the vehicles, smiling like he owned the place. Rick stood waiting, hands clenched at his sides, forcing a neutral expression as Negan swaggered out of the truck, still slightly limping from the injury Rick had saved him from.

“Well, well, well, Rick! My favorite cowboy. I figured I’d come by and extend a little invitation,” Negan said, strolling toward Rick with that familiar grin plastered on his face. “How’d you like to come with me to the Sanctuary? I think it’s time you saw how the other half lives.”

Rick swallowed hard, his mind racing. This was his chance to start earning Negan’s trust, to get inside the Sanctuary, learn its layout, and find out what made it tick. He nodded slowly, his expression guarded. “Alright. Let’s see it.”

Negan’s smile widened. “That’s the spirit, Ricky.”

***

The ride to the Sanctuary was eerily quiet compared to Rick’s last trip with Negan. This time, Rick forced himself to stay composed, offering the occasional nod or grunt in response to Negan’s endless chatter. Negan seemed almost...excited, as though he genuinely wanted to show Rick what he had built.

When they arrived, the Sanctuary loomed ahead, a massive industrial complex turned fortress. Saviors stood on guard, watching their every move as Rick stepped out of the truck, scanning the area. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face neutral. He had to remember Michonne’s advice—play nice, act like he was interested.

“Impressive, right?” Negan asked, watching Rick’s reaction closely.

Rick forced a smile. “Yeah. You’ve built quite the place.”

Negan chuckled. “Damn right I have. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

They walked through the Sanctuary, passing rows of workers, many of whom kept their heads down as they went about their tasks. Negan reveled in the attention, stopping every now and then to make some loud, crass comment or to laugh at some private joke. Rick played along, nodding in feigned interest, but his mind was focused on memorizing the layout—where the guards were stationed, the storage areas, the weak points. He had to learn everything he could.

As they neared a section of the complex where the real muscle of the Saviors operated, Negan turned to Rick, a glint in his eye. “You see, Rick, this is how we keep things running smoothly. People respect power. They know that here, I make the rules, and they follow them. But it’s not all bad. Everyone’s got a role, everyone’s got a place. You could have a place here too, you know.”

Rick stiffened at the implication but forced himself to relax, keeping his tone steady. “I’m just trying to keep my people safe, Negan. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Negan studied him for a moment, something unreadable flashing across his face. “Yeah, I know you are.” His voice lowered, almost soft. “And I respect that.”

Rick blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but before he could respond, one of the workers bumped into them, carrying a crate of supplies. The man stumbled, and the crate slipped from his hands, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“Shit!” Negan yelled, his anger flashing in an instant.

Rick instinctively stepped forward to help the worker pick up the supplies, but as he bent down, the worker panicked and shoved him back, causing Rick to fall and hit his head on the metal floor. His vision blurred, and for a moment, everything felt like it was spinning.

Before Rick could react, he felt a hand on his face, gently lifting his chin. His eyes focused, and he realized it was Negan, crouching beside him, his hand surprisingly soft as it brushed against the side of Rick’s face, inspecting the injury.

“Easy there, Ricky,” Negan murmured, his voice low. “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Rick felt a shiver of discomfort run down his spine, the closeness of Negan’s touch sending an uneasy ripple through him. He tried to pull back, but Negan’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly against Rick’s cheek before he finally let go.

“You alright?” Negan asked, though his tone was still laced with amusement.

Rick nodded, trying to suppress the nervous tension in his chest. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Negan stood up, offering Rick a hand. “Good. Can’t have you getting hurt now, can we?” He chuckled, but there was something in his eyes—something that told Rick Negan was enjoying this moment of vulnerability a little too much.

As Rick stood, still reeling from the strange encounter, Negan clapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine. Just a little bump. Let’s finish the tour, shall we?”

Rick followed, his mind racing. This was going to be harder than he thought. He had to keep playing the game, but the closer Negan got, the more unsettling it became. He needed to stay focused. Get Negan to trust him. Find the weaknesses. But as they continued through the Sanctuary, Rick couldn’t shake the feeling that Negan was testing him, pushing the boundaries, seeing how far Rick would go to earn that trust.

For now, Rick would have to play along. But the clock was ticking, and every second spent here was a dangerous one.

-
After the long tour of the Sanctuary, Negan finally led Rick through a series of hallways, up to a more secluded area. Rick's mind was still racing, trying to process everything he had seen, but now there was something new creeping into his thoughts—something darker, more unsettling. He couldn't shake the memory of Negan's touch on his face, the way his thumb had lingered just a little too long.

Negan stopped in front of a door, grinning as he pushed it open. "Here we are, Ricky. Your room for the week."

Rick stepped inside, eyes scanning the space. It was sparse but comfortable—far more than what he’d expected from Negan. The room had a bed, a small dresser, and a chair in the corner. It was far from home, but at least it wasn’t a cell.

"Week?" Rick repeated, frowning. "I didn’t agree to stay that long."

Negan stepped inside, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Oh, come on, Rick. Don’t be such a killjoy. You’re my guest. I figured you’d want to get a real feel for how things work here. You can’t do that in just a day.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t like where this was going. “I have a community to get back to. You know that.”

Negan shrugged, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer to Rick, his grin never wavering. "They’ll survive without you for a few days. You should consider this... a little vacation."

Rick felt his anger flare up. “I’m not staying here longer than necessary, Negan. I saw what I needed to see. Now, let me go.”

Negan’s expression shifted, the humor draining from his face. “That so?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. He took another step forward, his body looming closer. “And what makes you think you get to decide when you leave?”

Rick’s breath caught in his throat, and before he could respond, Negan’s hands shot out, shoving him hard against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of Rick, his back slamming into the cold concrete as Negan stepped forward, pinning him there.

“Let me remind you of something, Rick,” Negan growled, his face inches from Rick’s, his breath warm against Rick’s skin. “You’re in *my* world now. You don’t get to call the shots. I do.”

Rick’s pulse raced as he stared back at Negan, their faces so close he could feel the heat radiating off him. His heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t just the anger anymore—there was something else, something confusing and unwelcome. He could feel Negan’s breath on his lips, the press of his body against his, and despite the hatred bubbling inside him, Rick felt an unexpected, shameful stir of something else—arousal.

His mind screamed at him to push Negan off, to fight back, but his body hesitated, frozen by the conflicting emotions swirling inside him. Negan’s eyes gleamed with something dark, as if he could sense Rick’s inner turmoil.

“What’s the matter, Rick?” Negan whispered, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “You seem... tense.”

Rick clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he tried to shove down the feelings rising in his chest. His breathing quickened, anger and confusion battling for control. He hated Negan. He *despised* him. And yet, the closeness, the intensity of the moment—it was messing with him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

“Get off me,” Rick growled, but his voice lacked the force he intended, coming out more like a plea than a demand.

Negan smirked, his eyes flicking down to Rick’s lips before returning to meet his gaze. “Or what?” he teased, his tone dripping with amusement. “You gonna beg again, Ricky?”

Rick’s stomach twisted at the memory, shame and fury surging through him, but he couldn’t deny the heat spreading through his body, the way his heart raced not just from anger but from something far more dangerous. He hated that Negan had this effect on him, hated the power dynamics that were in play, yet he couldn’t stop the flush creeping up his neck.

Negan’s hand came up to brush a thumb lightly across Rick’s jaw, and Rick flinched at the contact, his breath hitching in his throat. It was gentle, almost tender, a stark contrast to the forceful way Negan had shoved him just moments before.

“You’re not going anywhere, Rick,” Negan murmured, his voice soft but commanding. “Not until I say so.”

Rick’s entire body tensed, his fists trembling at his sides. His mind screamed at him to do something—hit him, fight back, anything—but instead, he stood frozen, trapped between hatred and something else he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

Negan’s smirk grew as he leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing Rick’s ear as he whispered, “This is my game, Rick. You can’t win.”

With that, Negan finally stepped back, leaving Rick against the wall, his body trembling with barely controlled rage and something else far more unsettling. Rick forced himself to breathe, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Negan straightened his jacket, giving Rick one last smug look. “You’ll get used to it. A week’s not so bad. Who knows? You might even like it here.”

Rick glared at him, forcing himself to stand tall, even as his legs felt shaky beneath him. “I’m leaving as soon as I can.”

Negan laughed, low and dark. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, Negan turned and left the room, leaving Rick standing there, chest heaving, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and anger. He slumped against the wall, feeling the cold concrete against his back as he tried to process what had just happened. He hated Negan—he *loathed* him—but the conflicting emotions swirling in his chest were harder to ignore now.

This week was going to be harder than he thought.

Chapter Text

The darkness of the Sanctuary made Rick's heart pound harder than he could control. It had been hours since Negan left him in that room, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that had gripped him since their encounter. But he wasn’t going to stay here any longer than he had to. He’d had enough of this place, enough of Negan’s games. It was time to leave, no matter the risks.

Carefully, Rick waited until the dead of night when most of the Saviors were either asleep or relaxed from their shifts. The corridors were dimly lit, and the buzz of machinery echoed faintly in the distance. He kept his footsteps light, sneaking down the hallways, keeping to the shadows. His heart pounded in his chest as he neared what he believed to be a less guarded exit. All he had to do was make it outside, find a way to slip back to Alexandria, and warn the others.

But just as he thought he was in the clear, a hand grabbed him from behind, yanking him back hard. He barely had time to react before two more guards appeared out of the darkness, their grips iron-clad.

"Where do you think you’re going, Rick?" one of them sneered, and without warning, they began to beat him. The blows came fast, hard, and relentless. Fists slammed into his stomach, his ribs, his face. Rick fought back as best he could, but he was outnumbered, outmuscled. He felt a boot kick into his side, the breath knocked out of him as he hit the ground.

Before long, everything was a blur of pain, and all Rick could think was that this might be it—that maybe this was how it ended.

"Bring him to Negan," one of the guards barked. They dragged Rick through the hallways, his feet barely touching the floor. His vision blurred as blood dripped down his face, his body aching with every breath. He braced himself for whatever wrath Negan might unleash when they finally dumped him at the feet of their leader.

Negan was lounging in what looked like a private office when the door burst open, the guards throwing Rick down in front of him.

Negan’s eyes widened, then his face twisted in a dark rage, but not at Rick. “What the *fuck* is this?” Negan’s voice boomed, making the guards freeze in place. “What the *hell* did I tell you about touching Rick?” His voice was venomous, deadly.

The guards stammered, confused. “He was trying to sneak out, boss—”

“And you beat the shit out of him?” Negan snarled, stepping forward. “I didn’t give any of you permission to lay a goddamn finger on him!” His eyes blazed with fury. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I rearrange your faces.”

The guards scrambled to leave, clearly terrified. As the door slammed behind them, Rick lay on the ground, groaning in pain, still half-expecting Negan’s rage to turn on him. But instead, Negan knelt down beside him, his expression softening as he looked Rick over.

"Jesus, Rick," Negan muttered, his voice quieter now, almost concerned. "You look like hell."

Rick, still dazed, tried to push himself up, but the pain in his side made him wince. “Could’ve been worse,” he muttered through gritted teeth, half expecting Negan to mock him.

Instead, Negan reached out, gently helping Rick to sit up. "Don’t be a hero, Ricky. You took quite the beating." There was a strange softness in his voice, and for a moment, Rick wasn’t sure how to respond.

Negan stood up and walked over to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit. He returned and knelt down, surprisingly careful as he began cleaning Rick’s wounds, dabbing a cloth soaked in alcohol against a cut on Rick’s face. Rick winced but didn’t pull away.

“I didn’t think you’d care about a few bruises,” Rick muttered, eyeing Negan cautiously.

Negan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly but without his usual cockiness. "You might be my guest here, Rick, but that doesn’t mean I want you roughed up like a damn punching bag. Those idiots were out of line."

Rick’s mind was still spinning, the pain from the beating mixing with the confusion of Negan’s sudden gentleness. It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

Negan finished patching him up, then stood and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the nearby shelf, pouring two glasses. He handed one to Rick, then sat back down across from him. “Drink. It’ll take the edge off.”

Rick took the glass but hesitated. “Why are you doing this?”

Negan leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked at Rick with something that resembled amusement—but something more too. “I told you, Rick. I’ve got a soft spot for you.” He smiled, but it wasn’t as smug as usual. It almost seemed...genuine. “I like you. You’ve got guts. You and me, we’re not so different.”

Rick’s stomach turned at the thought. “We’re nothing alike.”

Negan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Aren’t we? You’ll do whatever it takes to protect your people, just like I will. You’re willing to get your hands dirty. Hell, you’ve killed for them, same as me.”

Rick’s grip tightened around the glass. “I don’t enjoy it.”

“Maybe not,” Negan said, his voice low, “but that doesn’t change the fact that we both do what’s necessary.”

They sat in tense silence for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension. The whiskey burned in Rick’s throat as he took a sip, his thoughts racing. He hated this—hated that Negan was trying to draw comparisons between them, hated that some part of him couldn’t help but see the truth in it.

Negan suddenly stood and crossed the room, coming to stand right in front of Rick. He crouched down so that they were face to face, his eyes locking onto Rick’s with an intensity that made Rick’s heart skip a beat.

“I think you and me could make quite the team, Rick,” Negan murmured, his voice soft, almost intimate. “If you’d just stop fighting it.”

Rick’s breath caught in his throat. Negan was so close now, their faces inches apart, the heat of his body radiating against Rick’s skin. The intensity of Negan’s gaze, the strange blend of hostility and something else in his eyes—it made Rick’s stomach churn with confusion, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous swirling inside him.

Rick didn’t move, trapped between the hatred he felt and the unsettling pull of the moment. Negan’s hand reached out, lightly brushing a thumb across the bruise on Rick’s jaw, and Rick’s entire body tensed.

"You don’t have to fight me," Negan whispered, his voice almost a purr. "We could be on the same side."

Rick swallowed hard, his mind screaming at him to pull away, to shove Negan off and reject whatever twisted game this was. But for reasons he couldn’t explain—reasons that terrified him—he stayed still, frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from Negan’s.

Negan’s smile widened, as if he could sense the turmoil inside Rick, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to him. “You feel it too, don’t you?” Negan whispered, his lips inches from Rick’s. “This connection between us.”

Rick’s breath quickened, his pulse racing. He hated him—*he hated him*—but the tension in the air, the closeness of their faces, the way Negan’s touch lingered on his skin—it made it impossible to think clearly.

“I’m not like you,” Rick forced out, his voice shaking slightly.

Negan chuckled softly, his breath warm against Rick’s face. “Keep telling yourself that, Rick.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the air thick with tension, until Negan finally pulled back, standing to his full height and taking a long sip from his glass. He looked down at Rick, his smirk still in place, but there was something deeper behind it—something more dangerous, more personal.

“You’ll come around, Rick,” Negan said softly. “You always do.”

-

Rick walked back to his room in silence, his mind a tangled mess of conflicting emotions and thoughts. His body ached from the beating, and the bruises on his face stung with every step, but that wasn’t what was really bothering him. It was what had just happened with Negan.

The door clicked shut behind him as he entered the small, sparsely furnished room. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his hands shaking slightly as he rubbed at his temples, trying to clear his head. But the images, the sensations—they wouldn’t leave him alone. Negan’s voice, low and teasing. The way he had leaned in close, his breath warm against Rick’s skin. And the worst part—the part Rick couldn’t understand—was how he had felt in that moment.

He hadn’t hated it. He hadn’t hated the way Negan’s hand had lingered on his face, the way his eyes had burned into him with that twisted intensity. He hadn’t hated the closeness. And that was what terrified him.

Rick shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts away. It was just the exhaustion, he told himself. The stress. Everything was getting to him, clouding his judgment. He lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing.

But as he closed his eyes, all he could see was Negan. That smug smirk. Those piercing eyes. The way his voice had dropped when he had whispered in Rick’s ear, almost as if there had been something else there—something more than just power, more than just manipulation.

Rick gritted his teeth, frustrated with himself. This was *Negan*, the man who had tortured him, killed his friends, terrorized his people. He should hate him. *He did hate him*. And yet... he couldn’t stop the images flashing in his mind, couldn’t stop the strange, unwelcome pull that had crept up on him during their conversation.

He rolled onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. But it didn’t help. Instead, his thoughts drifted further, his mind replaying every touch, every word, every look from Negan. The way his hand had lingered on Rick’s jaw. The feel of his body, so close that Rick could feel the heat radiating off him. And the way Rick’s own pulse had quickened in response.

There was something about Negan, something about his power, his control, that was messing with Rick’s head. He hated him, yes, but there was more to it than that. He was drawn to it, drawn to him in a way that made no sense, in a way that felt wrong. Rick clenched his fists, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept creeping back in, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He caught himself wondering what it would be like to give in to that pull, to stop fighting it. What if he let Negan get even closer? What if he gave in to the strange tension between them? The thought made his stomach twist with shame and confusion, but he couldn’t deny the flicker of curiosity that came with it.

Rick’s breathing quickened as his thoughts spiraled further, and he cursed under his breath, sitting up abruptly. This was insane. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not about Negan. He had a job to do, a community to protect. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by whatever this was.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, Negan’s face kept coming back to him, his voice, his touch, the way he had looked at Rick like he could see straight through him. And worse—*far worse*—was that Rick couldn’t deny that Negan was attractive. In a dark, twisted way, yes, but there was something about him, something magnetic that Rick couldn’t ignore.

He hated himself for thinking it, for even considering it. But the truth was, the more he tried to fight it, the harder it became to resist.

Rick lay back down, staring at the ceiling again, his thoughts swirling. Sleep seemed impossible now, with all of this replaying in his mind. He hated Negan—he *did*—but the feelings stirring inside him weren’t as simple as hatred anymore. They were messier, more complicated, and Rick had no idea what to do with them.

All he knew was that this week was going to be much harder than he’d ever imagined.

Chapter Text

The morning light crept into Rick’s room through the narrow window, bringing a reluctant awareness to the aches that riddled his body. His bruises throbbed from the beating he’d taken the night before, and he still couldn’t get Negan’s face out of his mind, lingering like a specter even as he tried to shake it off. He needed to keep his head clear, to figure out a way out of here. But as he lay there, trying to sort through the confusion, a soft knock broke his thoughts.

The door creaked open, and one of Negan’s wives—tall, dark-haired, dressed immaculately in a black dress—walked in, balancing a tray of food in her hands. She glanced at Rick, offering a small, polite smile.

“Negan asked me to bring you breakfast,” she said, her voice calm, almost practiced. She set the tray down on the table near the bed, casting a brief, appraising look at him. “He thought you could use something warm after what happened last night.”

Rick shifted, trying not to grimace as he sat up. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted toward him, but he couldn’t shake his unease. “Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“Negan asked me to give you a tour of the compound when you’re done,” she continued, almost as if reading from a script. “He thought you might want to know your surroundings. I’m Amber, by the way.”

Rick managed a nod and picked up his fork, feeling her watch him as he ate. She seemed more guarded than the other people he’d seen here—there was something in her eyes, a slight tension in the way she moved.

Once he’d finished eating, she gestured for him to follow. The compound was quiet as they walked, its stark hallways and carefully organized spaces creating a sense of rigid order that seemed to be everywhere in the Sanctuary. Amber led him through the main corridors, pointing out rooms and explaining how the community functioned. It was meticulously structured, he had to admit that much.

Finally, she led him into a lounge where a few of Negan’s other wives were sitting, talking in low voices. Their conversation halted as they looked up, eyes falling on Rick with a mixture of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite place. They were all beautiful, dressed in similar black attire that seemed both formal and strange for this place.

Amber introduced them one by one. There was Tanya, her gaze cool and assessing; Sherry, who looked more sympathetic; and Frankie, who regarded him with a slight smile, almost as if she found him amusing. Each of them was polite, but guarded, as if they, too, had grown accustomed to keeping their emotions hidden here.

Rick felt something twist uncomfortably in his gut as he looked at them. He knew the kind of power Negan held over them, understood the way he kept them as symbols of his dominance. And yet, beneath his anger, he felt an unsettling prick of jealousy—a feeling he couldn’t explain. He hated himself for it, for feeling anything other than disgust, but the knowledge that these women were close to Negan, that they were part of his inner circle, sparked something dark and uneasy inside him.

They talked for a while, mostly small talk that seemed strained, as if no one wanted to reveal too much. Rick noticed the way they glanced at each other when they spoke, sharing unspoken thoughts with subtle looks and nods. He couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, aware of the invisible barriers between them and him.

After a while, Amber gestured that it was time to continue the tour, and he followed her, feeling the weight of their gazes on his back as he left the room. As they walked, he tried to shake off the feeling, tried to focus on his plan for escape instead of the twisted jealousy that kept creeping into his thoughts.

When they returned to his room, Amber left him with a curt nod, and Rick found himself alone, trying to sort through his conflicting emotions. He’d barely had a moment to think when the door opened once again.

Negan strode in, his usual swagger and confidence intact, but his expression was serious. Rick’s muscles tensed instinctively, preparing himself for whatever game Negan had in store this time.

“Well, I hope you’re feeling a bit better after that breakfast,” Negan said, smirking slightly as he leaned against the wall. His gaze flicked over Rick, noting the bruises, but he seemed more focused than usual, his playful demeanor tempered by something else.

Rick glared at him, unwilling to give him any satisfaction. “What do you want now?”

Negan’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, Ricky,” he said smoothly, “I think it’s time we had a little heart-to-heart about what comes next. You see, I’ve got something you want.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Without a word, Negan motioned to someone outside the door. Two guards entered, and between them, restrained and looking worse for wear, was Daryl. His face was bruised, his clothes dirty, but he still met Rick’s gaze with a defiant expression.

Rick’s heart twisted as he looked at Daryl, his stomach dropping. He hadn’t expected to see him here, and the sight brought a wave of anger and helplessness that he struggled to contain.

“Rick,” Negan said softly, his tone dangerously smooth, “I’ll make you a deal. Daryl here can go free. He can return to Alexandria, go back to the life you two so desperately want to protect. But…” Negan paused, his gaze piercing. “In exchange, I want you to stay. I want you here, at the Sanctuary, by my side. Think of it as… an insurance policy.”

Rick’s fists clenched, rage bubbling up inside him. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d agree to that.”

Negan chuckled, almost as if he’d expected the reaction. “I’m offering you a choice, Rick. You can leave with Daryl, run back to Alexandria, pretend this little vacation never happened. Or you can stay, live here, and make sure Daryl gets his freedom. Think carefully, because I don’t make these kinds of offers lightly.”

Rick glanced at Daryl, who looked back at him with a fierce determination, as if willing him not to give in. But he could see the toll this place had taken on him, could see the exhaustion and pain that lingered beneath his friend’s stubborn exterior.

Negan watched him, his expression calculated, knowing exactly the strings he was pulling. Rick’s hatred for him surged, but he couldn’t deny the weight of the choice before him.

Chapter Text

Rick clenched his jaw, staring at Daryl, who was still held firmly by Negan's guards. Every instinct told him not to trust a single word out of Negan’s mouth, but Daryl’s safety weighed heavier on him than anything else. He took a steadying breath, his mind racing. There was only one choice, and they both knew it.

“Fine,” Rick said, his voice cold but resolute. “I’ll stay.”

Negan’s smirk deepened as if he’d just won some personal victory. He motioned for the guards to release Daryl, and they dropped their hold on him, stepping back. Daryl looked at Rick, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Rick,” Daryl said, his voice sharp, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Let me talk to him alone,” Rick said, glancing at Negan.

Negan hesitated, his eyes flicking between Rick and Daryl, but eventually he shrugged, looking unbothered, though there was a tightness around his jaw. “Fine. You two can have your little heart-to-heart,” he said. “But don’t take too long. I don’t have all day.”

Rick led Daryl to a corner of the room, out of earshot. The second they were alone, Daryl turned on him, his eyes blazing.

“You can’t do this, Rick,” Daryl said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just give yourself up like this.”

Rick met his gaze, his expression firm. “It’s the only way, Daryl. You’re getting out of here. You’re going back to Alexandria. This is my decision.”

Daryl shook his head, his jaw set stubbornly. “This is suicide, man. Negan’s just gonna use you, twist you around however he wants. You know that.”

Rick’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was a sadness there too. “I know what I’m doing, Daryl. I need you back at Alexandria, with the others. They need you.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Promise me you’ll go. Promise me you won’t come back here for me.”

Daryl’s face twisted with frustration, his fists clenched. “Rick, I can’t just leave you here.”

“Daryl,” Rick said, his voice low but unyielding, “you have to. You can’t let this place get its claws in you. I need you out there, free. For all of us.”

Daryl looked away, visibly struggling. He exhaled, a mixture of defeat and fury etched on his face. “Fine,” he muttered, barely audible. “But don’t expect me to like it.”

Rick nodded, placing a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he pulled Daryl into a tight embrace. Daryl froze for a second before reluctantly returning it, clapping Rick on the back.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Daryl said gruffly, his voice thick with emotion. “If there’s a way out of this, you take it.”

Rick just nodded, feeling the weight of his choice settle heavily on his shoulders. This was the last goodbye he’d get, and he knew it. He held onto the moment, knowing that when Daryl left, he would be left alone in the lion’s den.

The door creaked open, and they both pulled away to see Negan standing there, his face tense, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. His eyes flicked between them, narrowing slightly as he took in the scene. “Alright, time’s up,” he said, his voice edged with impatience. “Daryl, get moving before I change my mind.”

Daryl cast one last, hard look at Rick before turning and following the guards out. Rick watched him go, the finality of it all settling in. He felt a strange sense of relief, mingled with dread.

When the door shut behind Daryl, Rick turned to face Negan, who was watching him with a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. There was tension in his stance, an energy that seemed almost… possessive.

“So,” Negan drawled, crossing his arms, “you’re just giving yourself up for your friend, huh? All noble, like some damn hero.” He smirked, but his gaze was intense, his mouth a hard line. “You and that little reunion of yours—you seemed awful close. Think maybe you were taking a bit too long?”

Rick didn’t flinch, meeting Negan’s gaze with calm defiance. “Daryl’s going home. That’s what matters.”

Negan’s eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “Oh, I see how it is. All that loyalty, all that brotherly love.” He let out a low chuckle, though there was an edge to it. “But don’t forget, Rick,” he said, his voice low, “you’re mine now. Alexandria, Daryl—all of that is behind you. From here on out, you stay by my side.”

Rick said nothing, his silence defiant, and Negan’s smirk faded as he watched him. There was an unmistakable flicker of jealousy in his gaze, a possessive glint that Rick couldn’t ignore.

“Guess you’ll just have to learn to play nice,” Negan muttered, his voice tight, as if he were talking more to himself than to Rick. Then, after a moment, he let out a deep breath and straightened, his smirk returning, though the edge of impatience remained. “Now come on,” he said sharply, jerking his head toward the door. “We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

Negan walked ahead of Rick, not sparing him a glance as they made their way through the dim hallways of the compound. The silence between them was thick, each step echoing off the walls. Rick tried to gauge Negan’s mood, but his expression was unreadable, his jaw set, eyes focused straight ahead.

Rick couldn’t help but break the silence, his voice dripping with defiance. “So, what’s the plan?” he muttered, half to himself. “Throw me in a cell like you did Daryl? Beat me if I don’t fall in line?”

Negan didn’t respond, didn’t even slow his pace, and Rick clenched his fists, the silence gnawing at him. “Guess I shouldn’t expect much else from you,” Rick muttered, unable to stop the bitter words from spilling out. “You made sure Daryl knew his place, so why not do the same to me?”

But instead of dragging him toward a cell, Negan led him to a door Rick hadn’t been expecting: the infirmary. They stepped inside, and the sterile smell hit Rick, the cold, white light making him squint.

“Doc,” Negan said, his voice sharp but strangely subdued. “Got someone here who needs a look.”

Dr. Carson looked up from his desk, his eyes widening when he saw Rick. He quickly nodded and gestured for Rick to sit down on the examination table. “What happened?”

Negan crossed his arms, his gaze on Rick, his expression almost unreadable. “Rick here ran into a couple of my guys. Got a little rough, and I need to know he’s patched up. Make sure there’s nothing broken. And those cuts—don’t want those getting infected.”

Rick looked at him, genuinely taken aback. He expected Negan to taunt him, mock him for getting beaten up. Instead, he was standing there with an intensity in his eyes that bordered on concern. Rick felt a strange, uncomfortable sensation stirring in his chest, something that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dr. Carson started examining the cuts on Rick’s face, gently dabbing them with antiseptic. Rick winced, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth, and Negan’s expression shifted, a flicker of something like worry flashing across his face.

“Those bruises look bad,” the doctor murmured, his hand moving carefully over Rick’s ribs, pressing gently to check for fractures. Rick flinched, biting back a groan as the pain shot through him.

Negan stepped closer, his arms still crossed but his expression tense. “What’s the verdict, Doc? He’s been wincing every time he moves. Something broken?”

Dr. Carson nodded slightly. “Feels like he might have a cracked rib or two. Nothing life-threatening, but he’ll need to take it easy for a while. And those cuts need to be cleaned regularly to avoid infection.”

Negan’s gaze remained locked on Rick, his eyes narrowed, jaw clenched. “You heard the doc, Rick. You’re going to rest up and heal. None of this running around, trying to escape nonsense.”

Rick stared at him, stunned. Negan’s tone was firm, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something almost protective. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. After everything Negan had done, after all the pain he’d caused, why was he so concerned now?

Negan caught Rick’s gaze, raising an eyebrow as if he could sense Rick’s shock. “What?” he said, his tone biting but laced with a hint of amusement. “You think I’m just going to let you walk around here half-dead?”

Rick’s eyes narrowed, his voice a mix of confusion and anger. “Why do you care? You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself.”

Negan smirked, though the look in his eyes was softer than usual. “Oh, I care plenty, Rick. I care about my people, and for better or worse, you’re part of that now. Can’t have you dropping dead on me. Bad for morale.”

Rick scoffed, trying to mask the strange feeling stirring inside him, but the words hung between them, making him question everything he thought he knew about Negan. He couldn’t deny the impact Negan’s actions had on him, the way they challenged the boundaries of hate and twisted them into something far more complicated.

“Get some rest,” Negan said, his voice dropping, almost gentle. “I’ll check in on you later.”

And with that, he turned and left, leaving Rick alone in the infirmary, still reeling from the unexpected display of concern.

Chapter Text

POV Negan
-
Negan leaned against the doorframe, watching as Rick sat alone in the infirmary, looking worse for wear but still defiant. There was something about the man that demanded respect—something that no amount of beatings or intimidation could seem to shake. It was infuriating, and yet, damn, if it wasn’t part of what made Rick Grimes such a captivating force.

As much as he enjoyed riling Rick up, seeing him stubbornly try to escape, seeing him beaten and bruised... well, Negan had to admit, it wasn’t the satisfying sight he expected. There was a line there, somewhere, and it felt like his men had crossed it tonight. They were supposed to treat Rick with enough respect to keep him in line—not beat him into submission like some mangy stray.

Negan folded his arms, shifting his weight, his eyes following the contours of Rick’s face as the doctor continued his work. The bruises around his jaw and the fresh cut near his eye were stark against his skin. Rick kept his gaze hard, his shoulders tense even though his body must’ve been screaming in pain. Negan couldn’t help but admire that. He was used to seeing people crumble in front of him—people who’d sell out their friends, do anything, just to avoid a fraction of the hell Rick had been through. But Rick… he took it all. And he didn’t break.

There was a part of Negan that respected the hell out of that, even if he’d never admit it out loud. But then, maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe Rick could see it in the way he hadn’t shoved him into a cell or let his men beat him bloody without consequences. Maybe he could tell from the way Negan had personally brought him to the doctor, ensuring he’d get proper care.

Negan’s eyes lingered on Rick’s face as he winced from the doctor’s touch, and a flicker of concern—real, genuine concern—ran through him. Rick had been banged up bad, worse than he deserved. And although Negan would never say it outright, he didn’t like seeing Rick like this. He could almost hear Rick’s voice echoing in his head, spitting out his usual defiance: *I don’t need your help.* But the truth was, he did. Negan had seen what happened to people who pushed themselves past their limits. He didn’t want that for Rick. Not now. Not ever.

When Dr. Carson finished, he gave Negan a quick nod. “He’s got some bruised ribs, likely a fracture, and the cuts need tending to for the next few days. Keep him from too much movement.”

Negan nodded, his jaw clenching. "Thanks, Doc."

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, his presence suddenly filling the room. Rick looked up, his expression guarded, and Negan felt a familiar tug of both irritation and admiration. There was that fire again, even now, in the face of pain.

“Feeling better, sunshine?” Negan asked, his tone casual but his eyes scanning Rick’s face carefully, checking for any signs of real distress.

Rick rolled his eyes, trying to cover a grimace as he shifted in place. “I’ll live,” he muttered, his voice gravelly but determined.

Negan smirked, settling down in a chair across from him. He kept his expression casual, but inside, he was wrestling with something that was getting harder and harder to ignore. “That’s the thing about you, Rick—you don’t just live. You survive. And not because of anyone else’s help. Just pure, damn will.”

Rick narrowed his eyes, his gaze meeting Negan’s with a mixture of suspicion and defiance. “Not looking for your admiration,” he muttered, though his voice lacked the usual bite.

Negan chuckled, though he could feel the edge of his laughter soften. “Oh, I know. But it’s there whether you like it or not. You’ve got guts. Stubborn as hell too, even when you shouldn’t be. And as much as you hate me saying it, that’s something I can respect.”

Rick’s gaze flickered, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of Negan’s words, and Negan felt a strange satisfaction in seeing him uncertain. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on Rick’s.

“Look, Rick,” Negan began, his tone more serious than he intended. “I don’t want you getting banged up like this again. It’s… unnecessary.” He paused, the words feeling foreign in his mouth. “You might be here because I want it that way, but that doesn’t mean I want you in pieces.”

Rick’s brow furrowed, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. “Since when do you care about me?”

Negan exhaled, his smile a little more subdued than usual. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of watching you fall apart.” He looked away, feeling that strange sense of conflict again, that tug of something beyond the thrill of power and control. “Hell, maybe it’s that I can’t stand to see someone with your fire burn out too soon.”

For a moment, there was silence, and Negan could feel Rick’s eyes on him, studying him, probably just as baffled as Negan was by his own words. But as the silence stretched on, Negan realized he didn’t regret saying them.

Chapter Text

Rick sat outside on a narrow ledge that overlooked part of the Sanctuary’s yard, cradling a half-full bottle of whiskey he'd managed to scavenge on his silent trek through the place. The night was cool, with just enough chill to bite through his jacket. The burn of the whiskey balanced it out, and the solitude, rare as it was, gave him a sense of peace that had been missing for a long time.

He took a long pull from the bottle, feeling the warmth slide down his throat, settling somewhere deep inside. For a few moments, he could almost forget where he was, could almost let his mind drift back to Alexandria, to his family, his people. But the bruises still aching on his ribs reminded him otherwise. Here, he was in enemy territory. And yet... tonight, with nothing but the night air and a bottle of whiskey, he felt more himself than he had in days.

The faint sound of footsteps made him tense up, his hand instinctively clenching around the bottle. He cursed under his breath, knowing his little escape wouldn’t stay secret for long.

“Well, well, well,” Negan’s voice drawled from the shadows, his silhouette appearing at the edge of the building. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

Rick didn’t reply, just looked away and took another swig from the bottle, hoping Negan might take the hint and leave him alone. But he should’ve known better.

Negan climbed the metal ladder with surprising ease and settled himself down beside Rick, his boots dangling off the edge. “Whiskey, huh?” He held out his hand expectantly. “Pass it over, would you?”

Rick sighed but handed the bottle over, watching as Negan took a drink, the older man’s expression satisfied as he handed it back. For a while, they just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth, the silence settling between them. It was strangely comfortable, the two of them sitting in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, Negan broke the silence. “You know, you’ve got this whole brooding thing down to a science,” he said, a slight smirk on his face. “But it wouldn’t hurt you to smile, you know.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, giving him a flat look. “It would. Might break something,” he muttered, taking another sip.

Negan chuckled. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’ve got no sense of humor?”

Rick looked away, but he could feel a ghost of a smirk threatening to tug at his lips. “Nothing here’s exactly been funny.”

Negan shrugged, unbothered. “Well, life’s a whole lot of hell most of the time. Gotta learn to find the laughs where you can, or it’ll eat you alive.”

Rick snorted, shaking his head slightly, the whiskey making him bolder. “And you’re the expert on happiness now?”

Negan gave a short laugh. “Hell no. But I do know what it’s like to lose everything. It either makes you laugh... or it makes you bitter.” He paused, looking Rick over. “Guess we know which one you picked.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think I’ve got much to laugh about.”

Negan was quiet for a moment, his usual cockiness tempered by something almost… understanding. “You’d be surprised what you can laugh about when you’ve got nothing left,” he said, his voice softer than Rick had ever heard. “After a while, it’s all just survival anyway. Might as well get a kick out of it now and then.”

They sat in silence again, passing the whiskey back and forth, each feeling the weight of unspoken words settle between them. After a few minutes, Rick felt himself relax, the alcohol and the strange companionship chipping away at his defenses.

Negan looked at him, his gaze serious for once. “You know, I don’t hate you, Rick. Hell, part of me respects you more than anyone I’ve ever met.” He paused, studying Rick’s reaction. “I get why you do what you do. Even if you and me are on opposite sides, there’s a hell of a lot we have in common.”

Rick didn’t respond right away, letting the words sink in. Part of him wanted to argue, wanted to throw Negan’s cruelty back in his face. But another part—a part that surprised him—could see the truth in what Negan was saying. They were both fighters, survivors, men who’d do anything to protect what was theirs. It was a twisted sort of kinship, but it was there, whether he liked it or not.

“So, what, you want us to be friends now?” Rick said, his tone laced with skepticism.

Negan chuckled, though there was an edge of something else in his eyes. “Nah, not friends. But maybe… something else. Something neither of us is used to.” He took another sip, handing the bottle back to Rick.

Rick didn’t know what to say to that, so he just took a long drink, letting the warmth of the whiskey soothe the confusion swirling in his head. There was something about Negan’s presence that was infuriating and comforting at the same time—a strange contradiction he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.

As the night wore on, they talked about everything and nothing. Rick found himself loosening up, letting the anger fade, if only for a little while. For the first time since he’d arrived, he felt like he could breathe. The whiskey, the night air, and even Negan’s strange companionship made the world feel a little less heavy.

By the time the bottle was empty, Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way—halfway to relaxed, halfway to forgetting the weight he carried. And though he’d never admit it, he knew Negan was the reason why.

Negan’s gaze lingered on Rick as the silence stretched between them, the empty bottle resting on the ledge between them. In the cool night air, the warmth of the whiskey had settled in, and Rick found himself feeling strangely… unguarded. It was a feeling he hated, especially with Negan sitting so close.

But Negan didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did and just didn’t care. His gaze was focused on Rick, intense and unwavering, a look that felt heavy and deliberate, like he was seeing right through him. Rick tried to ignore it, but the closeness between them was impossible to overlook.

Negan shifted, leaning just a little bit closer, so close now that Rick could feel his breath against his skin, warm and tainted with whiskey. The air between them was thick, charged, and Rick’s pulse picked up despite himself. He swallowed, his eyes flicking down to Negan’s lips, lingering for a moment too long.

Negan’s mouth curled into a small, knowing smirk, as if he could read every thought running through Rick’s head. “Something on your mind, Rick?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper, like they were sharing some kind of secret.

Rick’s jaw clenched, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. He forced himself to tear his eyes away, the realization of what he’d been thinking hitting him like a slap. This was *Negan*. He shouldn’t feel anything toward this man besides anger, hatred. But that wasn’t the only thing swirling in his chest right now, and it unsettled him more than he could stand.

Suddenly, Rick pushed himself to his feet, the quick motion jolting him back to reality. “I should… I should get to bed,” he muttered, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

Negan’s smirk widened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, Rick,” he said, his tone teasing, as if he knew exactly why Rick was walking away.

Rick didn’t respond, didn’t dare to look back. He turned and headed back toward his room, ignoring the strange mixture of emotions tightening in his chest, the lingering warmth of Negan’s presence still prickling at his skin.

Once he was alone, he sank down onto his bed, his mind a mess of confusion and frustration. He tried to shake off the feeling, the memory of Negan’s breath close to his, the way his own gaze had betrayed him, wandering to Negan’s mouth like he wanted… something he didn’t dare admit.

Whatever this was, he couldn’t let it get to him.

Chapter Text

Negan POV

The next morning, Negan woke with a rare energy buzzing through him, a smirk already playing at his lips. He knew he was close—so damn close to finally breaking through Rick’s defenses. Last night had been a reminder of that, the way Rick had let his guard drop for just a split second, the way his gaze had lingered on Negan’s lips. Negan could still feel the heat between them, the tension sparking in the night air.

As he moved through the hallways, the Sanctuary seemed a little brighter, the walls a little less cold. He caught glances from a few of the Saviors, curious, wary—probably wondering what had him in such a good mood. Negan just chuckled to himself, feeling an extra skip in his step.

After gathering his things, he found Rick waiting where he’d instructed him to meet, arms crossed and looking as stoic as ever. But Negan could see it in his eyes—that flicker of something unsaid, something just under the surface. Rick might have looked calm, but Negan knew better. He always did.

“Rise and shine, Rick,” Negan drawled, giving him a playful nudge. “We’ve got a fun little day ahead of us. Thought I’d take you along for a supply run to one of the nearby communities. Figured you could use some fresh air, stretch those legs a bit.”

Rick just grunted in response, but Negan noticed the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands tightened into fists. *Good*, he thought. *Means he’s still thinking about last night, too.*

The drive to the community was quiet, but Negan was determined to keep the mood light. He kept throwing comments Rick’s way, pointing out things along the road, sharing little quips, occasionally sneaking in a half-smirk or two. And every time, Rick would glance his way, irritated, muttering under his breath or giving a curt nod.

When they arrived at the community, Negan went out of his way to keep Rick close, showing him around, flashing an easygoing smile as he talked to the residents. He made sure to give Rick more attention than he needed to, brushing a hand over his shoulder here and there, nudging him every so often. And the more he did it, the more he could feel Rick’s irritation simmering under the surface.

Finally, as they finished checking the last of the supplies, Negan turned to Rick, grinning. “See? This isn’t so bad, is it? Just a simple supply run, some friendly faces, little sunshine—”

“Stop,” Rick cut in suddenly, his voice tense, his eyes locked on Negan.

Negan raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Stop what?”

Rick looked away, jaw clenched, his voice low and strained. “Being so kind to me. Stop acting like this. Like… like you care.”

Negan’s smirk widened, and he took a step closer, his gaze fixed on Rick’s. “Oh, that’s what’s got you all worked up?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Guess it bothers you more than I thought, doesn’t it?”

Rick’s fists clenched at his sides, and Negan could see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the irritation, the confusion.

“You know,” Negan continued, his tone softer but with that ever-present edge, “you’re allowed to let your guard down, Rick. Doesn’t have to be all fists and teeth all the time. Could make things a lot easier for both of us.”

Rick’s gaze wavered for a moment before he looked away, swallowing hard, clearly struggling to keep his composure. “I don’t want things to be easier,” he muttered, voice thick with anger.

Negan chuckled softly, backing off just enough to give Rick some breathing room. But the victory was there, plain as day. He could see it in Rick’s eyes, the way he was trying to hold himself together, trying not to give in to whatever he was feeling. But Negan knew he was close now, closer than ever before.

“Suit yourself,” Negan said, flashing a quick, knowing smile. “But you should know… this kindness isn’t going anywhere.” He turned and gestured for Rick to follow, his step even lighter than before.

Negan watched Rick, his smile growing slyer as he noted the tension rippling through him. The line between anger and something else was razor-thin, and Negan couldn’t resist the temptation to push Rick just a little further, to see exactly where that line would break.

Slowly, he leaned in, invading Rick's space, his face mere inches away. He was so close that he could feel the heat radiating from Rick’s skin, could see the fine lines of exhaustion and defiance etched around his eyes. Negan didn’t say a word, letting the silence and proximity speak for him, waiting for Rick’s reaction.

To his surprise, Rick didn't step back. Instead, his eyes flickered with something that wasn’t quite anger anymore. He held his ground, gaze wavering just slightly as Negan’s breath fanned over his skin. And then, in a moment that made Negan’s pulse jump, Rick closed his eyes, his face remaining still and steady, a tension in his body that felt almost like… surrender.

Negan’s smirk softened into something more curious as he watched Rick, drinking in every subtle shift of his expression. Rick was standing there, silent, unmoving, his eyes closed as though preparing himself for whatever Negan would do next. It was a sight Negan hadn’t anticipated—a glimpse of vulnerability, one he was sure Rick himself didn’t realize he was showing.

Negan lingered there for another long moment, his face just inches from Rick’s, watching him with a fascination he couldn’t quite explain. He knew he had the upper hand, could do or say whatever he wanted, but he was content to simply hold this moment, to let Rick stay suspended in that space between resistance and surrender.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Negan pulled back just slightly, his voice low, carrying a note of intrigue. “Interesting, Rick. Didn’t think you’d let me get that close.”

Rick’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze sharp and unreadable, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks. But he said nothing, his jaw set, and Negan could see him bracing himself, his silence a fragile armor.

Negan chuckled softly, the sound more genuine than smug this time. He kept his eyes on Rick, unable to resist one last quiet taunt. “Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you think.” Then, with a knowing smirk, he turned and continued walking, leaving Rick standing there, wrestling with whatever unspoken feelings lingered between them.

Chapter Text

Rick stepped outside, catching sight of several Saviors loading supplies onto a truck. He recognized some of the crates—they were from Alexandria. A surge of anger twisted in his chest as he walked over, spotting Negan watching the scene with that damn smug look plastered on his face.

Rick clenched his jaw, barely keeping his voice steady as he spoke. “Where are you taking those?”

Negan turned to him, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Alexandria,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Got some unfinished business there, figured I’d check up on things. See how your people are… holding up.”

Rick’s fists tightened at his sides. The last thing he wanted was Negan anywhere near Alexandria again. “I don’t want you going back there.”

Negan’s brow raised, that amusement turning to open challenge. “Last I checked, Rick, I don’t need your permission to do *anything*.”

Rick felt his patience snap. “You can’t just—” he started, his voice rising with a sharp edge. “I’m not just going to stand here while you do whatever you damn well please. You think I’m gonna just sit back and watch you walk in there like you own the place?”

Negan’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “What made you think you could talk to me like that, huh?” His voice was low, dangerously calm, as he advanced on Rick, his presence radiating authority, irritation, and something else that made Rick’s breath hitch.

Rick took a step back, but Negan followed, relentless, until Rick’s back was against the cold, unyielding wall of the compound. Negan leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper, eyes locked on Rick’s with an intensity that made Rick’s chest tighten.

“You’re mine, Rick,” Negan growled, his face inches away. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. You follow *my* rules now. You do what I say. Understand?”

Rick’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides, but Negan’s presence was like a magnetic force, keeping him rooted in place. He could feel Negan’s breath ghosting over his skin, could see the flicker of something fierce and possessive in his eyes, and the rage he felt was knotted with something he couldn’t quite explain.

Negan tilted his head, smirking slightly, as if he could read every thought racing through Rick’s mind. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Rick glared, his pride screaming at him to shove Negan away, to push back, but the intensity of the moment held him frozen. He’d never felt this level of conflict before, a strange pull that both infuriated him and made it nearly impossible to tear his gaze from Negan’s.

Negan gave a low chuckle, leaning even closer, his voice a dangerous purr. “Good. You’re learning.” He held Rick’s gaze for another charged second before he straightened, stepping back, leaving Rick standing there, breathless and tense, the weight of the unspoken words hanging thickly between them.

“Now,” Negan said, turning to his men with a smirk, “let’s get moving.” He threw a glance back at Rick, the glint of challenge still in his eyes. “Hope you’re ready for the ride, Rick. It’s going to be a hell of a day.”

As the truck rumbled down the road toward Alexandria, Rick could feel the tension building in his chest, his mind racing with anxiety about what was coming. He hated this—the thought of Negan’s people invading his home again, and the danger that came with it. And Negan, perched casually beside him, had the audacity to smile, looking at Rick with that gleam in his eyes as if this was just another one of his games.

Before they reached the gates, Negan leaned close, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “I’m warning you, Rick,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “You try anything, you so much as breathe wrong… and I’ll make sure someone pays for it. Got it?”

Rick swallowed hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to fight back, to do *anything* that might keep Negan from asserting his control over his people again. But the thought of anyone else suffering for it kept him in line. All he could do was give a tight nod, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral.

As they entered Alexandria, the community members cast wary glances their way, their expressions a mixture of fear and anger. Rick’s heart twisted as he saw Michonne and Daryl approaching, their stances tense and wary, eyes fixed on Negan with open hostility.

Negan, of course, noticed, and he threw an arm around Rick’s shoulders, pulling him in close, his fingers gripping a little too tightly. “Look at this place, Rick,” he drawled, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s almost like you’ve been waiting for me to come home.”

Rick could see Michonne’s jaw clench, her hands curling into fists, but she held herself back, just watching, waiting. Daryl, though, was already simmering, his eyes fixed on Negan’s arm around Rick with barely concealed rage.

Negan noticed this too, and his smile only grew. He leaned in closer to Rick, his voice lowering so only he could hear. “Looks like I’m causing a bit of a stir, huh?”

Rick grit his teeth, refusing to respond, but the closeness was maddening, and Negan knew it. Every small touch, every little smirk was calculated to get under Rick’s skin—and it was working.

But Negan wasn’t content with just affecting Rick. He made a show of brushing an imaginary speck of dust off Rick’s shirt, fingers lingering a bit too long, his gaze taunting as he looked over at Michonne and Daryl.

“Relax, folks,” Negan said with a laugh, throwing a grin at the two of them. “I’m just here to keep an eye on your fearless leader. Make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble.” He patted Rick’s shoulder, giving him a slight shake.

Daryl couldn’t take it anymore. His face twisted in anger, and before anyone could stop him, he lunged forward, fists raised, intent on taking Negan down. But Negan was ready for him. He sidestepped Daryl’s swing with a quickness that caught everyone off guard, then grabbed Daryl by the collar, slamming him back with a force that knocked the breath out of him.

“Watch yourself, Daryl,” Negan growled, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. “You forget who’s in charge here.” He looked down at Daryl, his grip firm, his voice cold. “Rick here? He’s mine. So unless you want to end up in a worse position than you’re already in, I’d suggest you stay out of this.”

Rick tensed, seeing the fury in Daryl’s eyes. He knew Daryl wanted nothing more than to fight back, but he also knew that Negan would make good on his threats if he pushed too far.

Negan let Daryl go, giving him a dismissive shove before turning his attention back to Rick, his expression softening as if the whole thing had been nothing more than an amusing game to him. “Ready to get back to work?” he asked, his tone light, as though he hadn’t just threatened one of Rick’s closest friends in front of everyone.

Rick swallowed down his anger, forcing himself to nod, knowing he couldn’t afford to defy Negan here, not with so many lives at stake. But as they moved further into Alexandria, Negan’s arm around him once again, Rick’s mind was already racing, trying to find some way to turn the tables—even if, for now, all he could do was play along.

-
Negan led Rick through Alexandria with a swagger that spoke to everyone around them, loud and clear: *Rick belonged to him.* Every step was deliberate, every touch a statement. Negan’s arm stayed firmly draped over Rick’s shoulders, fingers kneading in a way that felt almost affectionate, if not for the steel-hard edge of his grip.

“Nice little community you’ve got here, Rick,” Negan said loudly, glancing around. His grin widened when he spotted Michonne and Daryl standing by, both of their jaws clenched tight, bristling under the sight of their leader walking in step with him. “I can see why you’re so keen to keep me around. *I* make this place better, don’t I?”

Rick gritted his teeth, trying to keep his expression neutral as Negan’s fingers brushed over his shoulder and down his arm, fingers skimming just a little longer than necessary.

“Feels good, huh?” Negan said, his voice dipping low enough that only Rick could hear. “Having someone to lean on? *Must* be a relief.”

Rick didn’t answer, biting down the response that burned at the back of his throat. He caught Michonne’s eye across the yard, saw the fury flickering behind her calm exterior, and tried to send a message with a single look: *Don’t.*

But Negan wasn’t about to let anyone forget who was in control.

He turned toward Michonne, a glint of something mocking in his gaze. “You know, Michonne, I can see why Rick chose this place to settle down. The company is something else. But I gotta say, I’m starting to think he’s warming up to my style a little more than he’d admit.”

Rick felt his jaw tighten as Negan’s hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers pressing into his collarbone with a possessiveness that sent his heart pounding. Michonne’s face remained stoic, but he could see the simmering anger in her eyes.

Negan tilted his head, letting his voice carry to Michonne and Daryl, who was standing tense, ready to snap. “See, Rick’s loyal. And I like that. In fact…” He leaned in, voice low but not enough to keep anyone around them from hearing, “I’d bet he’s *real good* at staying loyal. Not everyone’s got that same commitment, but Rick here? He’s special.”

Daryl took a step forward, his fists clenched. “Enough.”

Negan barely glanced his way, chuckling softly as he kept his arm snug around Rick’s shoulders, keeping him close. “Easy, Daryl. Just admiring your buddy here. Besides, you know how much Rick loves his *responsibilities.* Right, Rick?” His voice turned suggestive, the implication dripping from every word.

Rick forced himself to keep his expression steady, even as anger coiled tightly in his chest. “Let’s keep moving,” he said quietly, his voice strained but steady.

Negan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. He kept his arm around Rick, fingers moving in a slow, mocking caress that felt both possessive and humiliating. He turned back to Daryl, his grin widening as he caught the flash of rage in Daryl’s eyes. “What’s wrong, Daryl? You jealous? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to take good care of Rick. He’s got… *potential*.”

Daryl took another step forward, fury radiating off him. “Shut your mouth,” he spat, barely restraining himself.

Negan’s grin only grew. “Careful there, tiger. Rick’s mine. And you wouldn’t want to be disrespecting that, would you?” He leaned in close to Rick again, his breath hot against Rick’s ear as he spoke just loud enough for everyone around them to hear. “You’re mine, Rick. You do as I say. And anyone who forgets that?” He looked pointedly at Daryl. “Well, we all know how I deal with insubordination.”

The tension in the air was thick, the Alexandrians around them visibly struggling with their fury, their helplessness. But Rick kept his expression steady, ignoring the possessive grip on his shoulder, the mocking tone in Negan’s voice. He wouldn’t give Negan the satisfaction of a reaction, even if it burned every nerve in his body.

With a smirk, Negan finally stepped back, guiding Rick along as they moved further through the streets of Alexandria, his fingers trailing down Rick’s arm, lingering, reminding him—and everyone else—that Rick was under his control.

Negan's laughter filled the air, ringing out across Alexandria as he kept Rick close, relishing the reactions of everyone watching. But the closer they got to Daryl, the tenser the air grew, until it finally snapped.

Daryl stepped forward, shoulders set, his eyes blazing as he stormed toward them. "You think you can come in here, touchin’ him like that? Talking like you own him?” His voice was sharp, venom laced in every word.

Negan only smirked, tilting his head in amusement. “Easy there, Daryl. If you don’t like it, feel free to do something about it.”

Without another word, Daryl shoved him, his palms connecting hard with Negan’s chest. The shove wasn’t enough to knock him off balance, but it was enough to make Negan’s eyes flash with a sudden, dangerous spark. He straightened, posture shifting as he took a slow, deliberate step toward Daryl, muscles tensing.

“You really think you can come at me, boy?” Negan’s voice was low, and he squared his shoulders, looking ready to make an example out of Daryl right then and there.

Before things could spiral further, Rick quickly stepped between them, pressing a firm hand against Negan’s chest. He held Negan’s gaze, his voice soft, steady. “Negan,” he said quietly, his tone gentle but imploring. “Let it go. Please.”

Negan’s expression shifted, that hardened glint in his eyes softening just a fraction as he looked down at Rick, caught off guard by the unexpected calm in Rick’s voice. His posture loosened, and for a moment, his hand covered Rick’s over his chest, holding his gaze with a mix of irritation and something warmer.

After a long pause, Negan sighed, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders. “Alright,” he muttered, finally letting his gaze drift back to Daryl with a smirk, though his tone held less bite this time. “Guess I can let it slide. For now.”

Rick kept his hand on Negan’s chest a moment longer, silently reinforcing his plea, before letting it drop.

Negan sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to Rick, his eyes taking on a glint of something almost amused. “Alright, alright. Let’s get moving, then,” he muttered, giving Rick’s shoulder a squeeze. “Time to say your goodbyes. Let’s see those kids of yours before we head back.”

Rick walked into his house, the familiar creak of the door a reminder of the life he was fighting to protect. The moment he stepped inside, Judith’s soft babbling from the living room reached his ears, and he couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Negan hung back at the doorway, glancing around the cozy interior of the Grimes household with a faint smirk. “I’ll give you a few minutes, Rick. Family reunion and all,” he said, his voice low but carrying a subtle edge. “But don’t get too comfortable.” He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms as he gave Rick a nod to go ahead.

Rick moved inside, immediately dropping down to pick up Judith, who reached for him with small, eager hands. He held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair, his grip lingering like he was trying to make the moment last.

Carl stood nearby, eyeing his father with a mix of relief and frustration. Rick could see the questions in Carl’s gaze but didn’t know how to begin answering them.

A few moments later, Michonne and Daryl slipped into the room, casting quick glances toward the door to check on Negan’s whereabouts. Michonne took a step closer, her voice lowered. “Rick,” she murmured, concern etched in her face. “What’s going on? What’s he doing here, bringing you around like this?”

Daryl’s jaw was clenched, his gaze dark with restrained fury. “You’re practically his shadow now. This doesn’t make sense, Rick. Why are you letting him treat you like this?”

Rick looked down, his grip tightening around Judith as he wrestled with the weight of his answer. He swallowed hard, his voice just above a whisper. “It’s… complicated. We’re playing a longer game here. If I go against him now, more people get hurt.”

Daryl let out a frustrated scoff. “Can’t let him keep draggin’ you around like you’re some kind of trophy, Rick. This isn’t right.”

Rick shook his head, his voice low and steady. “If I don’t keep him happy, he’ll take it out on all of you. I don’t have a choice.” He shifted his gaze to Michonne, his eyes heavy with silent understanding. “I know what this looks like, but I’m doing what I have to. For all of us.”

Michonne reached out, touching his arm gently, her gaze soft but full of worry. “We just… we don’t want you to lose yourself to him, Rick.”

He offered her a tight nod, glancing between her and Daryl, silently grateful for their concern, though the weight of his decision was pressing hard on him. “Trust me. I won’t.”

Before he could say more, Negan’s voice drifted into the room, casual but commanding. “Time’s up, Rick! Let’s wrap up the family reunion, shall we?”

Rick sighed, looking at Carl and Judith one last time, then set Judith down with a gentle hand on her shoulder. He forced a reassuring smile, ruffling Carl’s hair. “Take care of things while I’m gone.”

And with that, he steeled himself, ready to face Negan again, every step feeling heavier as he walked back to the door.

As Rick turned toward the door, his hand already reaching for the handle, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned just as Carl rushed forward, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I miss you, Dad," Carl mumbled, his voice muffled against Rick's chest. "I wish you’d come home soon."

Rick felt a pang deep in his chest, his hand coming to rest gently on the back of Carl’s head. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything settling onto his shoulders. He squeezed Carl tightly, his voice soft but full of conviction. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. You take care of your sister for me, alright?”

Carl nodded, his face showing a determination that reminded Rick too much of himself. Slowly, Carl stepped back, but his gaze lingered on Rick, searching for reassurance.

“Alright, Rick,” Negan called, a hint of impatience in his voice as he glanced at the two of them. “Let’s not keep the big man waiting.”

Rick straightened up, giving Carl a final nod, and turned back toward the door, feeling the warmth of Carl’s hug still with him as he left.

-

The car ride back to the Sanctuary was long, tense, and filled with an oppressive silence. Rick stared out the window, jaw clenched, each mile away from Alexandria settling like lead in his gut. Every so often, Negan would glance over at him, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing, letting the silence stretch on.

As soon as they reached the Sanctuary, Rick didn’t wait. He shoved the car door open and jumped out, storming toward the main building, his anger finally boiling over. He didn’t care who saw him; he didn’t care about anything except getting some space, a moment to breathe.

But it was clear Negan wasn’t about to let him go that easily. Rick had barely made it to the entrance when he heard footsteps behind him, and in a heartbeat, Negan’s hand was on his arm, pulling him back hard. Rick spun around, only to find himself face-to-face with Negan, chest pressed to his.

“Let go of me, Negan,” Rick snarled, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes blazing.

Negan’s grip didn’t loosen. Instead, he held Rick’s arm firmly, his other hand coming up to rest lightly on Rick’s shoulder. “Now, now, Rick,” he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice quiet but filled with a dark amusement. “You think you can just storm off like that? After the little show we just put on?”

Rick glared at him, his breathing heavy as he struggled against the intense pull between them, his anger sparking into something else, something he didn’t want to name. “I don’t care what you think you can make me do, Negan. I’m not some pawn you can push around.”

Negan’s smirk softened slightly, but his eyes were still alight with that twisted amusement. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned in even closer, so close Rick could feel the heat radiating off him. “I think you might just be exactly that. Because no matter how much you fight, you’re still here. Right where I want you.”

Rick’s fists clenched, but the weight of Negan’s gaze, the nearness of him, was enough to keep him rooted in place, every instinct screaming at him to push Negan away and every muscle unwilling to act.

Negan's grip on Rick’s arm tightened, his voice a low murmur as he leaned in, his eyes boring into Rick’s with unsettling intensity. “Tell me, Rick,” he said, his words barely more than a whisper, “what’s really keeping you here, keeping you from killing me when you’ve had so many chances?”

Rick felt his heart skip, then pound hard against his chest. His throat tightened, and for a second, he couldn’t pull his gaze away from Negan’s, couldn’t force himself to break free from the hold this man seemed to have on him. The question hung in the air between them, heavy, loaded.

Rick forced himself to stay calm, to try and cover up the way his heartbeat was racing, but he knew Negan was watching his every reaction, that all of this only fed into the twisted game he was playing.

“You’ve got your people guarding me,” Rick muttered, hoping the casual answer would throw Negan off. “Not exactly an easy thing to pull off with all of your eyes watching me.”

Negan let out a low chuckle, his fingers brushing along Rick’s shoulder almost thoughtfully. “Nah, don’t give me that, Rick.” He leaned in even closer, so close Rick could feel Negan’s breath against his cheek. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Rick swallowed, feeling the weight of Negan’s question and knowing, deep down, there was something that had kept him from acting, some unspoken tension he hadn’t dared to fully acknowledge. But he wasn’t about to let Negan see that, wasn’t about to hand him any more power than he already held.

“You’re nothing to me, Negan,” Rick ground out, voice hard, even if he could barely convince himself of it.

Negan’s smirk only grew, his eyes glinting with that familiar dark humor. “Is that so?” he drawled, leaning in even closer, his lips hovering just inches from Rick’s ear. “Funny, because I think we both know there’s something keeping you right here.”

Negan’s voice dropped to a dark, taunting whisper, his breath brushing against Rick’s ear as he spoke. “And you aren’t brave enough to admit it, Rick,” he murmured, his fingers still locked around Rick’s arm. “You’re terrified—terrified of what they’d all think, what they’d say if they knew the real you, those deep, dark little secrets you keep buried.”

Rick’s jaw clenched, the words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. Negan was poking at something he’d hidden for so long, something he hadn’t even allowed himself to fully examine. But he didn’t look away, didn’t let himself flinch.

“I think it’d just take one little move,” Negan continued, his voice softening, almost coaxing, as he leaned in closer. “One little push, and you’d crack right open. I could make it happen, right here, if I wanted to.”

Rick tried to shake free, but Negan’s grip tightened, pulling him closer until their faces were barely inches apart. He could feel the heat radiating off Negan, feel the pressure of every word pressing in on him.

“You think you know me?” Rick shot back, his voice a low growl, laced with frustration and something else he couldn’t quite suppress.

Negan’s smirk only deepened, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, predatory spark. “Oh, I think I know you better than you know yourself, Rick.” He tilted his head, studying Rick’s face with unnerving intensity. “And that scares you, doesn’t it?”

Rick felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a wild mix of anger and something dangerously close to fear. He willed himself to break away, to shut out the pressure of Negan’s words and the heat of his gaze. But Negan held his ground, his grip firm, his smirk unwavering, waiting for Rick to acknowledge what neither of them wanted to admit.

Rick's anger simmered as he met Negan's gaze, but something else stirred beneath it—a pull, low and unbidden, settling hot in his stomach. Negan's eyes were fixed on him, darker and more intense than before, his gaze dropping to Rick’s lips. The tension in the air tightened until it felt like the smallest spark could ignite it.

And then Negan closed the distance, his mouth crashing into Rick's in a fierce, consuming kiss. Rick froze, shocked, but his resistance melted as the kiss deepened, messy and heated, all lips and teeth, raw and unrestrained. Negan’s hands slid up to cup Rick's jaw, pulling him in even closer, and Rick found himself responding, losing himself in the intensity of it.

A low, guttural moan escaped Rick’s lips as Negan’s mouth moved to his neck, grazing across his skin, each touch leaving a burning trail. The sound seemed to snap Negan back to himself, and he drew back, breath heavy, his lips swollen, his eyes half-lidded but filled with a smug satisfaction. He gave Rick a knowing smile, his voice a low rasp as he looked him over.

“I told you so,” he murmured, his words heavy with triumph and challenge, a glint of victory in his gaze as he turned to walk outside leaving Rick standing alone.

Chapter Text

Negan shut the door behind him, leaning his back against it as he tried to catch his breath, his heart pounding harder than he ever would have admitted to anyone—especially not Rick. What the hell had he just done?

Kissing Rick hadn’t just been about the control, the game he’d been playing. It had been something else entirely, something that made him feel like he was finally waking up. The way Rick had softened under him, that low moan slipping from his lips—it was like Negan had been starving, and that kiss had brought him back to life, filling him with a raw need he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to steady himself. Negan had always been the one in control, the one who called the shots and didn’t let anyone get close enough to break him. But that kiss had unsettled him in ways he didn’t want to think about. He didn’t allow himself to want things, to need people. Letting someone in, letting someone care for him—hell, letting himself care for someone else—it was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

But that kiss… He couldn't shake it, the way it had stirred something deep inside him that he’d long thought buried. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and it had left him feeling exposed in a way that made him uneasy. And yet, he couldn't deny the spark of life that had reignited in him the second he felt Rick press back into that kiss.

Negan shook his head, forcing himself to calm down, to bury it all back down where it belonged. Whatever that kiss had been, he would make sure it never happened again. He couldn’t let himself need anyone, couldn’t allow himself to want something that badly.

-
The next morning, Negan did everything he could to avoid Rick. He kept himself busy, ordering people around, focusing on every little task he could think of to keep his mind off last night. He couldn’t shake the memory of that kiss—the warmth of Rick’s mouth, the way he’d melted into it—but he was determined to bury it. He wasn’t about to let himself fall into whatever mess this could be.

By midday, Negan retreated to his office, closing the door firmly behind him as if he could shut out the world—and, more importantly, Rick. He buried himself in paperwork, his mind racing with every excuse to keep himself tucked away from any chance of crossing paths with him.

After a while, there was a knock on the door, and Sherry walked in, her gaze immediately catching on the tension in his posture. She tilted her head, studying him. “Negan? You look… off.”

He forced a smirk, but it didn’t feel right. “Off? Just busy, doll. Got a whole compound to run, you know.”

Sherry gave him a look that showed she wasn’t buying it. “You’re always busy, but you’re usually enjoying it. Today, you look like you’re trying to hide from something.”

Negan scoffed, shifting in his seat and trying to act like he was fine. “Hide? Sweetheart, what would I be hiding from?”

She leaned against his desk, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. But I do know that usually, when something’s on your mind, you’re not one to keep quiet about it.” She watched him a little closer, noticing the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

Negan clenched his jaw, not wanting to give anything away, especially not to her. “Let’s just say I’ve got some things I’m… thinking through,” he said gruffly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Sherry narrowed her eyes, still unconvinced. “Just be careful, Negan. Whatever’s got you rattled—it’s got you acting different.”

With that, she gave him one last glance before turning and leaving. Once the door closed, Negan let out a long breath, feeling the weight of his thoughts crash back over him. It had been a mistake—letting himself get too close to Rick. He didn’t do attachments, didn’t do complications. And yet, here he was, unable to shake it off.

Negan sat in his room, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting in his hand, staring down at it like he might find answers at the bottom. He'd been trying to drown out the memory of the kiss with work and noise, but now, in the quiet, it was like every nerve was tuned to that moment. The whiskey burned in his throat, but it didn’t do a damn thing to silence the part of him that was aching to feel that fire again.

Suddenly, there was a heavy knock, then a scuffle outside the door. Negan raised an eyebrow, not even having a chance to react before Rick was shoved into the room by his men, his breathing heavy, a wild look in his eyes.

One of the men, looking a little too proud, smirked. “We found him sneakin’ around the gates, Negan. Thought we’d better bring him straight to you.”

Negan leaned back in his chair, raising a hand to silence them. “I’ll take care of this,” he said, his tone cold enough to leave no room for argument. He waved them off, watching as they hesitated for just a second before leaving. The door clicked shut, leaving him alone with Rick.

He studied Rick, who was still trying to catch his breath, tension and defiance simmering under the surface. The sight brought a slow smirk to Negan's lips, and he set down his glass with a lazy, calculated movement. Standing up, he poured another drink and held it out toward Rick, tilting his head in a silent invitation. “Might as well relax, Rick,” he drawled. “Take a seat.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he glanced at the offered drink, then back at Negan. He hesitated, but after a beat, he took it, letting out a rough sigh as he lowered himself into the chair opposite.
They sat there in silence, the tension between them thick as the quiet stretched. Negan took a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes fixed on Rick, waiting to see who would break the silence first. But Rick just sat there, staring into his own glass, as though it held all the answers he’d been chasing.

Finally, Negan let out a low chuckle, breaking the silence. “So… mind tellin’ me why you were tryin' to sneak out again, Rick?”

Rick shrugged, not meeting Negan’s eyes. “Figured if you were gonna avoid me all day, it was my chance.”

Negan chuckled softly, a sound much softer than he usually allowed himself to make. It almost surprised him, that little sound of genuine amusement slipping through his usual guard. He leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at Rick, his gaze softer than he intended. For a moment, he just studied him, as if seeing him differently—or maybe seeing something he hadn’t let himself admit.

Rick shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of Negan’s eyes on him, and finally looked up. There was something vulnerable there, something unsaid that hung in the air between them. Negan’s jaw clenched just a little as he forced himself to break the gaze, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

“Guess you got your wish then,” Negan murmured, voice low. “Here I am.”

Negan leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there was a hint of something softer lingering in his gaze. “You got my attention, Rick. Not that you ever have to try too hard to get it,” he said, voice smooth as he took a sip from his glass. “What do you want?”

Rick hesitated, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass before he tipped his head back, knocking it down in one go. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and then he looked back at Negan, something raw and frustrated burning in his gaze.

“What game are you playing here, Negan? What do you win by getting me to admit that I… I might find you attractive? That, for some goddamn reason, I gravitate toward you, and I don’t even know why.” Rick’s voice was rough, cracking with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. “I’m your prisoner. My family and friends are, too. You’ve done… you’ve done some truly messed-up things to us, to my people. And yet here I am, drawn to you like I don’t have a choice. What else do you need to take from me? You already have it all.”

Negan’s face shifted, something flickering in his expression that was harder, but vulnerable in its own way. He swallowed, setting his glass down as he leaned forward, the mask he usually wore slipping just enough for Rick to see a glimpse of something beneath it.

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world now, Rick,” Negan said quietly, his voice lower, rougher. “You think I could show kindness and stay alive out here? You can’t show feelings, not without someone taking advantage or putting a bullet in you. You don’t get it, do you? I’m just doing what it takes to keep my people alive. Same as you.”

Negan’s gaze bore into Rick’s, the intensity in his eyes matching the weight of his words. “You killed a lot of my people, Rick. It’s not so black and white. Only difference between us? I had the power to stop you first, to keep my people safe from you.” He paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re not that different.”

He leaned closer, his voice dipping to a near whisper, his eyes dark with an unreadable intensity. “But damn, Rick… you’re under my skin. You’re in my head, and I can’t shake you. And I’m not sure I want to.”

Rick swallowed hard, his gaze flickering as he looked away from Negan, struggling to hide the turmoil in his expression. He shook his head, jaw tightening as he forced the words out. “This… it could never work. I could never not hate you, and my people—what would they say if they knew I’d given in? Stopped fighting?”

Negan’s face shifted, momentarily caught off guard by Rick’s response. He wasn’t expecting that. Slowly, he rose from his seat, setting his glass aside, and walked toward Rick. But instead of his usual cocky confidence, there was something different in his steps—something deliberate, hesitant even. He sank down, kneeling at Rick’s feet, his eyes locked on Rick’s with a rare vulnerability.

“You don’t have to tell them, Rick,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft, rough around the edges. “They don’t have to know… I won’t say a word.”

Rick’s breath caught as he looked down, taken aback by the sight of Negan at his feet. The defiance, the walls, the sharp edges that Negan wielded like armor—all of it seemed to drop away in that moment. For the first time, Rick saw him, really saw him, stripped of the weight of his authority, of his need to dominate and control. There was an openness there, a vulnerability Rick never thought he’d see, as Negan waited, his face unguarded, uncertain.

Rick felt his chest tighten, his thoughts a tangled mess as he searched Negan’s face, feeling the weight of the moment, the depth of Negan’s unexpected surrender, and he was left unsure of what to do.

Negan’s voice cracked, his usual confidence dissolving as he looked up at Rick with a raw, desperate honesty. “Please, Rick… I’m desperate here. I’m not scared to admit I want you so fucking bad… and it hurts.”

Rick stared down at him, heart pounding as he processed the depth in Negan’s gaze. This was a side of the man he’d never expected to see—a side stripped of pride, kneeling with a vulnerable intensity that made Rick hesitate. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers sliding beneath Negan’s jaw, guiding his face upward, their eyes locking as he tested the waters.

Negan’s breath hitched, a soft, nearly inaudible whimper slipping from his lips as he leaned into Rick’s touch, his desire unhidden, his pupils blown wide with a hunger he was barely holding back. “You say no, and I swear I’ll never bring it up again,” Negan whispered, voice shaking. “I’ll stop everything—the touches, the jokes. I’ll leave it all behind if that’s what you want.”

Rick felt the weight of it, the power he had in that moment, something he’d rarely felt with Negan before. He took a shaky breath, his mind racing. But his hand remained steady as he let his thumb graze Negan’s jaw, feeling the heat and tension between them grow. Without a word, he leaned in, closing the distance, his lips pressing against Negan’s with a hunger he hadn’t anticipated.

Negan melted into the kiss, letting Rick take the lead, holding back the usual force and intensity that defined him. He matched Rick’s movements, his hands twitching at his sides, as though restraining himself from reaching out and pulling Rick closer. The kiss was messy, heated, full of teeth and barely contained need, but Negan held back, letting Rick set the pace, savoring every second, feeling a raw, consuming desire blaze through him.

For the first time, Negan let himself surrender. And he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

They finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, eyes locked in shared astonishment and raw hunger. Negan rose to his feet, offering his hand to Rick, who took it with a hesitant look, his own breath coming fast. As soon as Rick stood, Negan pulled him into another fierce kiss, reigniting the tension between them.

Negan’s hands found Rick’s waist, guiding them both backward until they tumbled onto the bed, Rick lying beneath him as Negan straddled him. Their bodies pressed together, the friction sending a shiver through both of them, and Rick couldn’t hold back a low, rough moan that only seemed to spur Negan on.

Negan’s mouth left a searing trail down Rick’s neck, his voice thick and hoarse against Rick’s skin. “God, Rick… you make the most beautiful noises.” He shifted his hips, grinding against him, and the intensity between them grew, a fierce, consuming fire that seemed to burn away everything else.

Rick’s hands clenched at the fabric of Negan’s shirt, his fingers curling in tight as Negan’s lips traveled down his neck, hot and unrelenting. Every kiss, every graze of teeth sent sparks down Rick’s spine, his mind lost somewhere between frustration, relief, and an unexpected need that he couldn’t seem to shake. He could feel every movement, every shift, and when Negan ground their hips together again, a low groan escaped him—unexpected, raw.

Negan pulled back just a fraction, enough to meet Rick’s gaze with a look that was both fierce and oddly vulnerable. His hand came up to cup Rick’s face, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I knew there was something in you that matched me,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “And damn if it doesn’t drive me insane.”

Rick’s heart hammered at the words, and he didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he surged forward, catching Negan’s mouth in another bruising kiss, his hands slipping beneath the layers of leather and fabric that seemed to always cover Negan. The feel of his skin beneath Rick’s hands felt like something forbidden, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull back.

Negan groaned into his mouth, his hands wandering, their bodies pressing tighter together as though neither could stand an inch of space between them. Every touch seemed to unravel the tension and yet build it even more, a desperate, aching need that neither of them could deny.

“Rick,” Negan whispered roughly against his lips, his voice full of both plea and command. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Rick’s breaths were shallow, and he finally pulled back just enough to catch his own breath, his chest heaving as he looked up into Negan’s gaze, dark with desire. A flicker of something uncertain danced in Rick’s eyes, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to stay there, underneath Negan, feeling the weight of his presence and knowing there was no more denying what had built between them.

Negan’s hands slipped under Rick's shirt, fingertips grazing over his skin, igniting a fire with each touch. He hesitated just for a second, catching Rick’s gaze to make sure he wasn’t about to pull back. When Rick didn’t, his breathing still heavy and chest rising and falling beneath Negan’s hands, Negan pushed the shirt up, his fingers brushing along Rick's torso until he’d tugged it off entirely.

Rick's skin was warm beneath him, marked with scars and the hard lines of a man who had survived too much. Negan let his fingers trace those lines, reverent and slow, his gaze following his touch as if memorizing every inch. He leaned down, pressing his lips to Rick’s chest, kissing the curve of his collarbone, then lower, letting his mouth explore the skin beneath. Each kiss felt like a spark, a promise, and when his lips ghosted over a rough scar, he paused for a moment before pressing his mouth against it in something almost like admiration.

Rick’s breathing turned shallow as Negan’s lips trailed lower, down to his sternum, and then over to the sharp line of his ribs. Every press of Negan’s mouth was hot, each kiss slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through Rick’s body that left him unable to suppress a quiet moan. Negan grinned against Rick’s skin, the sound only spurring him on.He continued his journey, tracing his way down until he felt Rick’s hand slip into his hair, fingers tightening in a way that drove him mad.

Negan looked up, his face close to Rick’s, and their gazes locked, a silent exchange that seemed to convey every emotion neither of them could fully voice.

Negan’s hands dropped to Rick’s belt, fingers working deftly on the buckle, but he paused, glancing up at Rick. His voice softened as he asked, “Is this okay?” His thumb grazed just above the waistband, his touch almost teasing, yet his eyes serious.

Rick’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm, and he nodded, swallowing hard. “God, please—yes, yes,” he managed, his voice thick and needy. Negan’s mouth curved into a sly smile, a low chuckle escaping as he muttered, “So needy, baby.” He didn’t even notice the pet name slip out, but he could feel Rick tense slightly under him at the word, both embarrassed and wanting, the combination sending a thrill through him.

Carefully, Negan worked Rick’s jeans down, every inch exposed under his hands as he wiggled him free, slipping them off. His gaze swept over Rick, taking in the sight of him like he’d been starving. Leaning in, his voice dropped to a murmur, “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Rick’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching, surrendering to the tenderness in Negan’s voice. He felt Negan’s hands travel over him with the kind of reverence that made his chest ache. There was nothing rushed or careless, every touch lingering, every press of his lips against Rick’s skin patient and unhurried.

Negan’s lips found Rick’s neck again, tracing a path down to his collarbone, before moving lower with an unspoken devotion. Rick gasped as Negan’s hands and mouth claimed him, and he arched under him, almost overwhelmed, giving in to the sensation, to Negan’s warmth. And for a moment, there was nothing else—just the two of them, lost in each other, tangled up in something neither could explain but neither wanted to escape.
Negan moved down Rick’s body, every kiss and graze of his mouth careful yet filled with hunger. His hands skimmed over Rick’s hips, holding him in place as he lowered himself fully, his gaze locked on Rick's face, studying every reaction, every gasp.

Rick's hands tangled in the sheets, his breathing ragged as Negan took him in, his mouth hot and skilled, drawing sounds from Rick that he hadn’t let himself make in so long. Each movement, each pressure, sent waves of sensation crashing through him, and he found himself powerless against the pull, his body tightening, the tension building until he couldn’t hold back.

As Rick gasped out, his release taking him over, Negan held him through every shudder, drawing out his pleasure until Rick was completely undone. When he finally looked up, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, a faint smile playing on his lips as he murmured, "Beautiful, so fucking beautiful.”

Rick lay back, eyes heavy-lidded and breathing hard, feeling a warm satisfaction settle over him. He closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him, a rare, blissful calm filling him. For now, he let himself stay there, savoring the feeling, with Negan beside him, his touch lingering like an unspoken promises

As Rick’s breathing began to slow, his eyelids heavy, he roused himself just enough to reach out toward Negan, noticing the tension still coursing through him. He shifted, intent on returning the favor, but Negan gently caught his hand, guiding him back down onto the bed.

"Shh, baby," Negan whispered softly, his fingers brushing against Rick’s cheek. "Next time. Just go to sleep. I’ll be fine."

Rick blinked, his body feeling warm and heavy, too wrapped in the haze of the moment to argue. He felt a rare softness in Negan’s gaze, and it only added to the strange comfort settling over him. His hand relaxed, his head sinking back into the pillow as his eyes drifted closed, a sense of peace and trust he hadn’t expected easing him into sleep.

As he dozed off, Negan remained by his side, watching him with a quiet intensity. In that moment, Rick’s guard was down, a softness to his features Negan rarely saw, and he found himself wanting to protect it—if only for a little while longer.

Negan sat beside Rick, watching him sleep as a strange wave of tenderness crept into his chest. Rick’s breathing was deep and even, his face free of the burdens that usually hardened his features. For once, he looked at peace, and something about that settled a rare calm in Negan too. Carefully, he brushed a thumb across Rick’s cheek, marveling at the vulnerability in front of him.

The way Rick had reached out to him—even in his exhaustion—had done something to Negan, left him feeling open in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. He’d told himself countless times that he couldn’t afford attachments, that caring was a weakness in this world. But here he was, unable to tear his gaze away from the man lying beside him, his heart pounding in a way that felt dangerous and exhilarating.

Leaning back, Negan let himself sink into the moment, savoring the warmth between them. Rick shifted slightly in his sleep, his fingers brushing against Negan’s arm, seeking him out even unconsciously. The small gesture tugged at something deep inside him, something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

He sighed, whispering to himself, “Damn, you really got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he settled more comfortably beside Rick, giving in to the rare comfort of sharing the quiet, still night with him. For once, Negan let his guard down, allowing himself the luxury of resting beside someone who had come to mean more to him than he’d ever intended.

Chapter Text

Rick’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His senses caught up with him slowly, the events of the night before rushing back like a flood. He glanced to his side, barely daring to breathe, and found Negan lying there next to him, his face softened in sleep. The lines of tension, sarcasm, and smirks had faded from Negan’s expression, leaving him looking almost…gentle. Rick stared, trying to process the jumble of emotions storming inside him.

Relief mixed with guilt, making his chest feel tight. He should feel disgusted with himself, should be planning an escape, an attack—anything to get out of this situation. Yet, as he looked at Negan lying there, so open and unguarded, the urge to grab his weapon and end it all wavered. He told himself this was his chance, that he could end the threat, finish the war right here. But something held him back, some feeling he wasn’t ready to name.

Caught up in his thoughts, he barely noticed that his stare had lingered too long. Negan shifted, a sleepy grumble escaping him. Without opening his eyes, he muttered, “Quit staring and go back to sleep, Rick… too early for this.”

Rick felt heat creeping up his neck, caught off-guard by Negan’s knowing tone. Before he could respond, Negan’s arm reached out, draping over Rick’s waist, pulling him closer with a lazy strength, never lifting his head from the pillow.

Negan’s voice was muffled, still heavy with sleep. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it now,” he mumbled. “At least then I can dodge a morning.” He chuckled lowly, but his arm held firm around Rick, his thumb tracing idle circles against Rick’s side, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Rick lay there, breath hitching, trying to comprehend the strange pull he felt—this warmth and unfamiliar calm that, against his better judgment, was starting to feel all too real.

Rick sat frozen, barely daring to breathe as Negan drifted back to sleep, his arm still draped over Rick’s waist, warm and heavy. Rick didn’t know how long he stayed like that, staring blankly at the wall, thoughts racing in all directions. What was he supposed to do now? He’d lost his chance to end this, to end Negan… and yet, he didn’t feel regret, didn’t feel the anger he’d expected. Instead, there was something else—something unsettling that made him feel like he’d lost his footing.

After what felt like an eternity, Negan stirred again, a low sigh escaping him. One eye opened, catching sight of Rick’s rigid expression, and he let out a quiet, knowing sigh. He shifted slightly, loosening his hold but not fully pulling away.

"I should’ve known the morning wouldn’t be easy," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. He watched Rick with a softness Rick rarely saw. “What is it, Rick? Talk to me. Express… anything. You’re starting to freak me out here.”

Rick looked down, his jaw working as he struggled to form words. The weight of everything he’d been holding back pressed down on him. "I… I don’t even know what to feel,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I should hate you. I do hate you. But last night…” He trailed off, clenching his fists as frustration welled up in his chest.

Negan watched him patiently, his gaze softer than Rick had ever seen. “Look, I get it,” he said quietly. “Hell, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. You think I don’t feel the conflict too?” He shook his head, a touch of a smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. “But we’re here now, aren’t we? And whatever happened last night… it wasn’t just about me, Rick.”

Rick’s gaze flicked up, his breath hitching at the sincerity in Negan’s face. He wanted to push him away, wanted to deny everything that had happened, but the truth sat there between them, undeniable.

Negan reached out, his fingers brushing Rick’s shoulder with a gentleness that felt entirely at odds with everything Rick thought he knew about him. “Maybe you hate me. Maybe you’ll keep on hating me,” he murmured, voice low. “But I’ll tell you this—I’m not running from this, from you. Not now.” He met Rick’s gaze, his own expression raw, open. “So whatever you need to say, I’m here, listening.

Rick stared at Negan, his throat tightening as emotions surged through him. He wanted to yell, to lash out, to push away everything that had happened. But Negan’s steady, unwavering gaze rooted him in place. For all his faults—and there were countless—Negan wasn’t running. He wasn’t hiding from what this was, even if Rick still wasn’t sure he could define it.

“You say you’re not running,” Rick finally said, his voice rough. “But what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to feel about you?” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve killed my people, threatened my family, my home. And now, after last night…” His voice faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet Negan’s eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Negan’s expression softened, the smirk that usually graced his lips nowhere to be found. “Rick,” he said, voice low, soothing, “you’re still you. Hell, you wouldn’t be struggling like this if you weren’t. And I get it—I’m not exactly a saint. I’ve done a lot of shit, and I’m not asking you to forgive me for it. I wouldn’t forgive me either.”

Rick glanced back at him, his jaw tightening. “Then why? Why do this? Why act like you care when you’ve spent so long tearing me apart?”

Negan leaned forward slightly, his hand dropping from Rick’s shoulder to his wrist, a touch that felt both grounding and unnervingly intimate. “Because I *do* care, Rick,” he admitted, his voice raw and without pretense. “As fucked up as it sounds, I care about you. Maybe it started with wanting to break you, to prove I could. But somewhere along the way…” He paused, exhaling deeply. “It stopped being about that. It became about you.”

Rick’s breath hitched, and he looked down at where Negan’s fingers lightly encircled his wrist. He hated how those words sent a shiver through him, hated the way his chest ached with something dangerously close to understanding. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can be… whatever this is.”

Negan gave a small, almost wistful smile. “You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he said. “But don’t act like it’s all on you, like I’ve got this all figured out either. I’m just as screwed up about this as you are.”

Rick finally looked back at him, his blue eyes stormy with conflict. “You don’t look it.”

Negan chuckled softly, the sound lacking his usual bravado. “That’s just because I’m better at faking it,” he admitted. “But you—you don’t fake anything, Rick. That’s what’s got me all twisted up about you. You’re real, raw, and goddamn impossible to ignore.” He leaned back slightly, giving Rick a little space. “So… what’s it gonna be? You want to keep fighting this, or are you gonna at least admit there’s something here, whether you hate it or not?”

Rick swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he stared at Negan, the weight of the question hanging between them like a knife’s edge.

Rick felt like the walls were closing in around him. Negan’s words echoed in his head, loud and unrelenting. “You’re real, raw, and goddamn impossible to ignore.” The weight of it all—everything that had happened, everything he was feeling—threatened to crush him. He needed air, space, something to clear his head.

“I need to… I need a minute,” Rick muttered, his voice thick. He stood abruptly, brushing past Negan without looking back. He felt Negan’s eyes on him as he left, but the man didn’t call after him, didn’t try to stop him.

Rick’s boots echoed against the hallway floor as he made his way to the bathroom. He barely noticed the people he passed—Saviors going about their morning routines, giving him curious or wary glances. His focus was singular, his body moving on autopilot until he found the shower room.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a heavy sigh. The room was quiet except for the faint drip of water from one of the faucets. Rick leaned against the sink for a moment, his hands gripping the edge tightly, his knuckles white. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his face haggard and drawn.

“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible.

He didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and every time Negan got close, every time he said something or looked at him in that disarming way, Rick felt himself teetering.

Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and stripped off his shirt, tossing it onto the bench nearby. He stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water. It came out cold at first, making him hiss, but he didn’t flinch away. He let it wash over him, the icy temperature shocking his system, grounding him. Eventually, the water warmed, and he closed his eyes, tilting his head back and letting it cascade down his face and shoulders.

For a few moments, the world outside faded away. There was no Negan, no Sanctuary, no impossible choices or buried emotions. Just the steady stream of water and the rhythm of his own breathing.

As the water cascaded over him, Rick closed his eyes, willing his thoughts to settle, to make sense. The night before was a blur of sensations—heated touches, whispered words, and a connection that left him more confused than he had ever been. He pressed his hands to the cold tile, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

He didn’t want to think about it. About *him*. About how Negan’s hands had felt on his skin, or how his voice, low and rough, had made something stir in him that he refused to name. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

Negan was the enemy.

Rick clenched his jaw, opening his eyes to glare at the shower wall as if it were responsible for the mess of emotions flooding his chest. He tried to focus on the bigger picture—the war, his people, the promise he had made to himself to end this. That was what he needed to hold onto. That was why he had to stay close to Negan, to earn his trust, to get close enough to strike when the time came.

But even as he thought it, a part of him rebelled, whispering treacherously in the back of his mind: *You didn’t have to stay last night. You didn’t have to let him touch you. You didn’t have to kiss him back.*

Rick shoved the thought away with the force of a man trying to escape his own shadow.

This was survival. That was all it was. He was doing what needed to be done to protect his family, his community. Negan had taken everything from him—his home, his safety, his friends—and now he was taking this too. Rick had to play along, to let Negan think he was breaking him.

He had no other choice.

But even as he told himself that, he felt a knot of unease in his gut. He thought of Negan’s face, the softness in his eyes when he looked at Rick as if he saw something more than a rival. He thought of the way his hands had lingered, the way he’d murmured Rick’s name like it meant something.

Rick swallowed hard, running a hand through his wet hair.

“This is just a game,” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself. “Just a game to him. He’s playing me, and I’m playing him.”

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He knew, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, that a part of him didn’t hate Negan the way he should. A part of him had wanted those touches, those kisses. A part of him craved the attention, the heat, the way Negan made him feel—like he was alive, like he was wanted.

Rick tightened the towel around his waist and stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror.

“This isn’t real,” he said to himself, his voice trembling with conviction he didn’t fully believe. “It’s not real. I’m doing this for them. For Carl, for Judith, for Michonne. For Alexandria. I have to do this.”

But as he gazed at his own reflection, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of something else in his eyes. Something raw and unspoken. Something he didn’t want to name.

He forced himself to look away, grabbing his clothes and quickly dressing. He couldn’t afford to linger on these thoughts, couldn’t afford to let Negan get any deeper into his head.

Rick would use this connection, use the vulnerability he’d seen in Negan, to bring him down. That was all. And when it was done, when Negan was gone, Rick would return to his family and his community.

But even as he tried to cling to that plan, he couldn’t shake the image of Negan’s face from his mind—the way he’d looked at Rick, not as an enemy, but as a man.

He couldn’t let himself feel this. Not for Negan. Not for the man who had taken so much from him, who had forced Rick to his knees in front of everyone he loved and shattered the life he’d built. The man who had killed Glenn.

And yet, Rick couldn’t ignore the weight in his chest, the warmth that had settled in his stomach every time Negan’s gaze lingered on him, every time his touch lingered just a little too long.

He slammed a fist against the counter, the sound echoing in the small bathroom.

“This is just a tactic,” he whispered harshly, as if saying it aloud would make it true. “He’s manipulating me, getting into my head, making me weak. That’s all this is. That’s all it can be.”

But deep down, Rick knew that wasn’t the whole truth. He could still feel Negan’s breath against his skin, the way he’d murmured “I’m desperate here” with a rawness that didn’t match the cocky, unflappable leader he showed to the rest of the world. Rick could still feel the weight of Negan’s arm around his waist as he’d fallen asleep, the warmth of his body pressed close.

And the worst part was, Rick hadn’t pulled away. He’d let it happen.

He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the thoughts clawing at his mind. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t what he wanted.

He straightened, his shoulders tense, and grabbed his shirt, roughly yanking it on. As he buttoned it up, his hands shook—not from fear, but from the war raging inside him. He needed to focus. He needed to remember why he was here.

Rick closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to steady himself.

“This is how I end it,” he muttered under his breath. “This is how I take him down.”

He latched onto the idea like a lifeline, repeating it in his mind until it drowned out the softer, more dangerous voice whispering that this was something else entirely. If he could get close enough to Negan, if he could gain his trust, he could take him out once and for all.

That was the only way.

He had to keep his focus, had to bury these feelings deep enough that they couldn’t surface again. Because if they did, if he let them grow, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from falling.

And falling for Negan was something he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not ever.

Chapter Text

Rick sat at the cafeteria table, his coffee growing cold in his hands as he stared out the window. The buzz of activity outside the compound filtered in through the cracks in the walls—shouts of workers loading supplies, laughter from somewhere in the yard. But the noise felt distant, muffled, like it was happening in another world.

He’d been up for hours, pacing the halls, trying to shake off the heavy confusion that had settled over him since last night. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Negan’s hands on him, hear his voice, soft and insistent, telling him to let go, to trust him.

Rick tightened his grip on the mug, the sharp edges of guilt and anger digging into him. He didn’t know how to feel—he didn’t know *what* he felt. Relief? Shame? Some twisted sense of comfort? None of it made sense, and that only made the knot in his chest worse.

*This is what I have to do,* he reminded himself, over and over. *This is for my family. For Carl. Judith. Alexandria. It doesn’t matter what happened. It doesn’t matter what I feel. I just need to stay close enough to finish this.*

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. There was something else keeping him here, something he couldn’t name, something he refused to acknowledge.

The sound of footsteps pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he didn’t need to turn around to know it was Negan. He’d memorized the man’s presence—the weight of it, the way he seemed to fill a room without even trying.

Negan leaned against the table , his voice still rough with sleep as he said, “Coffee smells like burnt shit. You tryin’ to kill yourself with that crap, or what?”

Rick didn’t respond, keeping his eyes fixed on the window.

Negan sighed softly and stepped into the room, moving to lean on the counter across from Rick. “Alright, cowboy, what’s the deal? You’ve been avoidin’ me all morning, and I can’t say I blame you. Hell, after last night, I half-expected you to bolt. But here you are.”

Rick’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t answer.

Negan watched him for a long moment, his usual smirk replaced by something quieter, something almost hesitant. “Listen,” he started, his voice softer than Rick had ever heard it. “I know... I know this is a lot. And I know I’ve done some shit that makes me the last person you wanna be around. But you stayed.” He tilted his head, studying Rick. “Why’d you stay, Rick?”

Rick’s chest tightened, the question hitting too close to the war raging inside him. He finally turned to look at Negan, his face guarded. “I didn’t stay for you.”

Negan gave a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t mocking—it was almost self-deprecating. “Didn’t think you did. But here we are, huh?” He stepped closer, his movements slow, like he was afraid of spooking Rick. “You don’t have to say anything. I just... I don’t know. I guess I needed to say that I get it. I get why this feels impossible. Why you probably hate yourself for even bein’ in the same room as me after everything I’ve done.”

Rick’s throat tightened, and he looked away, staring down at his coffee. “You don’t know what I feel,” he muttered.

Negan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Maybe not. But I know what *I* feel. And I know I’m not the kind of man who gets to have... this. Whatever it is. But damn, Rick, last night?” His voice dropped, raw and earnest. “You made me feel alive. Like... like maybe I could be someone different. Someone better. And I don’t get to feel that. Not in this world.”

Rick’s hands tightened around the mug, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He hated how much Negan’s words affected him, how they made something deep inside him ache with recognition.

He stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a scrape against the floor. “I need to go,” he said gruffly, not meeting Negan’s eyes as he turned and walked out of the room.

Negan didn’t stop him, but as Rick reached the doorway, he called out softly, “Hey, Rick?”

Rick paused, his back to Negan.

“For what it’s worth,” Negan said, his voice quiet but sincere, “I’m not gonna push you. Not today. Not ever. You wanna walk away, you walk. Just... don’t keep runnin’ from yourself.”

Rick didn’t respond, didn’t turn around, but those words followed him down the hallway, lingering like a ghost.

-

Rick wiped the sweat from his brow as he worked the garden, his hands dirty from the hard labor. He had been out there for hours, moving slowly, trying to keep his mind from wandering. The quiet of the garden was a rare moment of peace in the chaos of the compound, and he grasped at it, trying to find some semblance of control in a world that seemed to be spiraling further out of his grasp.

He wasn’t the best at keeping his thoughts in check these days, especially when Negan's presence lingered in the back of his mind, but working the land, pulling weeds, and tilling the soil gave him something to focus on. It helped. At least for a while.

As he straightened up, stretching his aching back, he noticed a few of the Saviors watching him from a distance. They were leaning against the fence, talking amongst themselves, their eyes occasionally flicking to Rick. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt their eyes on him. He’d learned to ignore it—until one of them walked up.

"Look who’s playing gardener now," a man sneered, his boots crunching against the dirt as he stepped forward. Rick didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter. All Saviors were the same in his eyes, and he’d dealt with his fair share of them. He wiped his hands on his pants and straightened up, facing the man head-on.

“Got a problem?” Rick asked evenly, keeping his tone as neutral as he could.

The man, wearing the familiar black vest with the Saviors’ insignia, cracked his knuckles and grinned. "Maybe I do. What are you, a farmer now? You’re lucky we even let you in here, Grimes. You think you’re some kind of hero just ‘cause you fought back once?"

Rick didn’t flinch. “I think I’m doing what’s asked of me. Just like you.”

The man’s grin faded, replaced with a sneer. “Don’t think you’re safe here just because you’ve been bending over for Negan.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “We all know what you’re really about, Grimes. You’re just as much a prisoner as the rest of us. Just a little higher up on the food chain.”

Rick’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching. He didn’t want a fight—didn’t need one—but the tension coiling inside him begged for release. “Back off,” Rick warned, his voice low, dangerous.

“Oh, tough guy, huh? What are you gonna do, farmer boy? Call Negan to protect you?”

The taunt snapped something inside Rick. Without thinking, he swung, his fist colliding with the man’s jaw. The crunch of impact was satisfying, but it wasn’t enough to stop the Savior. The man lunged, fists flying, and suddenly they were in a full-blown brawl.

The air filled with shouts as the other Saviors watched, egging them on.

Rick fought back, his movements fast and fluid despite his exhaustion. His fist connected again, this time with the Savior’s stomach, and the man let out a grunt, but he didn’t back off. The two of them fell into a brutal struggle, their punches landing with sickening thuds.

Rick’s breath came fast as the anger boiled up inside him. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences, he wasn’t thinking about Negan, or the Saviors, or anything else. All that mattered was this moment, this fight. He was tired of being pushed, tired of being the one who always had to hold it together while everyone else took their shots.

The Savior swung back, connecting with Rick’s cheek, the impact sharp enough to make his vision blur for a second. But he didn’t stop. His body moved on instinct, fueled by pure frustration and the need to defend himself.

Rick barely registered the shouting of the other Saviors as he ducked a punch, landing another to the man’s gut. But the Savior recovered quickly, his elbow slamming into Rick’s ribs, making him stumble.

“Enough!”

The booming voice cut through the chaos like a whip. The crowd of Saviors parted as Negan strode forward, his face a mask of fury. He grabbed the offending Savior by the collar, shoving him backward.

“Get this dumbass to the infirmary,” Negan barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “Now.”

Two other Saviors scrambled to obey, dragging the injured man away as he muttered curses under his breath. Negan turned to the rest of the onlookers. “The show’s over! Back to work before I start swinging Lucille.”

The crowd dispersed reluctantly, muttering amongst themselves, but no one dared disobey. Once they were gone, Negan turned to Rick, his dark eyes blazing with irritation. Without a word, he grabbed Rick’s arm and started pulling him toward the main building.

“Negan, I don’t need—” Rick started, but Negan cut him off.

“Shut up, Rick,” he growled, his grip firm but not painful. “You’ve got five seconds to explain why the hell you’re picking fights in my damn garden.”

They reached Negan’s room, and he shoved the door open, dragging Rick inside before slamming it shut.

“Sit,” Negan ordered, pointing to a chair by the small table.

Rick stood his ground, his chest heaving as he glared at Negan. “I’m fine. I don’t need—”

“Sit down,” Negan snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Rick dropped into the chair, his fists still clenched at his sides. Negan paced in front of him, running a hand through his slicked-back hair as he muttered to himself.

“Unbelievable,” Negan finally said, stopping to glare at Rick. “What the hell were you thinking?

Rick scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Maybe you should teach your men not to pick fights they can’t win.”

Negan’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through his irritation. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “That’s not the point, Rick. I’m trying to keep you alive, and you’re out there throwing punches like it’s some kind of game.”

Rick leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t need you to protect me, Negan.”

Negan stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto Rick’s. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension crackling between them like a live wire.

“Maybe not,” Negan said softly, his voice losing some of its edge. “But you’re under my roof, my rules. And right now, I’m trying to figure out why you’re hell-bent on making things harder than they already are.”

Rick looked away, his jaw tightening. He didn’t have an answer, or at least not one he was willing to admit.

Negan sighed, his posture relaxing slightly. “You done being a pain in my ass for the day, or do I need to tie you to a chair to keep you out of trouble?”

Rick’s glare was answer enough.

Negan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?” He stepped closer, leaning against the table as he crossed his arms. “You can try to push me away all you want, Rick, but we both know you’re not going anywhere. So why don’t you do us both a favor and stop acting like you’ve got something to prove?”

Rick didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Negan sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. Be mad. Sulk. Whatever makes you feel better. But you’re not leaving this room until I know you’re not gonna go starting another fight.”

Rick looked up sharply. “You can’t just keep me here.”

“Watch me,” Negan said with a smirk, though his tone was more teasing than threatening.

Negan pushed off the table with a sigh, walking over to the small cabinet in the corner of the room. He rummaged through it until he pulled out a small first aid kit. Shaking his head, he tossed it onto the table next to Rick and popped it open, pulling out some antiseptic wipes and gauze.

Rick frowned, watching Negan’s movements cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing your face,” Negan replied dryly, pulling up a chair and sitting directly in front of Rick. “Can’t have my favorite troublemaker walking around looking like he just lost a bar fight.”

“I can handle it,” Rick said, reaching for the supplies.

Negan swatted his hand away. “Nah, sit still. You’re bad enough at making decisions, Grimes. Don’t need you messing this up too.”

Rick huffed but didn’t argue, leaning back slightly as Negan leaned in closer.

Negan grabbed a wipe and tilted Rick’s chin up with firm but careful fingers. His thumb brushed against Rick’s jaw as he dabbed at the cut above Rick’s eyebrow. Rick winced, but Negan didn’t pull back.

“Hold still,” Negan murmured, his voice softer than Rick expected. “You keep squirming, and this is gonna sting worse.”

Rick’s breath hitched slightly as Negan’s eyes flicked to his, their faces so close Rick could feel the heat of his breath.

“There,” Negan said as he pulled back briefly, eyeing the split on Rick’s lower lip. “Almost done. Just gotta take care of this.” He gestured toward the fresh cut on Rick’s mouth, shaking his head slightly. “Damn shame, though.”

Rick frowned. “What’s a shame?”

Negan smirked, his thumb grazing just below the cut on Rick’s lip as he wiped away the blood. “That this is gonna leave a mark on such a pretty mouth.”

Rick froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t tell if it was the proximity, the way Negan’s voice dipped lower, or the damned smirk that made his pulse quicken.

“Negan,” Rick started, his voice a warning.

“What?” Negan asked, his smirk widening. “Just making an observation, Rick. Don’t get your boxers in a twist.”

Rick tensed, his pulse pounding in his ears as Negan’s fingers lingered on his jaw, stroking the stubble there absently. The smirk softened into something else—an intensity that made Rick’s stomach twist.

Neither moved. Their breaths mingled, and for a long moment, Rick’s mind warred with itself. Every rational part of him screamed to pull back, but the heat between them, the undeniable pull, won out.

Before he could stop himself, Rick closed the distance, his lips crashing against Negan’s in a heated kiss. Negan didn’t hesitate. He gripped Rick’s face with one hand, the other moving to his waist as he kissed him back just as hungrily.

Rick’s hands clutched at Negan’s jacket, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. It was messy, their movements fueled by want and desperation. Teeth scraped against lips, and Rick felt a sharp sting, realizing too late his split lip had started bleeding again.

Negan pulled back with a groan, resting his forehead against Rick’s as they both caught their breath. His thumb brushed along Rick’s jaw one last time before he sighed, a mix of frustration and amusement.

“As much as I wanna keep going,” Negan murmured, his voice rough and low, “we should probably let that lip heal first, Rick. Don’t want you bleeding out on me.”

Rick blinked at him, still dazed from the kiss. Negan smirked again, grabbing a clean cloth from the first aid kit and pressing it gently against Rick’s mouth.

“Here,” Negan said, his voice softer now. “Hold that. Can’t have your pretty face all ruined, can we?”

Rick took the cloth, his hands trembling slightly as he pressed it to his lip. He looked at Negan, trying to decipher the mix of emotions flashing across his face—desire, amusement, and something deeper, something more dangerous.

You’ll live, but don’t go making a habit of this, or you’ll run out of favors real quick.”

Rick didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on Negan as the man stood and put the kit away. The air between them felt heavy, charged with something unspoken that neither of them seemed ready to address.

Negan turned back, catching Rick’s stare. His grin softened slightly, a flicker of something almost sincere crossing his face. “You done getting into trouble for today, or should I keep this thing handy?” he teased, gesturing to the first aid kit.

Rick exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Negan said with a chuckle, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. But his eyes didn’t leave Rick, watching him with an intensity that made Rick’s skin prickle.

Negan stood, stretching his arms above his head and casting Rick a quick glance. His lips quirked into a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, though there was still a flicker of warmth beneath the smirk.

“Well, as much as I’d love to stay here and babysit your ass all day, I’ve got some actual work to do,” Negan said, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of a nearby chair. “So do me a favor, Rick—stay here. Don’t go wandering off, don’t go starting shit, and for God’s sake, stay out of trouble.”

Rick looked up from where he sat, his arms resting on his knees. His face was unreadable, though a faint line creased his brow. He didn’t respond immediately, just staring at Negan with that same intensity that always seemed to make the room feel smaller.

Negan chuckled, breaking the silence as he shrugged on his jacket. “You don’t have to say anything, but I mean it. You’ve got this knack for getting into crap every time I turn my back. Just… stay put, alright?”

Rick nodded, his jaw tight. “Fine.”

Negan hesitated, his smirk softening just a fraction. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just gave a sharp nod and headed for the door.

-
-

Rick paced the small room, his boots scuffing against the floor as his frustration simmered just beneath the surface. He ran a hand through his hair, the silence pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. Every step felt like he was a caged animal, circling, waiting for something to happen.

He glanced at the door, tempted to leave despite Negan’s order, but stopped himself. He couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not with everything so precariously balanced.

Finally, Rick sank onto the couch, leaning back with a sigh. He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion creeping in from the days of turmoil and conflicted emotions. Closing his eyes, he tried to push away the thoughts threatening to consume him—thoughts of Negan, his people, and the impossible situation he found himself in.

Just as he felt himself beginning to drift, a sharp, unmistakable sound pierced the quiet.

Bang!

Rick’s eyes snapped open, his body jolting upright.

Another shot followed—closer this time.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The rapid staccato of gunfire erupted outside, sharp and chaotic, accompanied by shouting that carried through the compound walls. Rick froze for a split second, his instincts roaring to life.

What the hell’s going on out there?

More shots rang out, the distinct sound of multiple firearms unloading in quick succession. The noise came from where the Saviors typically unloaded their supply trucks—a spot Rick knew was heavily trafficked. His heart raced as adrenaline surged through his veins.

Rick shot to his feet, moving toward the door. He paused, one hand gripping the handle as he tried to make sense of the muffled chaos outside. The shouting grew louder, frantic voices blending with the unmistakable sound of bullets striking metal and wood.

Then came the screams.

Without another thought, Rick yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. The noise was deafening now, the gunfire relentless. His pulse hammered in his ears as he made his way toward the source of the commotion, each step faster than the last.

As he approached the compound’s entrance, a Savior darted past him, clutching a rifle and shouting orders into the chaos outside. Rick’s stomach twisted—whatever was happening, it was big.

The door leading to the courtyard slammed open, and the cacophony hit him like a wall. Trucks sat in disarray, crates of supplies spilled everywhere. Saviors crouched behind cover, their weapons raised, firing at an unseen enemy beyond the gates.

Rick stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing. He could make a run for it in the confusion—this might be his only shot. But before he could move, another round of gunfire ripped through the air, forcing him to duck instinctively behind a nearby crate.

Rick pressed himself against the crate, heart pounding as the gunfire continued to crack through the air. Shouts echoed around the compound, chaotic and panicked, until one voice cut through it all—deep, commanding, and unmistakably Negan.

"Hey, kid!" Negan’s tone was sharp but tinged with something else—anger or maybe surprise. "What the hell are you doing? You pick that gun because it looked cool? Huh? Gotta say, you’re scarin’ the shit outta me right now."

Rick’s breath hitched as he recognized the edge in Negan’s voice, that mix of intimidation and disbelief he rarely allowed to slip.

The gunfire paused for a moment, followed by a tense silence. Then—

Bang!

A single shot rang out, followed by the unmistakable thud of someone hitting the ground.

Rick sprang to action and ran to the site of the shots were fired. His boots pounded against the dirt as he rounded the corner, weaving through the chaos of scrambling Saviors and fallen supplies.

Rick’s blood ran cold.

“Carl,”

Chapter Text

Carl,” he muttered under his breath, a dread blooming in his chest as he bolted from cover. His boots pounded against the dirt as he rounded the corner, weaving through the chaos of scrambling Saviors and fallen supplies.

The sight before him made his stomach drop.

There, on the ground, was Carl—his son—his cowboy hat slightly askew, a rifle clutched in his hands. He was alive but shaken, his body stiff as he sat where he'd fallen. A pool of blood nearby hinted that Carl wasn’t the one hit, but it didn’t ease Rick’s terror.

Negan stood a few feet away, Lucille resting on his shoulder, his usual bravado gone. His eyes darted between Carl and the gun still in his hands. The other Saviors were frozen in place, waiting for Negan to make the call.

Rick didn’t waste a second.

“Carl!” he yelled, rushing forward, sliding to his knees beside his son. He grabbed Carl’s shoulders, his eyes scanning every inch of him, looking for wounds. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Carl looked up, his expression defiant but strained, the adrenaline still coursing through him. “Dad, I—”

“Save it,” Rick snapped, his voice thick with anger and worry. He turned, his glare locking onto Negan, who was watching the scene unfold with a strangely unreadable expression.

Negan let out a long, slow exhale, his grip on Lucille tightening. “Jesus Christ, Rick,” he muttered, his usual swagger absent. “You didn’t tell me you were raisin’ a damn maniac. This kid’s got balls bigger than mine.”

Rick ignored the jab, his focus entirely on Carl. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, gripping Carl’s chin and forcing him to look at him.

Carl shook his head, though his hands trembled around the rifle. “No, but—”

“But nothing,” Rick cut him off, his voice low and shaking. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Negan finally stepped closer, his shadow falling over them. “Relax, Rick,” he said, his voice quieter but still carrying authority. “Kid’s fine. Scared the hell outta me, but he’s fine.”

Rick shot him a glare, the heat of it palpable. “What did you do to him?”

Negan raised a hand in mock surrender, his mouth twitching as though he wanted to grin but thought better of it. “Nothing, I swear. Kid came in guns blazing. Damn near took out half my men, though.”

Carl’s voice cut through the tension, quiet but firm. “I wasn’t going to let them take more supplies from Alexandria.”

Rick closed his eyes, his chest tightening with guilt and frustration. “Carl… you shouldn’t have come here.”

Negan tilted his head, studying the father and son with an expression Rick couldn’t quite place. “You know, Rick,” he drawled, his tone softer than usual, “I gotta give the kid credit. He’s got fight. Can’t say I don’t admire that.”

Rick ignored him, his focus still entirely on Carl. “Give me the gun,” he said firmly, holding out his hand.

Carl hesitated for a moment, his knuckles white around the grip. Then, reluctantly, he handed it over.

Negan took a step back, glancing at his men. “Alright, everybody, show’s over,” he barked. “Get this cleaned up.”

The Saviors scattered, muttering amongst themselves as they moved to restore order. Negan turned back to Rick, his eyes flicking to Carl. “You and me are gonna talk later,” he said, his tone low but resolute.

Rick didn’t reply. He just wrapped an arm around Carl, helping him to his feet and steering him toward the building.

Behind them, Negan stood silently, Lucille tapping against the ground as he watched them go, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

As they walked back into the Sanctuary, the heavy steel doors groaning shut behind them, the tension between Rick and Negan crackled in the air like a live wire. Carl trudged slightly ahead, his shoulders squared despite the weight of his earlier actions. Rick stayed close behind, his hand steady on Carl’s shoulder, while Negan walked alongside them with Lucille resting lazily over his shoulder.

Negan’s sharp eyes lingered on the rifle Rick still carried, the one Carl had clung to so tightly moments ago. Without warning, he reached out, snatching the gun from Rick’s hands with a rough yank.

“Hand it over,” Negan growled, his voice low but authoritative. “You’re done playing babysitter with this.”

Rick turned to glare at him, anger flashing in his eyes, but Negan merely stepped closer, leaning in just enough to tower over him.

“Move,” Negan ordered, gesturing down the hall with a jerk of his chin. “We’re not standin’ here all night playin’ the stare-down game.”

Carl glanced back, his face set in stone, and Rick let out a breath through his nose, giving his son a light push forward. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice firm but tired.

Negan followed close behind, the click of his boots on the floor echoing down the long corridor. As they approached his room, he reached out, swinging the door open with one hand before shoving Rick lightly forward by the back of his shirt.

“Inside,” Negan commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Rick caught his balance with a sharp glance over his shoulder but didn’t fight back. Carl stayed by the door, stiff and wary, watching the exchange unfold.

Negan stepped into the room after them, shutting the door firmly behind him. He turned with his eyes scanning both of them like a predator sizing up his prey.

“You got ten minutes,” Negan said, his voice tight but controlled. “Ten minutes to sort your shit out and say whatever it is you need to say to your little bastard here.”

Rick stiffened at the insult, but Negan raised a hand before he could respond. “Save it, Rick. I’m not here to play the bad guy more than I already have to. But you and me? We’re talkin’ after this. We’re gonna figure out what the hell to do with your kid before he gets himself—or worse, me—killed.”

He stepped closer to Rick, towering over him for a moment, his presence oppressive. “I mean it,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Ten minutes. Then you and I are havin’ a real heart-to-heart.”

Without waiting for a reply, Negan turned and strode out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Rick and Carl alone in the charged silence.

The silence in the room was thick as Rick turned to Carl, his shoulders tense and his breath uneven. He placed a hand on the back of one of the chairs, steadying himself as he looked at his son. Carl stood near the edge of the room, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw set in a way that reminded Rick too much of himself.

“You okay?” Rick asked softly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Carl didn’t answer right away. His eye flicked up to meet Rick’s, his expression defiant yet tired. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice flat.

Rick’s brow furrowed, the frustration and worry he’d been holding back all evening bubbling to the surface. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, Carl?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an edge that made Carl flinch.

Carl’s head tilted slightly, his glare sharpening. “What am I doing?” he shot back. “What about you? Why aren’t you fighting back?”

Rick froze for a moment, taken aback by the accusation. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Carl stepped closer, the fire in his voice growing stronger.

“You let him parade you around like some kind of—” Carl bit his tongue, his words faltering for a moment before he finished, “—some kind of lapdog. You just stand there and take it! Why, Dad? Why aren’t you doing anything to stop him?”

Rick’s jaw tightened, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “You think this is me not fightin’?” he snapped, his voice rising. “You think I’m just rollin’ over for him?”

“You’re not doin’ anything!” Carl shouted, his frustration boiling over. “You used to fight for us—for Alexandria, for the family. Now you’re just... what? Waiting for him to decide when he’s done with us? You’re just lettin’ this happen!”

Rick took a step forward, his hand raking through his hair. “You don’t get it, Carl,” he said, his voice shaking with anger and something deeper, something more vulnerable. “You don’t see what I see. He’s got all the power right now. If I make one wrong move, one damn mistake, he won’t just hurt me—he’ll kill someone we care about. Or worse. I can’t risk that.”

Carl shook his head, his eye glistening with unshed tears. “You always said we don’t give up. You said we fight, no matter what.” His voice cracked, his anger fading into a quiet, desperate plea. “What happened to you, Dad? What happened to that guy?”

Rick felt his chest tighten, the weight of Carl’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t have an answer, at least not one he could give. Instead, he reached out, placing a hand on Carl’s shoulder.

“I’m still fightin’, Carl,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “It just doesn’t look the way it used to.”

Carl didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on Rick’s face, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe proof that his father was still the man he believed in. Rick squeezed his shoulder gently before letting go, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
Rick stepped back, his hand falling to his side as he paced the room, his footsteps heavy against the floor. He couldn’t look at Carl, not right now. His son’s words hit too close to truths he wasn’t ready to face.

Carl stayed rooted in place, his fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to hold back from saying more. But when Rick didn’t speak, Carl couldn’t help himself. “Is that it, then? You’re just gonna let him keep doin’ whatever he wants?”

Rick whirled around, his voice low and sharp. “You think I want this? You think I don’t lay awake every damn night tryin’ to figure out a way to end this without losin’ more people?”

Carl didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he met Rick’s frustration with his own. “So what’s your plan, huh? Stand here and take his orders until he gets bored? Or worse—until he decides to kill us all anyway?”

Rick’s hands balled into fists, his breathing heavy as he fought to stay calm. “You don’t know what I’m up against, Carl,” he said, his tone softer but no less firm. “Negan... he’s dangerous in ways you don’t understand yet. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. And if you keep pullin’ stunts like tonight, you’re gonna make things worse for all of us.”

Carl’s eye narrowed, his voice trembling with anger. “I was trying to protect us. Someone has to, ‘cause you sure as hell aren’t.”

Rick’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of the situation settled in. “You think this is easy for me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t hate every second of this? Of having to bow my head, swallow my pride, just to keep you and Judith alive?”

The mention of Judith softened Carl’s glare, his defiance cracking just enough for Rick to see the scared boy beneath the bravado.

“I’m doin’ what I have to, Carl,” Rick continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m keepin’ you safe the only way I know how right now. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Carl stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, though it was hesitant and reluctant. “I trust you,” he said quietly. “But I still don’t like it.”

Rick gave a short, bitter laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t like it either, kid.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself before looking at Carl again. “But you can’t pull a stunt like that again. You hear me? If Negan hadn’t stopped his men from doin’ worse—” He trailed off, the thought too painful to finish.

Carl nodded again, his gaze falling to the floor. “I hear you.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for their breathing. Then Rick stepped closer, putting a hand on Carl’s shoulder once more. “I need you to stay strong, but I also need you to be smart. Don’t give him a reason to hurt you—or anyone else.”

Carl looked up, his expression softer now, though still laced with frustration. “I’ll try,” he said. “But I’m not gonna stop fighting for us. Not completely.”

Rick managed a faint smile, his heart aching with pride and fear in equal measure. “Good. Don’t ever stop. But fight smart, okay?”

Carl nodded, and Rick pulled him into a quick, tight hug, holding him for a second longer than usual. When they pulled apart, Rick sighed deeply, his mind already racing with thoughts of what Negan might say—or do—once he came back to the room.

“Stay here,” Rick said firmly, gesturing to the bed. “Don’t move until I get back. Promise me.”

Carl hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

Rick gave him one last look before heading for the door, his heart heavy with dread. Whatever conversation was waiting for him with Negan, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

-
-

Rick closed the door behind him, his footsteps heavy as he made his way to Negan’s room. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew one thing for certain—this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.

Negan was leaning against his desk when Rick entered, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. His face was uncharacteristically serious, though his sharp eyes still carried their usual glint of mischief. He gestured toward the chair in front of him.

“Sit, Rick.”

Rick didn’t move. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Negan raised a brow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Suit yourself. But I’d figure you’d want to be comfortable for this little chat of ours.” He took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down and crossing his arms. “Let me start by sayin’, that boy of yours has some serious guts. Stupid as hell, but gutsy.”

Rick bristled at the comment but kept his mouth shut.

“Now,” Negan continued, his tone hardening, “I’ve got rules, Rick. And your kid? He broke every damn one of them tonight. If it were anyone else, I’d have Lucille teach them a lesson they’d never forget.”

Rick’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. “He’s just a kid, Negan. He doesn’t understand—”

“Oh, he understands plenty,” Negan interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “He understands that I’m the one in charge, and he doesn’t like it. Hell, I don’t blame him. But I can’t have my men thinkin’ they can get away with pullin’ the same kinda shit he did tonight.”

Rick felt his chest tighten. “What are you saying?”

Negan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What I’m saying is that you need to get your house in order, Rick. I can’t keep givin’ your family a free pass just because I’ve got a soft spot for you.”

Rick’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. “I’ll handle it. Carl won’t pull something like that again.”

“You better,” Negan said, his tone softening slightly. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto Rick’s. “Because I’m runnin’ out of excuses to protect him. And you.”

Rick swallowed hard, hating the vulnerability he felt under Negan’s gaze. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Negan studied him for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. “You’re somethin’ else, Rick. Always so damn determined.” He reached out, his hand brushing Rick’s shoulder. “But you can’t keep sacrificin’ yourself for everyone else. You’re gonna break.”

Rick shrugged off Negan’s hand, his eyes blazing with anger. “I don’t have a choice.”

Negan’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, something almost like pity. “You always got a choice,” he said quietly. “You just don’t like the ones in front of you.”

Rick didn’t respond, his mind racing with a hundred different emotions he couldn’t sort through.

After a moment, Negan sighed and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Go on, Rick. Get back to your kid. But remember what I said—next time, there won’t be a warning.”

Rick nodded stiffly, turning toward the door. But as he reached for the handle, Negan’s voice stopped him.

“And Rick?”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I meant what I said about you breakin’. Don’t push yourself too far, or you’re gonna regret it.”

Rick didn’t reply. He opened the door and stepped out, the weight of Negan’s words settling heavily on his shoulders.

-
/
The room was uncomfortably quiet as Rick and Carl sat across from each other. The dim light of the single lamp made the space feel even smaller than it was, and the tension hung heavy between them. Rick leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while Carl sat on the edge of the couch, his shoulders hunched forward, fiddling with the bandage wrapped around his arm from earlier. “So,” Carl muttered, breaking the silence, “are you gonna tell me what the plan is?” Rick sighed, running a hand over his face. “There’s no plan, Carl. Not yet.” Carl frowned, his good eye narrowing. “So we’re just sitting here? Letting him win?” “We’re staying out of trouble,” Rick replied firmly. “That’s what we’re doing right now. You’ve done enough for one day.” Carl scoffed, leaning back against the couch. “You mean I screwed things up.” Rick shook his head. “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to,” Carl snapped. “I know you’re mad.” “I’m not mad,” Rick said, his tone softer now. “I’m... worried. You don’t understand how dangerous this is, Carl.” “I understand plenty,” Carl shot back. “I see the way he looks at you. The way you just... let him do whatever he wants. It’s messed up, Dad. You’re not you anymore.” Rick’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was, Carl wasn’t entirely wrong. Before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Rick immediately tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his knife, though he already knew he wouldn’t be allowed to keep it if it came to a fight. “It’s just me,” came a gruff voice from the other side of the door. Rick relaxed slightly but didn’t move until the door creaked open, revealing one of Negan’s men carrying a tray of food. The Savior stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his eyes flicking between Rick and Carl. “Dinner,” the man said shortly, setting the tray down on the small table in the corner of the room. “Boss says you’re supposed to eat, and he doesn’t want any excuses.” Rick nodded curtly. “Thanks.” The man lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on Carl before he finally turned and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Carl looked at the tray, his expression sour. “Probably poisoned.” Rick shot him a warning look. “Don’t start. Just eat.” Carl grumbled but reluctantly grabbed a piece of bread from the tray. Rick followed suit, the two of them eating in silence for a while. The tension in the room eased slightly as the mundane act of eating gave them something else to focus on. Finally, Carl broke the silence again. “Do you trust him? Negan?” Rick paused, setting his bread down. “No.” “Then why are we still here?” Rick’s eyes met Carl’s, a mixture of exhaustion and resolve in his gaze. “Because it’s the only way to keep you—and everyone else—alive right now.” Carl didn’t say anything after that, but his expression made it clear he didn’t entirely agree. Still, he stayed quiet, finishing his meal while Rick sat back in his chair, his mind racing with thoughts of what the next day would bring. The room had finally grown quiet. Carl, despite his earlier frustration, had drifted off on the couch, his breathing deep and even as exhaustion from the day’s chaos overtook him. Rick stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out into the dark courtyard of the Sanctuary.

His chest felt tight. The events of the day churned in his head like a storm—Carl’s reckless actions, Negan’s smirking threats, the plan to return to Alexandria tomorrow. It was too much to process.

Rick glanced back at Carl, making sure he was still asleep. The tension in the room felt suffocating, and Rick knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he cleared his head. Quietly, he slipped on his boots and opened the door, careful not to let it creak too loudly as he stepped into the hallway.

The Sanctuary at night was eerily still, the dim lighting casting long shadows along the industrial walls. Rick walked aimlessly at first, his footsteps muffled against the cold concrete. His breathing was heavy, his mind racing.

“Now, now...” A low, familiar voice broke through the silence, sending a jolt through Rick’s chest. “What do you think you’re doin’, Rick?”

Rick froze mid-step, turning to see Negan leaning casually against the wall just ahead. He had a cigarette in one hand, the other stuffed into his pocket. His smirk was unmistakable even in the dim light.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Rick replied stiffly, his voice low.

Negan chuckled, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward him. “Oh, I own the place, sweetheart. I can wander wherever the hell I want.” He tilted his head, studying Rick with amused curiosity. “But you... sneakin’ around like a thief in the night? Not a good look.”

Rick straightened his back, his jaw tightening. “I just needed some air.”

“Hmm.” Negan exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing as he inspected Rick. “Air, huh? Or maybe you just can’t stand bein’ cooped up in that room with Junior?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or is it somethin’ else keepin’ you up, Rick?”

Rick’s mouth twitched, his annoyance evident. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Negan laughed, a deep, throaty sound that echoed through the hall. “Fair enough.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his boot. “But you look like you could use a drink. C’mon.” He motioned with his head.

“I’m fine,” Rick said sharply, crossing his arms.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Negan stepped closer, his grin softening into something almost inviting. “Just one drink. I’ll even let you pick the poison. You don’t trust me? Fine. But I’ve been told I’m a hell of a conversationalist.”

Rick hesitated. Part of him wanted to tell Negan to shove it and keep walking, but another part—the part he hated acknowledging—was curious. He felt like he was being drawn into Negan’s gravity, unable to resist the pull.

Finally, Rick exhaled, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Fine. One drink.”

“There’s my guy,” Negan said, clapping a hand on Rick’s shoulder as he turned and started leading him down the hall. “I promise, you won’t regret it. Hell, you might even thank me.”

Rick followed reluctantly, his heart pounding as Negan led him deeper into the Sanctuary.

Rick lowered himself into one of the worn leather chairs in Negan’s quarters, his muscles still tense, his movements guarded. The room was dimly lit, the warm amber glow from a single lamp casting long shadows on the walls. He glanced around, taking in the sparse but deliberate decorations—maps, books, and a bar cart that looked almost too polished for a place like this.

Negan moved toward the cart, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. He poured with practiced ease, the sound of the liquor splashing into the glass filling the quiet space. “You know,” Negan started, his tone light, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do have a habit of endin’ up in my company.”

Rick frowned but didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor as Negan turned and sauntered over, two glasses in hand. He set one down in front of Rick before settling into the chair across from him, leaning back with his usual casual confidence.

“Relax, Rick,” Negan said, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I’m not gonna bite... unless you ask real nice.” He chuckled, his grin widening when Rick shot him a sharp look.

Rick picked up the glass, sniffing the drink cautiously before taking a small sip. The whiskey burned on the way down, but it was smooth enough to distract him for a moment. He set the glass down on the table between them, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the chair.

Negan studied him, his dark eyes sharp but not unkind. “You always this quiet, or do I just bring it out of you?”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t come here to talk.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Negan replied, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Because I’ve got a lotta questions, Rick. Like what the hell were you really doin’ wanderin’ around tonight? Don’t tell me you just needed air. I’m not buyin’ it.”

Rick hesitated, his fingers tightening around the armrest. He felt exposed under Negan’s scrutiny, like the man could see through every wall he tried to put up.

Negan leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Come on, Rick. You gotta give me somethin’. Otherwise, I’m just gonna keep talkin’, and trust me, you don’t wanna hear me ramble on about my theories.”

Rick sighed, lifting his glass again and taking a longer sip. “I just needed space,” he said finally. “It’s been... a long day.”

Negan nodded slowly, his expression softening just a fraction. “That it has,” he said, leaning back again. He took another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Rick.

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Rick felt the weight of the day’s events pressing down on him, the whiskey warming his chest but doing little to ease the turmoil in his mind.

Negan tilted his head, watching Rick with a curious intensity. “You know, for all the fight you’ve got in you, you don’t seem to know when to let yourself just... breathe. You ever thought about that, Rick? Maybe not everything’s gotta be a battle.”

Rick glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Not everything can be peace, either,” he said quietly.

Negan smirked, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Touché.” He took another drink, the corner of his mouth twitching as he studied Rick’s profile. “But you’re here now, sittin’ in my room, drinkin’ my booze. That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

Rick didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the amber liquid in his glass. He couldn’t deny that Negan had a way of getting under his skin, of making him question things he didn’t want to think about. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he’d agreed to this drink—or why part of him didn’t regret it.

Negan watched Rick carefully, his dark eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, setting his drink down on the table. The tension in the room shifted, thickened, as Negan rose from his chair and crossed the small space between them.

Rick stiffened but didn’t move as Negan crouched slightly, resting one hand on the armrest of Rick’s chair and the other lightly on his shoulder. The closeness was suffocating, intoxicating, and Rick couldn’t bring himself to push him away.

“Just let go, Rick,” Negan murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Let me take care of it all.”

Before Rick could respond, Negan dipped his head, his lips brushing against the edge of Rick’s jaw. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the man’s usual arrogance. Negan lingered there for a moment before moving lower, trailing warm, deliberate kisses down Rick’s neck.

Rick’s breath hitched, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as he fought against the wave of heat building in his chest. Despite himself, a soft groan escaped his lips, betraying the internal battle raging within him.

“I can’t,” Rick said, his voice barely above a whisper, strained and uneven. “I shouldn’t.”

Negan pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just above Rick’s skin as he smirked. His breath fanned against Rick’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Why not?” Negan asked, his tone laced with both challenge and something softer, almost pleading. “Who’s gonna stop you? Not me.”

Rick’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his jaw tightening as he tried to will away the desire that was clawing its way to the surface. “Because... it’s wrong,” he said, though even he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore.

Negan tilted his head, his thumb brushing lightly against Rick’s shoulder. “Wrong,” he echoed, his voice soft, yet edged with that dangerous charm. “Feels pretty damn right to me.”

Rick finally opened his eyes, meeting Negan’s gaze. The intensity in those dark eyes was enough to make his breath catch, the raw, unfiltered want nearly overwhelming. And yet, beneath it all, there was something else—something almost vulnerable—that made Rick hesitate.

Negan’s breath ghosted over Rick’s skin, hot and teasing, making him shiver. The tension in the air grew unbearable as Rick’s resolve crumbled under the weight of his own desires. A wrecked moan escaped his lips, unbidden and desperate. “One last time,” Rick whispered, his voice rough, trembling with need.

Negan froze for half a heartbeat, the words sinking in before his lips curled into a wicked grin. “One last time,” he confirmed, his voice low and rasping, dripping with anticipation. Then he surged forward, crashing his mouth against Rick’s in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, teeth clashing and tongues tangling as if they were both starved for each other.

Rick groaned into the kiss, his body moving before his mind could catch up. He climbed into Negan’s lap, his hands gripping Negan’s shoulders tightly for balance as he pressed their bodies together, desperate for more. Their hips collided, grinding against each other, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through both of them.

Negan growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through Rick, who shivered at the deep, primal noise. It was intoxicating, like a drug Rick hadn’t realized he’d been craving. His fingers tangled in Negan’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, as if they could fuse together entirely.

Negan’s hands slid down Rick’s back, settling on his hips and guiding their movements, their rhythm becoming more urgent, more frantic. “Goddamn, Rick,” Negan breathed between kisses, his voice strained. “You’re... something else.”

The heat between them built to a fever pitch, the room disappearing around them as they lost themselves in each other. Rick was consumed, every thought of guilt or hesitation drowned out by the sensation of Negan’s lips, his hands, his body. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking—just feeling.

And it felt *so* good.

Rick’s hands fumbled with the hem of Negan’s shirt, tugging it upwards, his breath heavy and desperate. “Off,” he muttered, his voice low and strained, barely able to get the word out.

Negan chuckled, the sound deep and rich, vibrating against Rick’s chest. “Well, if you insist,” he teased, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of his bare chest made Rick pause, swallowing hard as desire surged through him all over again.

Before Rick could say another word, Negan shifted, gripping his shoulders and guiding him down until his back met the soft cushions of the couch. Negan loomed over him, his dark eyes blazing with hunger as he leaned down to claim Rick’s lips once more. The kiss was rough and consuming, leaving Rick gasping for air.

Negan’s hands roamed over Rick’s chest, then down to the hem of his shirt. “You’re way too overdressed for this, Rick,” Negan growled, his voice tinged with impatience. Without waiting for a response, he started peeling Rick’s shirt off, his hands firm yet careful as he worked.

Rick lifted his arms, allowing Negan to pull the shirt free and toss it aside. The cool air hit his skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of Negan’s touch as he moved to undo Rick’s belt and pants. Each movement was deliberate, slow enough to drive Rick wild, his body already trembling with anticipation.

Once Rick was completely bare, Negan sat back for a moment, his gaze raking over Rick’s body. He licked his lips, a dark grin spreading across his face. “Perfect,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rick felt his face flush, a mix of embarrassment and arousal flooding his system. Negan didn’t give him time to dwell on it; he leaned down, capturing Rick’s lips in another searing kiss, one hand cupping Rick’s jaw while the other pressed against his hip.

“You’re all mine, Rick,” Negan murmured against his lips, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m gonna show you exactly what that means.”
Negan pulled back just enough to catch Rick’s gaze, his dark eyes glittering with desire. “This couch is nice and all,” he murmured, his breath fanning over Rick’s lips, “but I think we deserve a little more comfort for what I’ve got planned.”

Rick’s chest heaved, his lips still kiss-swollen, as he nodded silently. Negan smirked, scooping him up effortlessly. The move caught Rick off guard, and he instinctively gripped Negan’s shoulders for balance.

“Relax, Rick,” Negan teased, his tone dripping with amusement as he carried him across the room and into the adjoining bedroom. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Rick didn’t answer, his heart hammering too loudly in his chest to think straight. Negan set him down gently on the bed, the plush mattress dipping under his weight. Rick stared up at him, his vulnerability mingling with the burning desire coursing through him.

Negan’s gaze softened, but the hunger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself over Rick, his hands braced on either side of Rick’s head. Slowly, he leaned down, trailing kisses along Rick’s jawline, down to his neck, and finally to his collarbone, each touch deliberate and tantalizing.

“God, you’re beautiful like this,” Negan murmured, his lips brushing over Rick’s skin as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of him.

Rick shivered, his body arching into Negan’s touch. Every brush of Negan’s lips, every stroke of his hands sent sparks of pleasure through him, the intensity building with each passing second.

Negan pulled back slightly, grinning wickedly as he trailed a hand down Rick’s chest, tracing patterns over his skin. “I think I’ll take my time with you,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Negan,” Rick groaned, his voice strained, his hips bucking slightly in a desperate attempt for more contact.

But Negan wasn’t in any rush. He dipped his head lower, kissing and nipping at Rick’s chest, his tongue swirling over sensitive skin. Rick’s breathing turned ragged, and he let out a loud, broken moan that echoed through the room.

“Jesus, Rick,” Negan muttered, his voice dark with want as he looked up, smirking. “You sound so damn pretty when you let go.”

Rick’s hands fisted in the sheets, his resolve crumbling under Negan’s deliberate pace. “Please,” he choked out, his voice desperate and wrecked. “Negan, I need—just—please. Fuck me.”

Negan froze for a moment, his smirk fading into something softer, something almost reverent as he took in Rick’s flushed face and pleading eyes. “Goddamn, Rick,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t know what it does to me hearing you like that.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against Rick’s before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’ll give you what you need, baby,” he promised, his tone equal parts tender and sinful. “But I’m gonna make sure you feel every second of it.”

And with that, Negan shifted, his movements deliberate and slow as he began to undo his own belt, never taking his eyes off Rick. The anticipation in the room was electric, and Rick felt himself sink deeper into the moment, every nerve alight and every sense consumed by Negan.

Negan’s belt hit the floor with a low clink, and he straightened, his eyes dragging slowly over Rick’s flushed, panting form sprawled out on the bed. His lips parted as if he were taking in a vision he couldn’t quite believe.

“Damn, Rick,” Negan muttered, his voice husky as he stepped out of his pants. “You’re like a goddamn fever dream, laid out like this. You know what you do to me?”

Rick couldn’t respond, too focused on the way Negan’s body moved—predatory and powerful, but with an unexpected gentleness as he crawled back onto the bed. Negan’s large hands settled on Rick’s hips, thumbs brushing the curve of his waist, and Rick couldn’t stop the way his body arched into the touch, craving it like air.

Negan smirked, leaning down to nip at Rick’s jawline before murmuring into his ear, “You’re so eager, huh? Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got you.”

Rick groaned, his head tilting back to give Negan more access as those skilled hands traveled down, teasing and coaxing more soft moans from his lips. Every touch was deliberate, every movement designed to unravel him.

Negan’s lips found Rick’s again, the kiss deep and searing, his tongue sliding against Rick’s with a hunger that made Rick’s toes curl. His hands roamed freely now, tugging Rick’s legs apart just enough to settle between them, their hips grinding together in a way that sent electricity shooting up Rick’s spine.

Rick gasped into Negan’s mouth, his hands gripping Negan’s broad shoulders for support as their bodies moved together. Negan pulled back slightly, his lips swollen and glistening as he looked down at Rick with a mixture of raw desire and something softer, something deeper.

“You’re gonna feel so damn good, Rick,” Negan said, his voice low and gravelly as he leaned down to kiss Rick’s neck, lingering just long enough to leave a faint mark. “But I’m not rushing this. I want you to remember every single second.”

Rick’s breathing turned ragged as Negan worked his way down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his chest and stomach, taking his time savoring every reaction he coaxed from Rick. By the time Negan reached the apex of his thighs, Rick was trembling, his body strung tight with anticipation.

“Negan,” Rick choked out, his voice wrecked.

“Patience,” Negan murmured with a wicked grin, his lips ghosting over Rick’s skin as his hands spread Rick’s legs wider. “Trust me, baby. I know exactly what you need.”

Negan’s movements were measured, calculated, his every touch teasing Rick further into the edge of madness. He made a deliberate point of tasting Rick in every way he could, each action a slow burn that left Rick gasping and gripping the sheets beneath him.

Rick’s head tipped back as he let out a loud, broken moan, his body surrendering completely to the overwhelming sensations. He didn’t even notice when his hands moved to clutch at Negan’s dark hair, anchoring himself as the pleasure built and built until it finally tipped over into a shattering release that left him shaking and breathless.

Negan pulled back, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Goddamn, Rick,” he said, his voice thick with arousal as he stared down at him. “You make the prettiest sounds when you let go like that.”

Rick blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Negan leaned forward, brushing a gentle kiss to Rick’s forehead before settling beside him on the bed.

“Relax,” Negan murmured, his voice low and soothing as he ran a hand down Rick’s arm. “You’re perfect, Rick. Just… let me take care of you.”

Rick wanted to protest, to push himself up and reciprocate, but his body felt heavy and languid, still humming from the intensity of the moment. He turned his head to meet Negan’s gaze, swallowing hard as he nodded silently, letting himself sink into the comfort of the bed and the warmth of Negan beside him.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Rick allowed himself to just… be.

Chapter Text

Rick stirred awake to the soft press of lips against his shoulder, each one sending a faint warmth rippling through his half-asleep state. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, reluctant to open his eyes.

"Didn't peg you for such a sap," Rick mumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

A low chuckle vibrated against his skin as Negan’s lips ghosted over his shoulder again before resting his chin there. "What can I say? You bring it outta me, cowboy."

Rick snorted softly, though the warmth pooling in his chest was harder to dismiss than the teasing kisses. Before he could let himself sink further into the comfort of the moment, Negan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow.

"As much as I'd love to stay here and keep this going all day..." Negan's voice was softer than usual but carried a note of practicality. "You gotta get back to your room before Junior wakes up and starts asking questions."

At the mention of Carl, Rick stiffened, guilt immediately clawing its way into his chest. He turned his head away from Negan, eyes fixed on the faint streaks of light seeping in through the blinds.

"Yeah," Rick muttered, clearing his throat as he slowly sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. "You're right."

Negan watched him carefully, the usual smirk fading into something quieter. But he didn’t press, simply leaning back as Rick swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started gathering his clothes scattered across the floor.

The silence that followed was thick, but Negan broke it as Rick buttoned his shirt with slightly trembling hands. "Hey," Negan said, his tone gentler than Rick expected. "You okay?"

Rick hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-button before nodding without looking up. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Negan didn’t push, simply leaning back against the headboard with a knowing look as Rick slipped his boots on and adjusted his belt.

"See you later, sweetheart," Negan called lightly as Rick opened the door.

Rick stiffened at the endearment but didn’t look back, slipping into the hallway as quietly as he could. His boots made soft thuds against the floor as he made his way back to the room where Carl was still fast asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful.

Rick closed the door behind him as gently as possible, leaning against it for a moment to collect himself. The guilt coiled tighter in his stomach, but he shook it off and moved toward the bathroom. The sound of running water soon filled the space as he stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray beat down on his skin.

As the water poured over him, Rick leaned forward, his forehead resting against the cool tile. His thoughts swirled, tangled in a mess of emotions he wasn’t ready to untangle yet.

He’d made it back. Carl was none the wiser. That’s what mattered. For now.

Rick stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his damp hair as he dressed quickly. His shirt clung to him slightly from the steam of the shower, but he ignored it as he entered the main room. Carl was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes groggily.

"Where’d you go last night?" Carl asked, his voice scratchy from sleep. "I woke up, and you were gone."

Rick froze mid-step, his mind racing for a response that wouldn’t give anything away. After a beat, he shrugged, schooling his expression into something neutral. "I went for a walk. Needed to clear my head, that’s all."

Carl blinked at him but didn’t push further, instead flopping back against the pillows. "Well, I’m starving," he grumbled.

Rick was about to reply when a loud knock echoed through the room. He turned, heart skipping a beat as he approached the door. Opening it, he wasn’t surprised to see Negan standing there, holding a tray piled high with food.

"Good morning, Grimes family," Negan said with a wide grin. "Breakfast is served."

Carl groaned, rolling his eyes but still sitting up as the smell of food reached him. He reluctantly accepted a plate from Negan, muttering a begrudging, "Thanks."

Rick’s gaze flicked to Negan, who moved with his usual ease, dragging a chair over to sit across from them. Rick could feel Negan’s eyes on him, lingering in a way that made his skin warm uncomfortably.

Carl dug into his food, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. Finally, as the silence stretched, he looked up, fixing his attention on Negan.

"So," Carl said bluntly, his tone direct. "What’s my punishment here?"

Negan chuckled, leaning back in his chair and tapping a fork against his plate. "Straight to the point, huh, kid? I respect that."

Rick stiffened, his grip on his own plate tightening as Negan’s gaze flicked briefly to him before returning to Carl.

"Don’t worry," Negan said, his grin still firmly in place. "I’m not gonna throw you in a cell or anything. But you did cause a bit of a mess, and messes gotta be cleaned up."

Carl frowned, clearly trying to gauge what Negan meant.

Rick jumped in, his voice even but firm. "We’ll handle it. Whatever it is, we’ll take care of it."

Negan’s eyes flicked back to Rick, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. Then Negan smirked, breaking the moment as he turned back to Carl.

"We’ll talk about it later, Junior," Negan said, standing up and grabbing his plate. "Enjoy your breakfast. And Rick?"

Rick tensed as Negan leaned down, just close enough to murmur, "Try to stay outta trouble, sweetheart."

Before Rick could respond, Negan straightened and strolled out of the room, leaving Rick’s face flushed and Carl eyeing him suspiciously.

Rick closed the door slowly, his mind racing as he turned back to face Carl. The teenager was still watching him, a fork halfway to his mouth, an eyebrow arched in curiosity.

"What was that about?" Carl asked, his tone sharp and skeptical.

Rick shook his head quickly, trying to force his expression into something neutral. "Nothing. Negan just... likes to mess with people."

Carl frowned, chewing his food. "He doesn’t mess with anybody else like that. Only with you."

Rick’s jaw tightened as he walked back to the small table and sat down across from his son, his breakfast now looking far less appetizing. "Carl, don’t start."

"I’m not starting anything," Carl replied, leaning back in his chair. His gaze narrowed slightly. "But you’re acting weird, Dad. Ever since I got here. You’re... different."

Rick sighed, rubbing his temples. He felt the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice. He couldn’t afford to let Carl see through the cracks, to know how tangled and complicated things had become.

"I’m fine, Carl," Rick said firmly, trying to end the conversation. "I’m just trying to keep us safe. That’s all this is."

Carl didn’t look convinced, but he eventually shrugged and returned to his food. "Whatever you say. But, for the record, I don’t trust him. And neither should you."

Rick didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

The rest of the meal passed in tense silence, with only the sound of clinking forks and plates filling the air. Rick found himself picking at his food, his mind spinning over Carl’s words. He could feel the weight of his son’s suspicion, but more than that, he felt the heavy guilt of what had transpired between him and Negan.

When they finished eating, Carl stretched and tossed his plate onto the tray. "What do we even do now?" he asked.

Rick stood, collecting the dishes and setting them by the door. "We wait," he said simply. "For Negan to decide what’s next."

Carl scoffed. "You mean for him to tell you what to do."

Rick froze for a moment before turning to face his son, his jaw tight. "I’m doing what I have to, Carl. For you, for Judith. For all of us."

Carl rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. Instead, he flopped back onto the bed and grabbed one of the books he’d brought with him.

Rick paced the room for a while, the silence heavy. Carl’s words echoed in his mind, and despite himself, Rick couldn’t shake the truth of them. Negan had an uncanny way of getting under his skin, of making him question everything—even himself.

Finally, unable to stand the tension any longer, Rick moved to the window, peering out at the Sanctuary below. The place was bustling with activity, saviors working tirelessly to keep things running smoothly. It was a stark reminder of how different this world had become, how far they’d all fallen.

As the minutes dragged on, Rick’s thoughts drifted back to Negan—the heat of his touch, the way his voice softened when they were alone, the way he made Rick feel like he was unraveling and held together all at once.

He shook his head sharply, trying to banish the memories. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now. Not ever.

From behind him, Carl’s voice broke the silence. "You’re really pacing a lot today. You okay?"

Rick turned, forcing a faint smile. "Just restless," he said. "Try to get some rest, Carl. We’ve got a long day ahead of us."

Carl gave him a skeptical look but eventually nodded, settling deeper into the bed.

Rick sat on the couch, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. His mind was a storm of emotions—guilt, anger, and something deeper, something he refused to name. Whatever happened next, he needed to stay focused. He had to. For Carl. For Judith. For his people.

But as much as he tried to push it down, the memory of Negan’s touch lingered, igniting something in him he wasn’t ready to confront. Not yet.

The silence between Rick and Carl stretched on, heavy with unspoken tension. Carl sat on the edge of the bed, absently flipping through the pages of his book, though his eyes weren’t really focused. Rick leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his mind racing with too many thoughts to process.

Suddenly, muffled shouting echoed through the halls, growing louder with each passing second. Rick’s head snapped toward the door as the sound of raised voices became impossible to ignore.

Carl looked up, alarmed. “What’s going on?”

Rick pushed off the wall, heading toward the door. “Stay here,” he said firmly.

“But—”

“Carl, stay put!” Rick shot his son a sharp look before slipping out of the room and into the hallway.

The shouting and scuffling in the cafeteria grew louder, the sound spilling out into the hallway. Rick shoved through the crowd, his heart pounding as he tried to see what was happening. Then, in the chaos, he saw Negan—a figure towering over the crowd, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Negan took a staggering step back as another man lunged at him, fists flying. The second blow landed hard against Negan's cheek, making him grunt as he staggered to the side.

"Negan!" Rick shouted, his voice lost in the noise.

Negan’s eyes flicked toward him for a brief second before one of his men shoved the attacker to the ground, pinning him. Another Savior grabbed the second man, restraining him as he struggled violently.

Spitting blood onto the floor, Negan raised a hand to his mouth and wiped it with the back of his hand. His expression was a mix of frustration and anger.

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife.

“Enough!” Negan bellowed, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. The room fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the attackers and the murmurs of the crowd.

Negan’s eyes flicked to the man still on the ground, then to the one being restrained. “You got a death wish, huh?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual as he stepped closer. “Because lunging at me like that? Ballsy, but stupid.”

The man on the ground spat toward Negan, his face twisted in rage. “It’s not fair! The little killer gets to walk free, and we’re supposed to just take it?”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, a mix of agreement and unease.

Negan’s jaw tightened, and he looked over his shoulder at one of his lieutenants. “Take them to the holding room,” he ordered sharply.

The man hesitated, glancing at the angry crowd. “Both of them?”

“Yes, both,” Negan snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. “And do it now before I decide to deal with this my way.”

The two attackers struggled as they were dragged out of the cafeteria, shouting protests and curses all the way. “You’re protecting a murderer!” one of them yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway.

You let that little killer roam free, and we’re supposed to just take it?” The other one yelled over his shoulder. “You’re a fucking hypocrite!”

Negan turned back to the crowd, his expression hard and unyielding. “Anyone else got something to say? Huh? Anyone else feeling suicidal today?”

The room was silent.

Negan, without a word, stormed out of the cafeteria, his boots echoing sharply against the concrete floor. Rick didn’t hesitate. He bolted after him.

“Negan!” Rick called, following the man down the hallway.

Negan didn’t stop, his long strides eating up the distance. His back was rigid, his hands clenched into fists.

“Negan, stop!” Rick finally reached him, grabbing his arm to force him to turn around. “Are you okay?”

Negan turned sharply, his face hard as stone. His chest rose and fell, his breaths still heavy from the chaos. “Why? You worried about me now, Rick?” he asked, his voice low and biting.

Rick’s grip on his arm tightened. “I’m serious. You took two hits back there.” His eyes darted to the blood smeared on Negan’s cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

Negan barked out a humorless laugh and pulled his arm away, his eyes scanning Rick’s face. “Don’t get soft on me now, Sheriff. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just ignore it,” Rick shot back.

Negan stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he said, “Fine. Come on.”

Rick followed him into a nearby room—Negan’s office. Negan grabbed a rag from the desk and dabbed at his face, wincing slightly as he worked. Rick leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him.

“You need to be more careful,” Rick said finally, his voice quieter now.

Negan chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Careful doesn’t keep people in line, Rick. That? What just happened? That’s why I can’t afford to let my guard down.”

Rick frowned but didn’t argue. He knew Negan was right, even if he hated admitting it.

Negan glanced at him, his smirk returning despite the blood still on his lip. “You chase me down just to mother me, or is there another reason you’re here?”

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know anymore.”

Negan studied him for a moment before shaking his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You’re a damn mess, Rick.”

Rick grabbed a clean cloth from the table, wetting it from the pitcher of water nearby. He stepped closer to Negan, ignoring the amused quirk of his lips as he reached up to carefully dab at the blood on his cheek.

“You’re not invincible, you know,” Rick muttered, his voice quieter than he intended.

Negan smirked, wincing slightly as the cloth brushed his split lip. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, though his usual bravado seemed dimmed.

Rick ignored the jab, his focus sharp as he cleaned the wound. Once he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and took a step back, crossing his arms. “What was all that about, Negan? What started it?”

Negan’s smirk faded, his eyes darting away from Rick’s gaze. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They’re pissed I didn’t punish Carl,” he admitted after a moment, his voice unusually subdued. “The guy he shot... didn’t make it through the night.”

Rick’s chest tightened. The weight of those words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

Negan glanced at him, his expression unreadable but lacking the usual teasing edge. “You know how it is, Rick. People see a kid walk free after killing one of their own... it doesn’t sit right. They’re looking for blood—doesn’t matter whose.”

Rick swallowed hard, the image of Carl flashing in his mind. “And what about you?” he asked, his voice low. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Negan shrugged, his lips twisting into a grim smile. “I already did something about it. I didn’t punish him.” He shook his head, his tone turning bitter. “Doesn’t mean they’ll let it go. I’ve got a damn mutiny brewing, Rick, and it’s all because of your kid.”

Rick took a step closer, his jaw tight. “Carl made a mistake, but he doesn’t deserve to be punished for defending himself.”

Negan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. “Defending himself, huh? That’s one way to spin it.”

Rick bristled, his fists clenching at his sides. “He’s just a kid,” he snapped.

Negan’s gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. “A kid with a gun who killed one of my people, Rick. Don’t pretend you don’t understand how that looks to them. Hell, you’d be just as pissed if the roles were reversed.”

Rick’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. He knew Negan was right, as much as he hated to admit it.

“What happens now?” Rick asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Negan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Now? I try to keep the peace. I keep reminding these people who’s in charge and hope they don’t do something stupid.” He looked at Rick, his expression serious. “But you? You better keep that kid of yours in line. Because if this happens again...”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The warning was clear.

Rick nodded, his stomach churning. “I’ll talk to him.”

Negan’s smirk returned, though it was softer this time. “Good. Now get out of here before I start thinking you’re trying to woo me with all this doting.”

Rick rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. Rick turns to leave but hesitates in the doorway, his chest tight as a storm of emotions churned inside him. His eyes flicked back to Negan, who stood there with that same maddening smirk—half cocky, half unreadable. It made Rick’s blood heat in a way that terrified him. Before he could think better of it, he turned sharply and closed the distance between them, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

Negan barely had time to react before Rick grabbed his face with both hands, crashing their lips together in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was rough, raw, and consuming, as if Rick was trying to pour all his conflicting feelings into that one moment. Negan let out a muffled groan, caught off guard but quickly leaning into it, his hands gripping Rick’s hips like an anchor.

When they broke apart, both gasping for air, Negan’s pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen from the intensity. He let out a low, breathless chuckle. “I thought last night was supposed to be the last time,” he rasped, his voice thick with hunger.

Rick didn’t answer immediately, his chest heaving as he stared at Negan like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss him again or shove him away. “So did I,” he admitted hoarsely, his fingers still tangled in Negan’s stubble.

Negan’s smirk softened into something closer to a smile as he reached up to grip Rick’s wrist, his thumb brushing over the other man’s pulse point. “Guess we’re both liars, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near-growl.

Rick didn’t reply with words. Instead, he surged forward again, his lips finding Negan’s with even more desperation. Their teeth clashed briefly, but neither cared, lost in the hunger that flared between them. Negan’s hands slid from Rick’s hips to his lower back, pulling their bodies flush as the kiss deepened, their movements increasingly frantic.

Negan backed them into the edge of the table, his fingers threading into Rick’s hair as he tilted his head for better access. “Goddamn, Rick,” he groaned against his lips, the sound so low and guttural that it sent a shiver down Rick’s spine.

Rick broke the kiss long enough to breathe, his lips brushing against Negan’s as he murmured, “This doesn’t change anything.”

Negan chuckled, his voice rough and filled with amusement. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweetheart.” Then he dragged Rick into another bruising kiss, this one slower but no less intense, as if savoring every second.

When they finally broke apart again, Rick’s lips were swollen, his face flushed, and his breaths shallow. He pulled back slightly, his fingers lingering on Negan’s jaw. The two men stared at each other in charged silence, the air between them thick with unspoken words and tension.

Rick swallowed hard, stepping back with a mix of reluctance and guilt. “I’ve gotta check on Carl,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Negan smirked, though it lacked its usual cockiness. “Yeah, you better.” He reached up, brushing his thumb over Rick’s swollen bottom lip. “But don’t think for a second that we’re done, Rick.”

Rick didn’t respond. He turned and walked out the door, his head spinning and his lips still tingling from Negan’s kiss. But as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, the truth was undeniable—he wasn’t sure he wanted this to end.

-
-
Rick walked toward the room Carl was staying in, his jaw tight and his fists clenched at his sides trying to ignore all the feelings swirling in his head. He rounded the corner to find a Savior standing stiffly by the door, a rifle slung across his chest.

The guard straightened as Rick approached, meeting his glare with an unbothered expression. "Boss’s orders," the man said flatly. "Here to keep y’all safe before we leave."

Rick’s glare intensified, but he didn’t respond. He pushed past the guard and opened the door, stepping into the room where Carl was sitting on the edge of the cot, fiddling with the strap of his shoe.

Carl looked up, his brow furrowing at the expression on Rick’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Rick hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “Negan got attacked downstairs,” he finally said, his voice tense.

Carl snorted, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Good,” he muttered, his tone dripping with venom. “Should’ve finished the job.”

Rick froze mid-step, the weight of Carl’s words hitting him harder than expected. His stomach churned uneasily as he stared at his son, who looked so confident in his disdain, so sure of his anger.

And yet, Rick couldn’t ignore the pang in his chest, the guilt that twisted in his gut. Because no matter how much he wanted to agree with Carl, a part of him couldn’t.

A part of him cared about Negan.

Rick exhaled slowly, his hands trembling as he clenched them into fists. “Carl,” he began, his voice strained, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carl raised an eyebrow, sitting forward. “Don’t I? That guy’s a monster, Dad. He deserves worse than a punch to the face.”

Rick didn’t respond right away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. He wanted to argue, to defend Negan—but how could he? Not without revealing more than he was ready to admit, not just to Carl, but to himself.

“He’s... complicated,” Rick said finally, his voice quiet.

Carl blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Complicated?” he repeated, disbelief evident in his tone. “Dad, the guy’s done horrible things. To us. To you.”

“I know,” Rick said sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I know what he’s done, Carl. But killing him wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t bring anyone back.”

Carl shook his head, frustration evident in his expression. “So what? You’re just gonna let him keep walking all over us? Keep controlling everything?”

Rick didn’t answer, his silence speaking volumes.

Carl frowned, his voice softening slightly. “You’re starting to sound like you don’t hate him.”

Rick’s breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully. He turned away, unable to meet Carl’s eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, more to himself than to his son.

And maybe that was true. Maybe he didn’t fully understand it either. All he knew was that every time he looked at Negan, his anger was tempered by something else—something he wasn’t ready to name.

Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Rick sat in the chair across from Carl, both of them wrapped in an uneasy silence. Rick's mind was racing, torn between the lingering tension from their conversation and the weight of the upcoming return to Alexandria. Carl, on the other hand, leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, wearing a defiant look.

The knock at the door startled them both. “Let’s load up,” came a voice from the other side. “We’re heading to Alexandria.”

Rick stood up and glanced at Carl, who pushed off the bed without a word. Together, they stepped into the hallway, where a Savior escorted them down toward the trucks. The air was tense, the aftermath of the earlier attack still lingering in the atmosphere.

As they approached the truck, Rick caught sight of Negan already inside, lounging casually in the back seat. His bruised face was still evident, the corner of his lip swollen and tinged with dried blood.

Carl climbed in first, glaring at Negan as he settled into his seat. “You look like shit,” Carl said bluntly, his tone sharp and unapologetic.

Negan turned to him, raising an eyebrow as a slow smirk spread across his face. “Thanks, kid. Real confidence booster.” He leaned back, resting an arm along the side of the truck bed. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m not trying to impress you, huh?”

Carl rolled his eyes, but Rick caught the flicker of amusement that briefly crossed his face. Rick climbed in after him, settling into his seat across from Negan.

Rick, sitting beside his son, felt a flicker of amusement despite himself. He glanced at Negan, who caught his eye and flashed him a knowing grin, as if the tension in the air didn’t exist.

Negan turned back to Carl, his voice light but with a teasing edge. “You know, I could say the same about you, little Grimes. That hair? That scowl? You’re a walking advertisement for teenage angst.”

Carl snorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying the faintest hint of a smile.

Negan grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself, and then shifted his attention back to Rick. His smirk softened as their eyes met, a silent moment passing between them “Good to see you’re ready to go, Rick,” he said smoothly, his tone layered with meaning.

Rick held his stare for a moment, unsure how to respond. The truck rumbled to life, the vibration filling the tense silence between them as it rolled forward.

The truck hit a bump, jolting them slightly, and Negan let out a dramatic groan. “This ride is hell on my ass,” he drawled, shifting in his seat. “But hey, at least I’ve got such charming company to keep me entertained.”

Carl just muttered something under his breath, while Rick looked away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck as Negan’s gaze lingered on him.

Negan leaned back, his arm draping over the seat as he turned his attention to the road ahead. Despite his casual demeanor, his eyes flickered back to Rick now and then, a glint of something unreadable in his expression.

The journey to Alexandria stretched out in front of them, each mile bringing a mixture of anticipation, dread, and unspoken tension. Rick couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when they arrived—what this return would mean for him, for Carl, and for whatever complicated mess was brewing between him and Negan.

Chapter Text

The truck finally rumbled to a stop in front of the gates of Alexandria, the familiar sight of the high walls and the guarded entrance greeting them. But there was something off about the scene before them.

Rick and Carl both looked out the window, their eyes widening as they noticed the group of Saviors camped out just outside the gates, lounging under the trees, talking in low voices, and eyeing anyone who passed by with an air of impatience.

Aaron and Rosita stood near the gates, their faces grim, clearly on edge.

Rick’s gaze quickly flicked over to Negan, who seemed unfazed by the sight. He was already out of the truck before anyone could say anything, stretching his arms over his head and casually leaning against the side of the vehicle with that same nonchalant attitude he always had, as if he weren’t surrounded by a group of Saviors waiting for his next move.

Aaron walked up to Rick, his expression tense. “They’ve been here all day and night,” he said quietly, glancing at the camp of Saviors just outside. “Ever since Carl’s... stunt.” His voice dropped slightly on the last word, as if reluctant to remind Rick of the tension his son had caused.

Rick’s chest tightened at the mention of Carl, and the guilt began to pool in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t realized just how much the Saviors would hold this against them—against Carl. The gravity of it hit him harder now that he saw the direct consequences.

Rick exchanged a glance with Carl, who was looking at the group of Saviors, his jaw set tightly. The younger man was clearly feeling the weight of the situation too, though he masked it with his usual tough exterior.

Rick’s gaze returned to Negan, who was still casually leaning against the truck, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. No anger, no sign of annoyance—just that damned calm that made Rick’s chest tighten even further.

“We need to talk,” Aaron added, lowering his voice as he stepped closer to Rick, his eyes flicking over to the Saviors again. “This... this isn’t good.”

Rick swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts, but the guilt continued to gnaw at him. "I didn't think it would get this far," he murmured, his gaze now fixed on Carl, who was standing a few feet away, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy atmosphere.

Carl didn’t say anything in return. He just stood there, his fists clenched by his sides, staring down at the ground, as if trying to avoid facing the reality of the situation.

Rick’s shoulders slumped slightly. He wanted to do something, anything, to fix this—but everything felt out of his hands.

Behind them, Negan suddenly pushed off the truck, his boots crunching against the gravel as he moved toward Rick and Aaron. “Alright, alright,” he said with a lopsided grin, his voice cutting through the tension. “Let’s not stand around like a bunch of sad sacks. We’ve got a little community to reunite.”

Rick couldn’t tell if Negan was mocking the situation or genuinely trying to ease the mood, but either way, the sight of him still acting so unaffected made Rick’s heart beat faster, even as he tried to keep his own emotions in check.

"Get ready, Rick," Aaron said softly, voice heavy with concern. "This isn't gonna be easy."

As the tense atmosphere outside the gates thickened, Daryl appeared from one of the nearby houses, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, his expression as grim as Aaron’s. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the Savior camp, and then shifted to Rick, concern flickering across his face.

“Rick,” Daryl said lowly, stepping closer. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

Rick glanced at Carl, who was standing stiffly by the truck, then back at Daryl. His jaw tightened as he spoke. “I need you to keep Carl safe. Stay with him. Don’t let anyone near him unless it’s me.”

Daryl gave a slow nod, his gaze shifting to Carl before resting back on Rick. “Got it.”

Negan, meanwhile, stepped toward Aaron and Rosita, clapping his hands together to grab their attention. “Alright, sunshine crew,” he said, his voice full of faux cheer. “Why don’t you go ahead and round everyone up for a little chat, huh? Let’s make sure everyone’s nice and cozy for this reunion.”

Aaron bristled but didn’t argue, his jaw tight as he turned to Rosita. They exchanged a brief look before heading off to follow Negan’s order.

Rick’s temper was simmering, his fists clenching at his sides. He turned sharply toward Negan, grabbing him by the arm. “We need to talk. Now.”

Negan raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Lead the way, Sheriff.”

Rick pulled Negan into one of the nearby houses, slamming the door shut behind them. The air inside was thick with tension as Rick turned on him, his face flushed with anger.

“What the hell is a bunch of your people doing here, camping out like this?” Rick hissed, his voice low but heated. “You said we were going to talk to my people, not intimidate them with a damn Savior army!”

Negan’s smirk only grew, his calm demeanor unshaken. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, like Rick’s fury was nothing more than an amusing spectacle. “Oh, relax, Rick. They’re not here to start a war. They’re here to keep things... orderly.”

“Orderly?” Rick snapped, stepping closer until he was nearly nose to nose with Negan. “This is my community! My people! And now they’re terrified because of your goddamn power trip!”

Negan tilted his head, his smirk widening as he lazily unfolded his arms. “Power trip?” he repeated mockingly. “Oh, Ricky-boy, you’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t about me flexin’ my muscles. This is about keeping the peace. You wouldn’t want anyone else getting any bright ideas like your kid, now would you?”

Rick’s nostrils flared, his fists clenching even tighter. His voice rose, anger boiling over. “You think this is peace? Scaring my people? Camping out at my gates? This isn’t peace, Negan, it’s control!”

Negan’s eyes darkened, his smirk dropping for the first time. He pushed off the wall, standing tall as he closed the small distance between them. His voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it now. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here, Rick. Just because I’ve been easy on you—taking pity, cutting you some slack—don’t think for a second you can come in here and start barkin’ orders at me.”

Rick’s breath hitched, but he didn’t back down. The intensity between them crackled like a live wire, the room shrinking around them.

Negan’s gaze bore into Rick, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “My people are here to make sure nobody gets any more funny ideas. You don’t want them here? Fine. Convince me you can keep your people in line.” He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with warning. “But if one more thing happens—one more mistake—you and me? We’re gonna have a problem.”

Rick’s jaw worked as he tried to reign in his fury, his mind racing. He hated how Negan could still hold all the cards, even when Rick felt like he was about to snap.

Negan stepped back, his smirk creeping back into place as he clapped Rick on the shoulder, the gesture almost mocking. “Now, why don’t you take a deep breath, go check on your kid, and let me handle the rest?”

Rick didn’t respond, his teeth gritting as he stormed past Negan and out of the house, his rage simmering just beneath the surface.

-
-

The church was packed, the tension in the air palpable. Rick stood at the front, facing his people as they murmured and whispered among themselves. The weight of their stares pressed heavily on him, but he forced himself to stand tall.

“We need to stay strong,” Rick began, his voice steady, though the strain was clear. “I know this isn’t what any of us wanted, but we don’t have a choice right now. If we fight amongst ourselves, if we give them a reason to push harder, we lose. We’ve got to work together, stay united. That’s the only way we get through this.”

A scoff came from the back of the room, and the murmurs grew louder. Rick’s eyes darted toward the source, a man stepping forward with a scowl etched deep into his face.

“What are *you* doing, Rick?” the man demanded, his tone laced with contempt. “Huh? You’re up there tellin’ us to stay strong, but what are *you* doing to help us?”

The man’s gaze was sharp, and his sneer grew as he added, “All I see is you rollin’ over for Negan like some dog. Obeyin’ his every damn word.”

Rick stiffened, his mouth opening to retort, but before he could get a word out, Negan’s voice boomed from the entrance of the church.

“Rick is doing his part by obeying,” Negan said, his tone commanding as he strode in, Lucille resting casually on his shoulder. His presence silenced the room instantly.

He sauntered to the front, standing beside Rick as if it were his rightful place. His sharp eyes swept across the crowd, and the smirk on his face was anything but friendly. “Now, I get it. You’re all pissed. Scared. Confused. Hell, maybe you’re even thinkin’ about doing something real stupid to make yourselves feel better.” His gaze landed on the man who had spoken up, his smirk widening. “But here’s the thing—Rick’s doing what’s best for all of you. He’s keepin’ the peace, playin’ nice, so I don’t have to remind you who’s really in charge here.”

Negan’s eyes cut back to Rick, and for a moment, they exchanged a look—one filled with layers of tension, understanding, and something unspoken. Then Negan stepped back, gesturing for Rick to continue.

Rick cleared his throat, his heart pounding as he addressed his people once more. “We’ve got to focus on surviving. I know you’re angry. I know it’s hard. But if we don’t keep it together, if we start turning on each other, everything we’ve built here will fall apart.”

The room was quiet, the weight of Rick’s words hanging heavy in the air. He looked out at the faces of his people, searching for a spark of unity, of understanding.

Negan leaned slightly toward Rick, his voice low but audible enough for those in the front to hear. “That’s the spirit, Sheriff,” he murmured with a smirk.

Rick ignored him, his jaw tightening as he tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Let’s stick together,” Rick finished, his voice firm. “We’ve been through worse before. We’ll get through this too.”

The room remained silent for a moment longer before a few nods and murmurs of agreement broke the tension. Rick stepped back, his shoulders heavy with the weight of leadership.

Negan clapped him on the back, his grin broad as he addressed the group. “See? Your fearless leader’s got it all under control. Now, let’s all go play nice, huh?”

The crowd slowly began to disperse, the tension easing slightly, though Rick could still feel the doubts and frustrations simmering beneath the surface.

As the last of the group filed out, Rick exhaled shakily, glancing at Negan, who was watching him with that infuriatingly smug expression.

“You’re welcome,” Negan said with a wink before turning to leave. Negan lingered at the door of the church as the last few stragglers left, his presence still heavy even as he turned his attention back to Rick. He twirled Lucille lazily, giving Rick a once-over.

"I’ll give you a few to spend with your family before we head out," Negan said, his tone casual but firm. He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don’t keep me waitin’, Sheriff." With that, he strode away, leaving Rick alone to gather his thoughts.

---

Rick returned to the house where Carl and Judith were waiting. He found Carl sitting cross-legged on the floor with Judith in his lap, the two of them stacking wooden blocks into a precarious tower. Carl looked up briefly when Rick entered but didn’t say anything. Judith squealed with laughter as the tower toppled, her tiny hands clapping in delight.

Rick stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. It was a rare moment of normalcy, and his heart clenched at the sight. He stepped forward and lowered himself onto the floor, ruffling Carl’s hair and earning a faint, reluctant smile from his son.

For a little while, they just played. Rick tried to focus on Judith’s giggles and Carl’s rare smirk, but his mind churned with unease. The tension between him and Negan, the saviors camped outside, the lingering resentment of his people—it all pressed on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

A soft knock came at the door, breaking the brief peace. Rick looked up as Michonne and Daryl entered, both wearing grim expressions.

“Rick,” Michonne started, her voice low but urgent. “We need to talk.”

Daryl crossed his arms, his gaze sharp and questioning. “How much longer is this gonna go on?” he asked bluntly. “The saviors are settin’ up shop out there, and you’re... What the hell are you doing, man?”

Rick’s jaw tightened as he stood up, his eyes flicking to Carl, who was now watching the adults with a wary expression. Judith, oblivious, continued babbling as she reached for the scattered blocks.

“Not now,” Rick said, his tone clipped as he walked toward the door, gesturing for Michonne and Daryl to follow.

Michonne didn’t budge. “Not now?” she echoed, her voice rising slightly. “Rick, look around. This isn’t going away. We need to know what your plan is—if you even *have* one.”

Rick’s gaze hardened. “I said, not now,” he repeated, his voice laced with frustration.

Daryl let out a low growl of annoyance, his fists clenching at his sides. “You just gonna keep brushin’ us off?” he asked, his tone biting. “You think this is gonna fix itself?”

Rick turned away, his shoulders stiff. “I’m handling it,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.

Michonne and Daryl exchanged a look, one filled with concern and a hint of disbelief.

“You’re not the only one this affects, Rick,” Michonne said softly, her voice heavy with disappointment. “Don’t forget that.”

Rick didn’t respond. He simply turned back to his kids, crouching beside Carl and Judith as if their presence could shield him from the weight of his friends’ words.

Michonne and Daryl stood there for a moment longer, the silence stretching between them before they finally turned and got up lingeringin the back of the room, their unspoken doubts lingering in the air.

Rick remained kneeling beside Carl and Judith, his fingers absentmindedly brushing through Judith's soft hair as his mind raced. He could feel the weight of Michonne and Daryl's words pressing on him, but he didn’t know how to answer them. Every move he made seemed wrong, every decision he made seemed like it only pushed him further from the person he once was—the leader, the father, the man who could fix things.

Carl looked at him, eyes narrowed with concern. "Dad... you okay?"

Rick blinked, coming back to the present, his hand pausing in Judith’s hair. He forced a smile, though it felt thin and unconvincing. "Yeah, kiddo. Just... tired."

Carl didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push, instead turning back to Judith and resuming their game. Rick’s gaze lingered on his son for a moment before he stood up, his legs stiff.

The weight of the situation pressed down harder now. The saviors, the uneasy truce, his guilt over Carl’s actions—all of it swirled in his mind like a storm. The door to the room creaked open again, and Rick tensed, expecting to see Negan. But it was just Michonne and Daryl, standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for him.

Rick sighed heavily, meeting their eyes. They looked at him with the same unspoken worry, their expressions a mix of concern and frustration.

"Rick," Daryl said, stepping forward. "You need to tell us what the hell’s going on. You can’t keep letting Negan run the show like this."

Rick’s jaw tightened. "I’m doing what I have to do," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady, though it cracked at the edges. "For us. For all of us."

Michonne crossed her arms, her expression hard. "And what about Carl? You’re letting them camp out there while your son’s out of control? What’s the plan, Rick?"

Rick shook his head, the anger that had been bubbling inside of him coming to the surface. "I don’t have a damn plan, Michonne! Okay?" He felt his voice rise in frustration. "I’m trying to hold this together, but it’s falling apart. I don’t know what to do anymore."

There was a pause, the silence hanging thick in the room. Daryl, of all people, was the first to speak, his voice softer now. "You don’t have to do it alone, Rick. You’re not the only one carrying this weight."

Rick’s heart sank, and he turned away, his back facing the door. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear about his failures. He didn’t want them to see the cracks that had been forming in him for so long.

"I'm not doing this alone," he whispered, more to himself than to them. "But it sure feels like it."

Michonne and Daryl shared another look. They could see it—see the exhaustion, the weight Rick had been carrying all on his own. It was too much, and they both knew it. But Rick wouldn’t let them help. He couldn’t.

"We're here," Michonne said finally, her voice soft but firm. "When you’re ready, we’ll help. But don’t shut us out, Rick."

Rick’s shoulders stiffened as he turned back toward them, locking eyes with Michonne. For a moment, they stood there, the words hanging in the air. Rick could see the concern in her eyes, but there was something else too—something like disappointment. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize, not yet, not for this.

Daryl took a step toward him, a hand on his shoulder. "You gotta let us in, Rick," he said, his voice low but steady. "We’re not gonna leave you hangin’."

Rick stood there for a long moment, swallowing hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch something, but he couldn’t. Instead, he just nodded—slowly, reluctantly—and let them go.

"Thanks," he said, barely above a whisper. "I... I’ll think about it."

As Michonne and Daryl turned and left, Rick felt the weight of their absence settle over him. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready to let them in, but for now, he had to focus on what was in front of him. On keeping Carl and Judith safe, on surviving another day. Because right now, that was all he could manage.

And as he turned back toward Carl, who was still focused on Judith and the blocks, Rick felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he could still make things right, somehow. Even if the road ahead was steep, even if the odds were against him. He had to try. For his family. For everyone.

As Rick stood up, preparing to leave, the door to the room creaked open. A Savior stepped inside, looking at Rick with a stiff nod. "Time to go," he said, his tone neutral but firm.

Rick nodded silently, his chest tight as he turned toward Carl and Judith. He bent down to kiss Judith on the forehead, the kiss lingering for a moment longer than usual. He smiled at her softly. "Be good, kiddo. I’ll be back soon," he whispered, the weight of his words sinking in as he pulled away.

Next, he pulled Carl into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around his son with a sense of finality. Carl hugged him back, a silent understanding passing between them. Rick’s voice was rough when he spoke. "You behave, alright? I’ll be back before you know it."

Carl nodded, his face a mix of concern and something deeper—fear. But Rick couldn’t afford to let himself break in front of him. He straightened up, wiping away any sign of emotion from his face as he gave Carl a reassuring look.

Turning, Rick slowly walked out of the room. He could feel Negan’s eyes on him from across the hall, the weight of the man’s gaze unmistakable. As Rick made his way to the truck, he didn’t look back, keeping his head down as he approached the vehicle.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Rick settled into the worn leather, his body tense and uncomfortable. He leaned against the door, facing away from Negan as they started to roll down the road.

The silence between them was thick. Rick could feel Negan’s eyes on him, but he refused to acknowledge it. The anger and frustration boiled just beneath the surface, a constant ache in his chest.

Finally, Negan sighed, breaking the silence with a low, almost defeated sound. "You know, Rick..." he started, his voice quieter than usual. "I thought we were making progress."

Rick didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at him.

Negan clicked his tongue, leaning back in his seat. "I get it. You’re pissed. You can’t stand the fact that I’m calling the shots. But this? This isn’t helping anything, Rick."

Still, Rick stayed silent.

Negan let out another frustrated sigh, shaking his head. "There goes all that progress we made... just down the drain." His voice was tinged with disappointment, but there was an underlying trace of concern that Rick refused to acknowledge.

Rick’s silence stretched between them like a wall, thick and unyielding. The truck bounced over the uneven road, the sounds of the tires on gravel filling the quiet air. Rick kept his gaze fixed out the window, watching the landscape blur by, trying to ignore the pressure building in his chest. His hands gripped the edge of his seat as he tried to focus on the road, anything but the tension in the vehicle.

Negan, however, didn’t seem to be ready to let it go. He shifted in his seat, turning his body slightly to face Rick. "You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?" Negan muttered, more to himself than Rick. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.

The truck crept along, the weight of the silence growing heavier with each passing minute. Rick's jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t know what he could say without making everything worse. The truth was, he was conflicted, torn between what he had to do and what he felt deep down.

Negan’s voice broke through the quiet again, quieter this time, almost like he was testing the waters. "I don’t get you, Rick. One minute, you’re willing to tear me apart, and the next... you’re right there with me, like it’s nothing." He leaned back against the seat, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "It’s like I don’t even know who the hell I’m dealing with anymore."

Rick's hand clenched tighter on the seat, his nails digging into the fabric. He wanted to say something, anything. But all the words stuck in his throat. He was angry, confused, and there was a part of him that... didn’t want to admit how much he hated how much he wanted to listen to Negan. How much he wanted to understand.

Negan leaned in just a bit closer, his tone shifting to something softer, almost vulnerable. "Look, Rick... I get it. You hate this situation. You hate me, maybe you even hate yourself for how all this is turning out. But damn it, don’t shut me out. I’m not the enemy you think I am."

Rick could feel the pull of Negan’s words, the way they gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He wanted to turn, to say something, to yell at him for all the chaos he’d caused. But all he could do was breathe, slow and steady, trying to keep his composure.

"I’m just trying to keep us alive, Rick," Negan added quietly, almost like an afterthought, "Trying to do the right thing here. For you, for Carl, for everyone. But you’ve gotta give me something to work with."

Rick finally turned to face him, the frustration on his face evident. He wanted to argue, to snap at him. But instead, what came out was something softer, more resigned. "I’m trying, Negan. But you’re making it hard as hell."

For a moment, the air between them was charged with tension, but then Negan let out a sharp laugh, a mix of bitterness and understanding. "Yeah, I’m real good at that, huh?"

Rick just nodded, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the exhaustion take over, before glancing over at Negan again. The words were still stuck in his throat, but a part of him realized that they were, in some strange way, still connected. Despite everything.

"I don’t know what’s gonna happen next," Rick muttered, his voice rough. "But we’re gonna have to figure it out. I won’t just roll over for you, Negan. But I’m not gonna stand here and let everything fall apart either."

Negan nodded slowly, his eyes locking with Rick’s. "That’s all I’m asking for, Rick. We’ll figure it out... together."

And for the first time in a long time, Rick wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a warning. But as he looked into Negan’s eyes, he realized it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready to let go, not just yet.

Chapter Text

The week had been quiet, uneventful even, which felt unnatural to Rick. He spent most of his time avoiding people, gardening, and helping clear walkers when needed. The monotony of his days offered him little distraction from the restless thoughts that gnawed at his mind.

As the sun began to set, Rick made his way back to his room, wiping dirt from his hands with a rag. The corridors of the Sanctuary were dim, the low hum of activity echoing faintly in the background. As he turned a corner, he stopped in his tracks.

Negan stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall with one of his wives. She was smiling up at him, her fingers lightly brushing his arm as she spoke. Rick couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the way she laughed softly, her body leaning into Negan’s space, was unmistakable.

Rick's chest tightened, a heat rising in him that he couldn’t quite place. Negan smiled back at the woman, that same damnable smirk he always wore, but this time it felt different. Rick’s grip on the rag in his hands tightened, his knuckles going white as he watched her trail her fingers along Negan’s arm.

But then, to Rick’s surprise, Negan gently pulled away. “Alright, darlin’,” Negan said, his voice smooth but distant. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” He gave her a quick smile before stepping back, turning on his heel to walk in the opposite direction.

The woman’s smile faltered, her gaze lingering on Negan as he walked away. Then, as she turned to leave, she spotted Rick standing in the hallway. Her expression darkened, her lips curling into a scowl as she quickly averted her gaze, huffing in frustration before storming off down the hall.

Rick remained frozen, staring after her before his eyes shifted to where Negan had disappeared around the corner. A confusing storm of emotions churned in his chest. Relief, anger, and something sharper—jealousy—stabbed at him all at once. He hated how his heart had jumped watching Negan interact with her, how his chest had tightened when she touched him.

What the hell is wrong with me? Rick thought, his jaw clenching as he ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the gnawing unease in his chest, but the feeling lingered.

By the time he reached his room, the irritation hadn’t faded. He closed the door behind him and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, tossing the rag aside. His fists clenched on his knees as his mind replayed the scene, focusing on Negan’s easy smile, the casual way he brushed off the woman’s attention.

Why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t his business. Hell, Negan could do whatever the hell he wanted with whoever he wanted. But the thought left a bitter taste in Rick’s mouth, one he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

Rick exhaled sharply, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor, his mind spinning with questions he didn’t want to answer. Whatever it was he was feeling, he hated it—because it made him feel powerless. And Rick Grimes hated feeling powerless.

-
-

Rick woke up later than usual, the weight of restless sleep still heavy on his body. The quiet of the room felt unnervingly loud, and he rubbed at his face, groaning as he forced himself to sit up. After dressing, he made his way downstairs, the hum of activity in the Sanctuary growing as people bustled about.

As he passed by a room with the door slightly ajar, he heard a voice call out.

“Hey, Rick! Why don’t you come join us for breakfast?”

He turned his head and saw a group of Negan’s wives sitting around a small table, plates of food spread before them. Sherry was among them, offering a polite smile, but his gaze landed on the one from last night—the same one who had been flirting with Negan. Her eyes narrowed into a scowl as soon as she noticed him.

Reluctantly, Rick stepped into the room, his boots feeling heavy as he approached the table. Sherry motioned to an empty seat next to her, and he sank into it, nodding awkwardly at the group.

“Good to see you branching out,” Sherry said with a light laugh, pushing a plate of fruit toward him.

Rick managed a small smile and took a sip of water, his mind still lingering on the events of the previous night.

The group made idle small talk for a while. Sherry was easy to talk to, her tone friendly and warm, and Rick found himself relaxing, if only slightly. But then, the woman from last night broke the ease with a sharp question.

“So, what’s your deal with Negan?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

Rick almost choked on his drink, his eyes widening as he coughed into his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed to say, his voice gruff.

She arched an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. There’s something going on. He’s... different lately.”

“Different how?” Rick asked cautiously, though his stomach tightened.

“Different like he’s not spending time with us,” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “Not even sleeping with us anymore.”

Rick froze, his hands curling into fists under the table as heat crawled up his neck. “That’s none of my business,” he said quickly, pushing back his chair and standing up.

“It’s obvious something’s changed,” she added, her eyes narrowing at him.

“I’m done here,” Rick muttered, not meeting her gaze as he turned toward the door.

As he stepped into the hallway, Sherry followed him, her footsteps soft behind him.

“Rick, wait,” she called gently.

He stopped and turned to face her, his expression unreadable.

“It’s nothing personal,” Sherry said, her voice soft and calm. “It’s just... Negan’s been different. He’s distracted. Distant. It’s not like him.”

Rick frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“It’s not just about not spending time with us,” Sherry continued, glancing back toward the room they had just left. “He’s always been... a certain way. Predictable. But now? It’s like his focus is somewhere else, and it’s making everyone uneasy.”

Rick swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The implications of her words weighed heavily on him, though he refused to acknowledge the flicker of guilt sparking in his chest.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered, turning away from her and heading back toward the cafeteria. But the unease stayed with him, her words echoing in his mind long after she was gone.

Rick sat outside in the fading sunlight, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared out at the horizon. The stillness was a rare moment of peace, but his thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Everything about this place—about Negan—made him feel like he was being pulled in opposite directions, torn between what he knew was right and the unrelenting confusion building inside him.

He heard the sound of boots approaching, a slow, deliberate pace that could only belong to one person.

“Hi, Sheriff,” Negan said, his tone light and teasing. “Long time no see.”

Rick didn’t respond, his gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, especially not with the lingering tension from that morning’s conversation still clawing at him.

Negan lowered himself onto the bench beside him, stretching his long legs out and leaning back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The silence between them stretched, and for once, Negan didn’t push to fill it.

The quiet should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t. Rick could feel Negan’s presence, his weighty gaze every now and then flicking in his direction. Eventually, curiosity gnawed at him, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What’s up with your wives?” Rick asked abruptly, his voice stiff but low.

Negan froze mid-lounge, his head snapping around to look at Rick. For a moment, he simply blinked at him, and then he let out a sharp, boisterous laugh.

“Are you *jealous*, Rick?” Negan teased, his lips curling into a wide grin.

Rick’s face immediately heated, a flush creeping up his neck. “No,” he snapped, a little too quickly, his jaw tightening.

Negan tilted his head, his smirk widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Oh, come on. You’re practically glowing red over there.”

Rick glared at him, but the color in his cheeks betrayed him. “I’m just curious,” he said stiffly, turning his gaze back to the horizon.

“Sure you are,” Negan drawled, clearly amused. “Well, if you *must* know, my so-called wives are just in a tizzy because I haven’t been... giving them the attention they’re used to.”

Rick frowned, a strange twinge of satisfaction twisting in his chest at the admission, though he quickly shoved it aside. “Why not?”

Negan leaned closer, and Rick could feel the heat of his body, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone. “Let’s just say my interests have shifted,” Negan murmured, the edge of his voice sending a shiver down Rick’s spine.

Rick swallowed hard, his fingers twitching slightly in his lap. “You’re making things worse by ignoring them,” he said, his voice gruff, trying to redirect the conversation.

Negan chuckled, leaning back again and resting his arms across the bench. “Maybe. But honestly, I couldn’t care less. They’ll get over it.”

Rick glanced at him, his expression torn between frustration and something he didn’t want to name. “You’re playing with fire, Negan.”

Negan met his gaze, his grin softening into something more sincere. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Rick,” he said, his voice steady.

The weight of his words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Rick’s stomach churned as he looked away again, unsure of what to make of it. But the tension didn’t dissipate—it only grew thicker, the horizon blurring as Rick found himself lost in thought once more.

Negan's words sinking into his skin like needles. His heart thudded harder than it should have, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the emotions swirling in him. Frustration, confusion, maybe even anger—but underneath it all, something deeper gnawed at him.

Negan shifted beside him, his arm brushing Rick’s slightly. “You know, Rick,” he began, his tone softer, though the teasing edge still lingered, “you’ve been awfully quiet this past week. Not like you. Makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Rick stiffened, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “Nothing’s going on,” he muttered, though the tension in his voice gave him away.

“Bullshit,” Negan said, the grin audible in his voice. “You’ve been brooding more than usual. And now here you are, asking about my wives.” He leaned closer again, his voice dropping low. “You sure there’s no jealousy there, Sheriff?”

Rick clenched his fists in his lap, his jaw tightening as his face flushed again. “I told you, no,” he said firmly, though even he didn’t believe the words.

Negan hummed thoughtfully, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Hmm. You don’t seem too convincing.”

Rick finally turned to face him, his blue eyes blazing with frustration. “Why does it matter, huh?” he snapped. “Why do you care what I think about your damn wives?”

Negan didn’t flinch, his smirk widening. “Because it’s interesting, Rick. You’re interesting. Watching you twist yourself in knots, trying to figure out what you’re feeling—it’s entertaining as hell.”

Rick exhaled sharply through his nose, standing abruptly as if he could shake off the conversation by moving. “I’m not doing this,” he muttered, starting to walk away.

But Negan’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Oh, come on, Rick. Don’t run away now.”

Rick turned back, his fists clenched. “You think this is funny? You think I’m some game to you?”

Negan stood, his grin softening but still firmly in place. “No, I don’t think it’s funny, and you’re definitely not a game,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. He took a step closer, his eyes locking with Rick’s. “But I do think you’re lying to yourself. And it’s killing you, isn’t it?”

Rick stared at him, his chest heaving as he struggled to form a response. Negan was too close now, his presence overwhelming, his words hitting too close to home.

“I don’t—” Rick started, but his voice cracked, and he quickly looked away.

Negan tilted his head, his smirk softening further into something almost... patient. “You don’t have to admit it, Rick. Not yet. But you will.”

Rick turned on his heel, his steps quick and purposeful as he stormed away, leaving Negan standing alone by the bench. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name, couldn’t face, and the sound of Negan’s low chuckle followed him, haunting and infuriating all at once.

—

Rick paced the small room like a caged animal, his thoughts running in chaotic loops. He had tried everything to quiet the storm in his head—cleaning his weapons, reading, staring out the window at the darkened compound—but nothing worked. No matter what he did, one thought kept rising above the others: Negan.

He hated the way his chest tightened every time he thought about him. He hated the memory of Negan’s teasing smirks, the way his voice could shift from taunting to gentle without warning. He hated how drawn he felt, like some invisible pull had tethered him to this man he should despise.

He should hate him. He did hate him. At least, that’s what Rick tried to tell himself. But every time he saw Negan, his resolve chipped away just a little more.

Frustration boiling over, Rick grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table. He poured another glass and tossed it back, the burn doing nothing to soothe his nerves. As the alcohol settled in his stomach, a strange, reckless confidence began to creep over him. His mind stopped racing, his hesitation melting away in the face of this sudden clarity.

Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the room.

The hallway felt endless as he made his way to Negan’s quarters. His boots echoed off the walls, the dim lighting casting long shadows that flickered as he passed. When he reached the door, he hesitated for only a moment before raising his fist and knocking hard.

The door swung open, and there stood Negan, half-dressed. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, his broad chest bare and glistening faintly as though he’d just gotten out of the shower. His hair was slightly damp, curling at the edges. He froze at the sight of Rick, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Rick?” Negan said, his voice still rough from disuse. “What the hell—”

Rick didn’t let him finish. He surged forward, shoving Negan back into the room. The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding thud as Rick grabbed Negan’s face and kissed him.

It was clumsy and desperate at first, Rick’s hands trembling with barely contained frustration and need. Negan let out a muffled grunt of surprise before he responded, his hands flying to Rick’s waist, steadying him. The kiss deepened quickly, growing hotter and more insistent as their bodies pressed together.

Negan stumbled backward until his back hit the wall, and Rick followed, his fingers threading into Negan’s hair as he pulled him closer. Negan groaned low in his throat, and the sound sent a shiver racing down Rick’s spine. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—he just wanted more.

Negan finally managed to pull back, his chest heaving as he stared at Rick with wide, blown pupils. “What the hell are you doing?” he rasped, his voice low and rough. “I thought you made up your mind. I thought this was over.”

Rick’s breath hitched, and he took a shaky step back, his hands still gripping Negan’s shoulders. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing... but this feels right. Right now, it feels right.”

Negan’s lips twitched, his usual cocky grin faltering into something softer, something real. His hand came up, cupping the back of Rick’s neck as he searched his face. “You’re a confusing son of a bitch, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement.

Rick opened his mouth to respond, but Negan leaned in, capturing his lips again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate. Negan’s hands slid down to Rick’s hips, pulling him in closer as their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Rick groaned against Negan’s mouth, his fingers clutching at the other man’s shoulders. He wasn’t thinking anymore—he was simply feeling. The heat between them was overwhelming, consuming every rational thought in his mind.

Negan pushed off the wall, guiding Rick backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed. They collapsed onto it, their mouths never breaking apart, the room filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of fabric as hands roamed and explored.

Negan finally pulled back, his forehead resting against Rick’s as he stared down at him with a mix of hunger and restraint. “You sure about this, Sheriff?” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Because once we start this, there’s no going back.”

Rick’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. He nodded, his hands gripping Negan’s sides as he whispered, “I’m sure.”

Negan didn’t need any more encouragement. He leaned down, capturing Rick’s lips in another searing kiss, and the rest of the world faded away.

Negan’s mouth moved with a deliberate slowness, drawing Rick deeper into the moment. Every kiss, every touch, sent shivers coursing through Rick's body. Negan’s hands traced up Rick’s sides, rough palms skimming over the thin fabric of his shirt, sending heat pooling low in Rick’s stomach.

Rick let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back as Negan’s lips trailed from his mouth down to his jaw, then to his neck, where he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses. Each touch was like a spark, igniting something in Rick he hadn’t felt in years—something raw and undeniable.

“Negan...” Rick rasped, his voice barely audible, but the plea in it was clear.

Negan hummed against Rick’s skin, a low, satisfied sound that sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through him. “Damn, Rick,” Negan murmured, his breath hot against Rick’s collarbone. “Never thought I’d see the day where you’d let go like this.”

Rick groaned, his hands clutching at Negan’s shoulders as if to ground himself. “I don’t—” He cut himself off, his breath hitching when Negan’s teeth grazed his skin.

“You don’t what?” Negan teased, his lips curling into a smirk against Rick’s neck. He pulled back just enough to look Rick in the eyes, his own dark and blown with desire. “Don’t want this? Don’t like this?”

Rick’s chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, his heart pounding wildly. “I don’t know how to stop wanting this,” he admitted, his voice low and raw.

Negan’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his hands framing Rick’s face as he stared at him. “Good,” he said, his tone filled with both teasing and reassurance. “Because I don’t think I’d let you stop now, even if you tried.”

Before Rick could respond, Negan kissed him again, this time with a hunger that matched Rick’s own. Rick’s hands found their way under the waistband of Negan’s sweatpants, his fingers brushing against warm, bare skin as he pulled him closer.

Negan chuckled against Rick’s mouth, low and amused. “Goddamn, Rick,” he said, his voice rough with arousal. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Rick’s response was a breathless growl, his lips crashing back against Negan’s as he let himself get lost in the heat between them. The bed creaked beneath their weight as they moved together, hands and mouths exploring with a mix of urgency and tenderness.

Negan shifted, rolling Rick onto his back as he hovered above him, his smirk returning in full force. “You’re full of surprises, Sheriff,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over Rick’s cheek.

Rick stared up at him, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “You’re not exactly what I expected either,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Negan’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. “Guess we’re both a little unexpected, huh?”

Rick didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled Negan down into another kiss, his hands threading into his hair as they lost themselves in each other.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Rick allowed himself to let go completely, surrendering to the moment and the man above him.

Chapter Text

The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. Rick lay on his side, one hand idly tracing patterns across Negan’s chest. His fingers danced over faint scars and hard muscle, his thoughts far away yet centered entirely on the man beside him.

Negan had one arm tucked under his head, the other resting lazily across Rick’s waist. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the picture of ease. Rick studied him for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line.

This had been their routine for the past week. Each night, he found himself slipping into Negan’s room, the pull between them impossible to resist. And each morning, he woke tangled in Negan’s arms, feeling both at peace and entirely unmoored.

Rick tried to tell himself he was the one in control, that he was breaking Negan down. But the truth gnawed at him, unspoken and undeniable: it wasn’t Negan bending. It was him.

He bit his lip, steeling himself. There was no better time than now to address the storm that had been brewing in his mind.

“Negan,” Rick began, his voice quiet but steady.

Negan cracked open one eye, his lips curling faintly into a smirk as he glanced down at Rick. “What’s on your mind, Sheriff?” he drawled, his voice thick with sleep.

Rick hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Alexandria,” he said, the word falling heavily between them.

Negan closed his eye and groaned softly, turning his head toward Rick. His free hand came up to rub his face, his smirk fading. “Rick...” he began, his tone a mix of warning and weariness.

But Rick didn’t let him finish. The words spilled out of him in a rush, like a dam breaking. “We can work together,” he said, his voice firm despite the way his heart pounded. “We can keep the peace. I know you don’t want to deal with constant fights or rebellions any more than I do. We’ve got resources, people who know how to rebuild—”

“Rick—”

“You don’t have to keep pushing people down to stay in control. That’s not sustainable. We can make this work, Negan. You and me. Together.”

Negan raised a hand, cutting him off. His expression was unreadable, his smirk replaced by something more serious. “You done?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with something that made Rick’s stomach twist.

Rick swallowed hard, nodding.

Negan propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes locking onto Rick’s. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“You really think it’s that simple?” Negan asked, his voice low. “That we can hold hands and sing Kumbaya and suddenly everyone’s happy?”

Rick frowned, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t say it’d be easy. But it’s better than this... better than people hating you, waiting for a chance to take you down.”

Negan’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “You think I don’t know that?” he said, his tone sharp. “You think I don’t know what people are saying behind my back? I’ve been keeping this ship afloat long before you showed up, Rick. And trust me, I’ve thought about every angle.”

Rick sat up, his hand dropping to his lap. “Then why not try?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why not take the chance?”

Negan let out a heavy sigh, sitting up fully and running a hand through his hair. “Because, Rick,” he said, his tone softening. “Chances like that get people killed. It’s not just about me staying in control. It’s about keeping everyone alive. Your people, my people—hell, even you.”

Rick’s shoulders sagged, his frustration giving way to a deep, gnawing guilt. He wanted to argue, but the truth in Negan’s words was hard to deny.

Negan reached out, his hand resting lightly on Rick’s knee. “I get where you’re coming from,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “And I’ll think about it. But this world doesn’t work the way you want it to. Not anymore.”

Rick looked down, his hands clenching into fists. “It has to,” he muttered. “If it doesn’t, then what’s the point?”

Negan tilted his head, his smirk returning faintly. “You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?” he said, his tone almost affectionate.

Rick glanced up at him, his expression hard but not unkind. “Takes one to know one.”

Negan chuckled, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back against the headboard. “We’ll talk about it more later. But right now, Sheriff, I think you need to stop overthinking and come back to bed.”

Rick hesitated, his mind still racing. But when Negan held out a hand, his lips curving into that damnable smirk, Rick found himself reaching for it.

Maybe the world was broken. Maybe they were broken. But in this moment, with Negan’s warmth grounding him, Rick let himself believe—just for a little while—that things could be different.

-

The quiet between them stretched long, the weight of the conversation lingering in the space. Rick lay on his side, staring at the faint streaks of sunlight creeping across the room. Negan, beside him, was uncharacteristically still, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Finally, Negan sighed, turning his head to look at Rick. “You know what?” he said, his voice low but firm. “Why don’t you see how the Sanctuary works for a day? Come to the meetings, sit in on the discussions, see how things are run. Then you can decide for yourself if it’s really that easy to keep the peace.”

Rick turned to him, his brows furrowing. “You’d let me do that?”

Negan smirked faintly. “Why the hell not? You’ve got a lot of opinions, Sheriff. Might be time for you to see what you’re talking about firsthand.”

Rick didn’t hesitate. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice steady.

Negan let out a low chuckle, peeling himself away from the bed and stretching. “Well then, we better start getting ready,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Meetings start soon, and I don’t tolerate tardiness—not even from you.”

Rick sat up, running a hand through his hair. “All right,” he said, nodding. “Let me get going then.”

He slid out of bed, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on. As he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his eyes immediately landed on Dwight, who was walking toward him.

Dwight froze when he saw Rick emerge from Negan’s room. His expression shifted from confusion to something harder, his brows furrowing deeply. “What the hell are you doing in there this early?” Dwight asked, his voice low but laced with suspicion.

Rick’s face heated, and for a moment, he stuttered, fumbling for an answer. “I was just—uh—talking to him,” he finally managed, clearing his throat as he straightened his posture. “That’s all.”

Dwight’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing as he looked Rick over. “Just talking,” he repeated, the disbelief in his tone unmistakable.

Rick moved to walk past him, but Dwight’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks. Dwight’s voice softened, but there was an edge to it that Rick couldn’t ignore. “Whatever you’re doing... it’s not helping him. And it’s sure as hell not helping your people.”

Rick tensed, meeting Dwight’s gaze. For a moment, neither man spoke. Then, Rick pulled his arm free, his jaw tight. “I know what I’m doing,” he said firmly, though the doubt simmering beneath his words betrayed him.

Dwight shook his head, stepping back. “You sure about that?” he muttered, turning and walking away without another word.

Rick stood there for a moment, his thoughts swirling. Dwight’s words clung to him, heavy and unshakable, as he made his way down the hallway toward his own room.

The meeting room was dimly lit, with a large table dominating the center, surrounded by chairs filled with Negan’s inner circle. The hum of low conversation quieted as Rick followed Negan inside. He couldn’t help but notice the sharp glances and scowls thrown his way as they walked past.

Negan, ever the performer, casually gestured to the seat next to him, pulling it out and giving Rick a pointed look. “Take a load off, Sheriff,” he said, grinning as if there wasn’t palpable tension in the room.

Rick hesitated for a second before sitting down, his back straight and his expression neutral. He felt the weight of several pairs of eyes boring into him.

Simon, who had been leaning against the far wall, stepped forward with a stack of papers in hand. His easygoing smirk faltered slightly when he noticed Rick. “Uh... Negan?” Simon said, his eyes darting between the two men. “What’s he doing here?”

Negan took the papers, flipping through them nonchalantly. “Rick’s here to get a taste of how things run around here,” he said smoothly. “Thought it was time he saw the big picture.”

Simon’s expression hardened. “You think that’s a good idea? People aren’t exactly gonna be thrilled to see him in here, boss. Not after everything.”

Negan waved a dismissive hand, barely looking up from the papers. “Let me worry about the people, Simon. You just focus on the agenda.”

Simon hesitated, glancing at Rick with clear distrust, but ultimately nodded and stepped back. The conversations in the room picked up again, though Rick could feel the tension thick in the air.

As the meeting started, Negan leaned back in his chair, steering the discussion through supply runs, walker clearings, and internal disputes. Rick tried to focus, but his attention kept drifting to the back of the room, where Dwight stood with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on Rick. There was no mistaking the judgment in his eyes.

Rick swallowed hard, feeling a twist of unease in his stomach. He turned his attention back to the table just as a woman stood up abruptly, her voice cutting through the room.

“What the hell is *he* doing here?” she snapped, pointing a finger at Rick. Her face was red with anger, her eyes blazing. “He has no business being in this room.”

Negan’s smile tightened, but before he could respond, the woman continued, her voice rising. “This is the guy who killed our people—*my* people! And now he’s just sitting here like he belongs? Like nothing happened? This is bullshit!”

Rick stiffened, his jaw clenching as he felt the weight of her words. The room was dead silent except for the woman’s heavy breathing as she glared at him.

Negan leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. His expression was calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that warned everyone to tread carefully. “You done?” he asked, his tone casual but with an unmistakable edge.

The woman faltered slightly but didn’t sit down. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking,” she muttered, her voice quieter but no less angry.

Negan exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, Rick’s killed people. So have I. So has just about everyone in this damn room. You think I’ve forgotten? Hell no. But I’m the one in charge here, and if I say Rick’s in this room, then he’s in this room. You got a problem with that, we can take it outside.”

The woman’s jaw tightened, but she finally sat down, muttering under her breath.

Negan turned to Rick, his smirk returning. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Rick. You’re already making friends.”

Rick didn’t reply, his mind racing. He felt the eyes of the room on him, the weight of their resentment and distrust. But more than that, he felt the nagging question in his own mind: What the hell was he doing here?

The room slowly returned to a tense murmur as the meeting resumed, though Rick could still feel the occasional glare cast his way. He sat stiffly in his seat, his hands resting on the table, his jaw clenched tight. Negan, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered, casually leaning back in his chair as though nothing had happened.

Rick’s gaze flicked across the room, taking in the faces around him. These were Negan’s people, his loyal followers—or at least that’s how it appeared on the surface. But there were cracks in the foundation. He could see it in the woman’s outburst, in the tension lingering in the air. They were loyal, yes, but they were angry. Frustrated.

It struck Rick that Negan wasn’t just managing the Sanctuary—he was constantly walking a tightrope, balancing their needs, fears, and grudges.

“You alright, Sheriff?” Negan’s voice cut through his thoughts. Rick turned to find him watching with an amused expression, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m fine,” Rick muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Good.” Negan’s smirk deepened. “Because if you’re gonna survive here, you’re gonna need thicker skin. These people? They’ll eat you alive if you let them.”

Rick didn’t respond, his eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn’t here to take advice from Negan, but the truth in his words wasn’t lost on him.

The meeting dragged on, with discussions about food rations, patrol schedules, and expanding the Sanctuary’s outer defenses. Rick tried to pay attention, but the growing tension in the room gnawed at him. He could feel the resentment building, simmering just below the surface.

As the meeting came to a close, Negan stood up, clapping his hands together. “Alright, people. We’re done here. Get to work.” He turned to Rick, his grin still in place. “Come on, Sheriff. I’ve got more of the Sanctuary to show you.”

Rick rose from his chair, feeling the weight of the room’s collective gaze on his back as he followed Negan out of the meeting room.

Once they were alone in the hallway, Rick finally spoke. “That woman... she’s not wrong. I don’t belong here.”

Negan stopped, turning to face him with a serious expression. “Maybe not. But you’re here anyway. And if you want to make this work, you’re gonna have to deal with the fact that not everyone’s gonna welcome you with open arms.”

Rick frowned, his brows knitting together. “I don’t need them to welcome me. I just need them to understand that I’m not their enemy anymore.”

Negan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Oh, Rick. You’re always gonna be their enemy, no matter what you do. Hell, you’re lucky I’ve got your back. Without me, you’d be dead before you even stepped into that room.”

Rick bristled at Negan’s words but didn’t argue. As much as he hated to admit it, Negan was right.

They walked in silence for a while until they reached the edge of the courtyard. Negan stopped, turning to Rick with a smirk. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Rick. But hey, lucky for you, I’m a hell of a teacher.”

Rick crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t some game, Negan. These are people’s lives.”

Negan’s smirk faded slightly, his expression turning more serious. “I know that better than you think. That’s why I do what I do—to keep these people alive. You don’t have to like it, Rick. Hell, you don’t even have to understand it. But if you’re serious about making this work, you’re gonna have to start seeing things my way.”

Rick didn’t respond, his mind racing with thoughts and doubts. He wasn’t sure if he could ever see things Negan’s way. But for now, he would play along. For Alexandria. For Carl. For Judith.

Negan clapped him on the shoulder, his smirk returning. “Come on, Sheriff. Let’s see if we can’t turn you into a proper Savior yet.”

Negan led Rick through a series of winding hallways on the west side of the Sanctuary, his stride confident as he gestured for Rick to follow. This was a part of the compound Rick had never seen before, and an uneasy feeling settled in his gut as they passed through a heavy metal door. The air felt heavier here, tinged with tension and the faint smell of sweat and grime.

When they stepped out into the open, Rick’s stomach turned. In the yard before them, a group of disheveled men and women worked under the watchful eyes of armed guards. Each prisoner wore a grimy shirt marked with a single, large letter: **A**, **S**, or **T**. The guards barked orders, and the prisoners complied, moving crates, sweeping the grounds, or performing other menial tasks.

Rick’s gaze fixed on one prisoner who stumbled under the weight of a heavy crate. A guard stepped forward, shoving the man roughly. “Keep moving!” the guard snapped.

The prisoner snarled, straightening up and throwing the crate down with a loud crash. In a flash, he lunged at the guard, knocking him backward. Before the prisoner could land another blow, every guard in the area moved into action, their weapons raised and aimed.

Rick instinctively took a step forward, but Negan’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Easy there, Sheriff. Let them handle it.”

Rick watched as the guards forced the prisoner to the ground, holding him in place. The air buzzed with tension as the other prisoners quickly averted their eyes, resuming their work in silence.

Rick turned to Negan, his voice low but laced with anger. “Why did you bring me here?”

Negan smirked faintly and pointed to the prisoner now pinned to the ground. “You see that guy?” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Name’s Evan. He stole from the supply stash—medicine, food, you name it. The stuff people here need to survive. Didn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Rick’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Negan’s gaze swept over the yard before pointing to another prisoner in the corner, sweeping the ground with a dead-eyed expression. “That one over there? Alan. Beat his wife so bad she almost died. You think we’ve got room for scum like that to walk around free?”

Negan gestured toward a younger man hunched over near the wall, his shirt marked with an **S**. “And that kid? Stabbed a guy in a fit of rage. Over a damn loaf of bread.”

Rick’s eyes followed each prisoner Negan pointed to, his unease growing with every story.

Negan turned to face him fully, his expression hard and unyielding. “You want to know why I brought you here? Because this is what I do, Rick. I keep the bad guys in line. I make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. That’s my job. Not yours. Not theirs. Mine.”

Rick’s fists clenched at his sides as he took in the sight before him. The yard, the prisoners, the guards—it all felt wrong, but he couldn’t ignore the harsh logic behind Negan’s words.

Negan leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “These people? They need order, Rick. Without it, this whole place would fall apart. You think I enjoy this? You think I like playing warden to a bunch of screw-ups? Hell no. But someone’s gotta do it.”

Rick swallowed hard, his gaze drifting back to the yard. He hated the sight of it, the sheer brutality of it. But he couldn’t deny the truth in what Negan said. The Sanctuary operated on a razor’s edge, and without control, it could all collapse.

Negan clapped a hand on Rick’s shoulder, his smirk returning. “You wanted to know how I keep the peace? Well, now you know. It ain’t pretty, but it works.”

Rick didn’t respond, his thoughts racing as he watched the guards haul the rebellious prisoner to his feet and drag him away. He wasn’t sure what to feel—anger, disgust, or a reluctant understanding. Maybe all three.

As the rebellious prisoner was dragged away, Rick’s stomach churned. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene—the humiliation, the fear, and the complete lack of humanity. It grated against every fiber of his being, but he also knew deep down that he’d done similar things in the name of survival. He hated that realization.

Negan’s hand stayed heavy on Rick’s shoulder, his grip firm and grounding. “I know what you’re thinking, Rick,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost conversational. “You’re thinking this is barbaric. That it’s wrong. That maybe you wouldn’t have to do this back in Alexandria. But out here?” He gestured to the yard again. “Out here, it’s a whole different world. No council meetings, no votes. Just decisions. Hard ones.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “You don’t have to do it like this,” he muttered. “There’s always another way.”

Negan laughed—a low, bitter sound. “Another way? You mean like second chances? Sure, we tried that. And guess what happened? More people got hurt. More chaos. These people”—he motioned toward the prisoners—“lost their chance when they decided to screw over the rest of us. You let too much slide, and suddenly everyone thinks they can do whatever the hell they want. And then what, Rick? What do you do when it’s your people that pay the price for your mercy?”

Rick turned to face Negan fully, his blue eyes blazing with conflict. “You act like you’re some kind of savior, but all I see is fear keeping people in line.”

Negan tilted his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Fear works, Rick. It’s not pretty, but it keeps people alive. That’s the job. You think I don’t feel it? The weight of every decision I make? I do. Every damn day.”

Rick stepped back, running a hand over his face. He couldn’t argue with Negan’s logic, even if he hated himself for understanding it.

Negan studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “I brought you here because I wanted you to see it, Rick. The things I have to deal with. The things you’d never let yourself see back in Alexandria.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You want to keep the peace? This is what it takes.”

Rick didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling as he glanced back at the prisoners. Some of them looked broken, others defiant. It was a scene he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he wanted to.

Negan sighed and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Look, I’m not asking you to like it. Hell, I don’t like it. But if you want to keep that little slice of heaven of yours running smooth, maybe it’s time you start asking yourself if you’re really ready to do what it takes.”

Rick turned away, his chest tight with anger and uncertainty. He started walking toward the exit, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

“You asked why I brought you here,” Negan called after him. “It’s not just to show you how things are done. It’s to show you what’s waiting for you if you can’t keep your own people in line.”

Rick stopped, his shoulders stiff. He didn’t look back, didn’t respond, but he felt every word like a weight pressing down on him. He pushed through the door, the harsh light of the yard giving way to the dim hallways of the Sanctuary.

Negan watched him go, shaking his head slightly. “You’ll get it eventually, Rick,” he muttered to himself, a flicker of something almost like regret crossing his face. “One way or another.”

Outside, Rick leaned against a wall, his breaths coming heavy and uneven. He wanted to hate Negan for what he’d shown him, for what he represented. But deep down, a small voice whispered what he already knew: Negan wasn’t just breaking him down—he was making him question everything he thought he believed.

Negan watched Rick linger by the door, his shoulders rigid and his face shadowed by thought. For a moment, Negan debated letting him leave in silence, but something about the weight in Rick's stance kept him rooted.

"Rick," Negan called, his voice softer than usual, almost conversational.

Rick turned slightly, not fully facing him, but enough to show he was listening.

"You think I’m a monster, don’t you?" Negan began, stepping closer but keeping his distance. "That all this—the prisoners, the rules, the fear—is just me feeding some sick need for power." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "But that’s not it. Not all of it, anyway."

Rick’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

Negan gestured broadly to the yard behind him, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of conviction. "I save people, Rick. That’s the whole damn point. These people? The ones you think I’m oppressing? Most of them wouldn’t even be alive without me. I gave them a home, food, safety. I gave them structure when the world fell apart. And yeah, sometimes that means making hard calls. Doing the things no one else has the guts to do."

Rick turned fully now, his gaze sharp. "You call this saving people? Beating them down, locking them up, keeping them in fear?"

Negan tilted his head, his smirk creeping back but lacking its usual mockery. "Fear keeps people alive, Rick. It keeps them in line, makes them think twice before doing something stupid. And those people out there?" He pointed to the yard. "The ones wearing the letters? They’re alive because of me, too. Could’ve just left them to die. But no, I gave them a choice. Work it off, prove they can be better, or rot away like the walkers outside."

Rick’s fists tightened at his sides. "You don’t get to play God."

Negan laughed, low and bitter. "And you do? How many times have you made choices for your people that put lives on the line? How many times did you decide who lived and who didn’t?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "We’re not so different, Rick. You just hate that I make you see it."

Rick glared at him, his chest heaving with suppressed anger. "I don’t need you to save me or my people."

Negan shrugged, his smirk widening. "Maybe not. But if you think this whole ‘working together’ idea is gonna be sunshine and rainbows, you’ve got another thing coming. Saving people? It’s messy. It’s ugly. And it doesn’t always feel good. But it works. And in the end, that’s all that matters."

Rick stared at him, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the conviction in Negan’s tone was hard to ignore.

Negan stepped back, his posture relaxing slightly. "You don’t have to like me, Rick. Hell, I don’t even care if you respect me. But you should know this—every move I make, every rule I enforce, it’s to keep this shitshow of a world from falling apart even more. You’ll see that eventually."

Rick said nothing, his jaw tight as he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

Negan watched him go, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. "You’ll see."

-
-

Rick sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The conversation with Negan replayed in his mind like a broken record.

*"I save people, Rick. That’s the whole damn point."*

The words twisted inside him, colliding with memories he couldn’t suppress. Shane’s face, filled with rage and betrayal, flashed before him. The way Jessie’s husband stumbled under the weight of his decisions. The sound of the bat cracking against flesh in the clearing where Glenn and Abraham fell.

He’d made choices—choices that saved some but damned others. It was never clean, never simple. And as much as he hated to admit it, Negan wasn’t wrong.

*"We’re not so different, Rick. You just hate that I make you see it."*

Rick rubbed his face, the whiskey on his breath a faint comfort. Maybe he wasn’t so different. Maybe he should cut Negan some slack. Maybe... just maybe, listening to him was the only way forward.

A sharp knock startled him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Rick straightened, his pulse quickening as he rose from the bed and went to the door.

When he opened it, Dwight shoved his way inside, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dwight hissed, his voice low but urgent. “Why are you still here with Negan? Letting him showboat you around like some trophy?”

Rick frowned, his confusion giving way to irritation. “I know what I’m doing,” he replied evenly, crossing his arms. “I’m getting Negan to see reason. To see things my way.”

Dwight scoffed, throwing his hands up. “See reason? Do you even hear yourself? Your people are back home, Rick—waiting for you, counting on you—and they’re going to act with or without you. Do you get that? They’re not gonna wait around forever.”

Rick’s expression hardened. “How do you know what my people are doing?”

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Dwight snapped, his voice filled with frustration. “What matters is that I can get you out of here. Tonight. We can go back, regroup, and take him down.”

Rick shook his head, his voice firm. “I told you—I have a plan. My people just need to trust me. You need to trust me.”

Dwight stared at him, his jaw clenched as if he wanted to argue, but he only exhaled sharply and turned toward the door. “You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly, opening it.

Rick didn’t respond, his eyes locked on Dwight’s back as he stepped into the hallway.

Dwight hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. “For their sake, I hope you’re right.”

He left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Rick stood there for a moment, his chest tight with conflicting emotions. He returned to his bed and sat down, staring at the floor.

*"Trust me."*

The words rang hollow in his mind, but he clenched his fists and held onto them like a lifeline.
Rick remained seated, staring blankly at the floor as the silence in the room pressed down on him. Dwight’s words echoed in his mind, cutting deep in a way Rick hadn’t expected.

*"They’re not gonna wait around forever."*

He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing unsteady. It wasn’t just Dwight’s warning that rattled him—it was the realization that Dwight might be right. What if his people *did* move forward without him? What if, in their desperation, they did something reckless?

His fingers itched to reach for the radio, to check in with Alexandria, to hear someone’s voice—Michonne’s, Daryl’s, even Aaron’s—but he didn’t move. What could he even say to them? That he was still working on convincing Negan? That he was lying in his bed at night, letting the man whisper things that made him question everything?

The thought made his stomach churn, but there was something else too. Something that gnawed at him like a secret he didn’t want to admit: Negan was breaking him down, piece by piece. Every conversation, every look, every touch chipped away at the walls Rick had built to protect himself from men like Negan.

And worse, Rick wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to stop it.

He took a long, slow breath, reaching for the bottle of whiskey he kept on the table. Pouring himself a glass, he took a sip, the burn steadying his nerves.

His thoughts circled back to his people, his choices, and—against his better judgment—Negan.

Rick didn’t know how long he sat there, sipping his drink, lost in thought. It wasn’t until the hallway outside grew quieter, the night settling over the Sanctuary, that he finally moved.

He stood and crossed the room, pacing restlessly. His mind replayed every argument, every desperate plea, every decision he’d made since the world fell apart. Shane. Lori. Jessie. Glenn. Carl. Judith.

He wanted to hate Negan. He *should* hate him. Negan had torn his world apart, yet here Rick was—still standing. Still fighting. And still wondering why, in the quiet moments, it wasn’t hate he felt.

Frustration built in his chest, and he slammed his glass down on the table, whiskey sloshing over the edge. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and unforgiving.

He looked at the door, Dwight’s voice still clear in his mind.

*"Your people need you. Let me help you get out of here tonight."*

Rick clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need Dwight’s help. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He just needed to think, to focus, to make the right decision for his people.

But when his mind drifted back to Negan—the way the man’s smirk softened into something genuine when it was just the two of them, the way he spoke with conviction even when Rick wanted to punch him—it only made everything more complicated.

He sat back down, his head in his hands, his thoughts an endless loop of guilt, anger, and something he wasn’t ready to name. He had to do something, he needed to plead with Negan. Beg if he needed to.

-
Rick’s heart pounded in his chest as he stormed down the hallway, his footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet of the Sanctuary. His thoughts were a blur, his emotions a tangled mess. Every step he took brought him closer to Negan’s door, and with it, the fear that this could go terribly wrong. But he couldn’t stop now—he *needed* to say this, to get it all out.

When he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate. His fist hit the wood with enough force to make it rattle.

“Negan!” he called out, his voice cracking slightly. He didn’t care.

There was a pause, then the sound of movement on the other side. The door swung open, revealing Negan with his usual smirk, but it vanished almost instantly when he took in Rick’s face.

“Rick,” Negan said, his voice softer than Rick expected. He reached out, gripping Rick’s arm lightly, pulling him inside. “What the hell’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a damn ghost.”

Rick stumbled inside, the words spilling out of him before he could stop them. “You have to listen to me. Please, Negan. Just... give my way a chance.” His voice broke, but he pressed on, pacing the room. “I see it, okay? I see a future, one where we can make this work—together. You and me.” He stopped, turning to face Negan, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “I need you to see it too.”

Negan opened his mouth to speak, but Rick kept going, his words growing more frantic. “You’ve turned my life upside down. You’ve made me question everything I thought I knew. And I—” He swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know how I’d survive if something happened to you or to us before we even tried to make this work.”

Negan’s expression softened, something almost tender crossing his face as he stepped closer. “Rick—”

“No, let me finish,” Rick said, his voice trembling. “You’ve made me feel things I didn’t think I could feel again. And I’m scared, okay? Scared that I’ve already lost control, that I’ve let you in so deep I can’t go back. But I don’t care, Negan. I don’t care anymore.” His eyes glistened, and he hadn’t even realized a tear had fallen until Negan’s hand cupped his jaw, the pad of his thumb gently brushing it away.

Negan pulled him closer, his other hand gripping Rick’s waist, and then he kissed him—desperate, rough, and full of something Rick couldn’t name. Rick melted into it, his hands clutching at Negan’s shirt like it was the only thing keeping him standing.

When Negan pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breath unsteady. He cradled Rick’s face, his thumb still stroking his cheek. “Fine,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll hear you out, Rick. But only because it’s *you.*”

Rick’s chest tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a smile broke across his face. He leaned forward, capturing Negan’s lips again, this time softer, more deliberate.

Negan chuckled against his mouth, pulling him even closer. “Damn, Sheriff. You sure know how to twist a guy’s arm.”

Rick huffed a laugh, his forehead resting against Negan’s. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, though it sounded more like a promise to himself.

Negan grinned, his fingers trailing through Rick’s hair. “You better be right about that.”

Negan’s grin lingered, though his eyes held a flicker of something deeper, something vulnerable. He stepped back slightly, letting his hands fall to Rick’s hips but keeping him close. “So,” he began, his voice tinged with amusement to mask the tension. “What exactly is this big, shiny plan of yours, Rick? You gonna knock me off my throne and take over?”

Rick shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It’s not like that, Negan. I’m not trying to take anything from you. I just…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I want to show you how we can do this together. How we don’t have to be at each other’s throats all the time.”

Negan raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re talkin’ rainbows and kumbaya, Rick. You think people are just gonna hold hands and sing songs after everything that’s gone down? After everything we’ve done?”

Rick met his gaze, his jaw tightening. “I’m not naive, Negan. I know it’s not gonna be easy. But if we don’t try, then what the hell are we doing all this for? Survival? Fine. But there’s gotta be more than just surviving. There’s gotta be a way to build something better.”

Negan studied him for a moment, his smirk fading into something more contemplative. He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

Rick nodded, his lips quirking up slightly. “So I’ve been told.”

Negan chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the doorframe. “Alright, Sheriff. I’ll bite. We’ll talk about your big, bright future. But don’t expect me to jump on the bandwagon just because you flash those pretty blue eyes at me.”

Rick’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t expect anything, Negan. I just need you to listen. Really listen.”

Negan pushed off the doorframe, stepping back toward Rick. He tilted Rick’s chin up with two fingers, his expression soft but serious. “You’ve got my attention, Rick. You always do.”

Rick felt his chest tighten again, but this time it wasn’t from fear or frustration. It was something warmer, something he didn’t want to name just yet. He nodded, swallowing hard. “Good.”

Negan let out a low hum, brushing past Rick as he grabbed a shirt off the back of a chair and pulled it on. “Well, we better get to work then. Got a whole damn Sanctuary to convince your way isn’t total bullshit.”

Rick smirked faintly, watching as Negan adjusted his collar. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Negan turned back to him, his grin returning. “Don’t get cocky, Grimes. This is just the beginning.”

Rick stepped closer, his hand finding its way to Negan’s chest, stopping him mid-turn. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping into a teasing tone, “I think that plan can wait just a little bit longer.”

Negan arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Oh, really now? Didn’t take you for a procrastinator, Rick.”

Rick didn’t answer with words. Instead, he tugged Negan forward, their mouths crashing together in a heated kiss. The initial surprise from Negan quickly melted away as he responded, gripping Rick’s waist and pulling him flush against him.

Rick’s hands moved with purpose, trailing down Negan’s sides before settling at his belt. He fumbled with the buckle, his lips never leaving Negan’s as the kiss deepened. Negan groaned softly, his hands sliding up Rick’s back, gripping at his shirt as if he couldn’t get him close enough.

“Rick,” Negan murmured against his lips, his voice rough and needy. “You sure about this? You’re the one who wanted to talk about the future, not…”

Rick pulled back just enough to look into Negan’s eyes, his own dark with intent. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice steady but thick with desire. “We’ll talk later.”

Negan’s grin returned, wider and more wicked than ever. “You’re a man of priorities, Grimes. I can respect that.”

With that, he took control, spinning Rick around and pressing him back against the edge of the bed. Rick’s fingers were still working at Negan’s belt, finally managing to loosen it before letting it fall open. Negan’s hands slid to Rick’s hips, gripping them firmly as their mouths collided again in a kiss that was all hunger and heat.

Whatever the future held, it could wait. Right now, Rick wasn’t thinking about Alexandria, the Sanctuary, or even the world outside this room. There was only Negan, and for now, that was all he wanted.

Negan smirked against Rick’s lips, his hands roaming possessively over his sides as he took a moment to drink him in. "You know, Rick," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, "you're full of surprises. Thought you were all business."

Rick chuckled, his breath hitching slightly as Negan's hands slid lower. "You bring it out of me," he admitted, his voice soft but tinged with heat.

Negan pulled back just enough to look at him, his dark eyes scanning Rick’s face, as if he were committing every detail to memory. “Guess I’ll take credit for that,” he teased, his tone softer than usual but still carrying that familiar confidence.

Rick didn’t give him time to bask in his own ego. He reached up, cupping the back of Negan’s neck and pulling him back into a kiss that left no room for words. This time, it was deeper, slower, the urgency giving way to something more deliberate.

Negan groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping Rick’s hips tightly as he pushed him back onto the bed. Rick let himself be guided, his legs brushing against the edge as he sank down, Negan’s larger frame following him.

For a moment, they simply stayed there, their foreheads pressed together, breathing hard. Negan’s smirk softened into something that almost resembled tenderness as he reached up to trace Rick’s jawline with his thumb.

“You’re somethin’ else, Grimes,” Negan murmured, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

Rick huffed a soft laugh, his hand sliding up to rest on Negan’s chest. “And you’re insufferable,” he shot back, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Negan chuckled, his lips curling into that trademark grin. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Rick didn’t deny it. Instead, he tugged Negan down, silencing any further words with another kiss. Their movements grew slower, more deliberate, as they lost themselves in each other.

The world outside, with its chaos and uncertainty, seemed to fade into nothingness. For now, there was only the warmth between them, the shared breath, the unspoken promises lingering in the air.

And for once, Rick let himself forget the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. Right now, all that mattered was this moment, and the man in his arms.

-

Rick lay sprawled across the bed, his body still flush from their earlier moments, his fingers gesturing animatedly as he explained something about a strategy he’d used back at the prison. Negan wasn’t really listening.

His attention was wholly consumed by Rick—the way his damp hair stuck to his forehead, the faint flush still lingering on his skin, and most of all, the faint red marks decorating his neck. Negan’s handiwork.

Negan couldn’t help himself. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of one particularly vivid hickey, grinning smugly as Rick paused mid-sentence to glance at him.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked, though the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

“Just admiring my work,” Negan replied, his voice a low rumble. His thumb brushed over the mark, his grin widening. “You look real pretty with my marks on you, Grimes.”

Rick rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. He shoved Negan’s shoulder lightly, a smile breaking through his feigned annoyance. “You’re impossible,” he muttered.

“And yet, you’re still here,” Negan shot back, his grin softening as he leaned closer.

Rick huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

Negan interrupted, his voice quieter this time. “I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you.”

Rick froze, his words catching in his throat as his eyes snapped to Negan’s. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to process the unexpected confession.

Negan studied him carefully, his usual cocky demeanor softened into something more vulnerable. “You don’t have to say anything back,” he said quietly, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

Then, as if to reassure both of them, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Rick’s forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Rick closed his eyes, exhaling shakily as the weight of the moment settled between them. He didn’t say anything, but his hand found Negan’s, squeezing it tightly as they lay there in silence.

For now, that was enough.

-

Negan had fallen asleep with his arm draped loosely over Rick’s waist, his breathing deep and even, the tension that usually lingered on his face now completely gone. He looked... peaceful. Vulnerable, even.

Rick lay still for a moment, watching him. His mind was racing, filled with conflicting thoughts. Did he love Negan? Could he? He wasn’t sure. But seeing Negan like this, his guard down, stirred something deep in Rick’s chest that he couldn’t deny.

He smiled softly to himself, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Negan’s face. His fingers lingered for a moment before he pulled back, careful not to disturb him.

Sliding out from under Negan’s arm, Rick moved slowly, almost holding his breath as he crept out of the bed. Negan stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his hand resting where Rick had been moments before.

Rick slipped out of the room quietly, closing the door behind him without a sound. The hallway was dim, the silence of the Sanctuary amplified by the late hour. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, heading nowhere in particular, just needing to clear his head.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, a hand grabbed his arm. Rick spun around, yanking his arm back instinctively. “Get off of me!” he yelled, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Shut the fuck up!” a rough voice hissed. Before Rick could react, another figure stepped forward, and he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. Pain exploded in his skull, and the world tilted as he fell to his knees.

“Damn it! Why the fuck did you knock him out?” one voice snapped.

“He wasn’t cooperating,” another replied defensively.

“Are you stupid? The plan was to get him out in one piece and undetected not to fucking knock him out” a third voice cut in, angry and panicked.

Rick’s vision blurred, their voices seeming very familiar but becoming distant as blackness overtook him. The last thing he felt was the cold floor beneath him before everything went dark again.

Chapter Text

Rick blinked slowly, the bright light overhead stabbing into his skull like knives. His whole body ached, his mouth was dry, and a low, constant throbbing pounded in the back of his head. He tried to move—only to realize he couldn’t.

His wrists were tied to the bedposts, firm but not cruelly tight. Panic flared in his chest for a second before reality settled in. He recognized the white walls, the familiar smell of antiseptic. Alexandria’s infirmary.

He yanked at the restraints, his muscles burning from the sudden movement.

"Easy, Rick," a voice said from the corner of the room.

Rick snapped his head toward the sound and saw Daryl leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was grim, tired, but resolute.

"What the hell is this?" Rick rasped, his voice rough.

Daryl pushed off the wall and walked closer. "You wouldn't listen," he said simply. "We had to do somethin’."

Rick tugged at the ties again, feeling humiliation and anger rise in his throat. "You kidnapped me," he growled. "Brought me back here like a damn prisoner."

"You weren’t thinkin' straight," Daryl said, his voice low but firm. "We had to get you away from him. From Negan."

Rick’s heart twisted painfully at the mention of Negan’s name. His mind flashed back to their last night together—the way Negan’s fingers had brushed his cheek, the way Rick had traced lazy patterns on Negan’s chest while they talked about the future. A future Rick desperately wanted to believe could exist.

"You don’t understand," Rick said, trying to keep his voice steady even as it cracked. "You don’t know what I’m doing."

Daryl shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "We know exactly what you're doin’, Rick. You're losin' yourself. And we can't let that happen."

Rick glared at him, blood boiling in his veins. "Where’s Dwight? I know he was there too."

Daryl’s mouth pulled into a thin line at the mention of Dwight. Rick's memory was fuzzy, but flashes returned — voices arguing in the dark. Rough hands grabbing him. A fist slamming into the back of his head.

Daryl seemed to read his mind because he sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"He wanted to do it cleaner," Daryl muttered. "Said we should just talk to you. But when you fought back..." Daryl shrugged, guilt flickering across his face. "It got messy."

Rick stared up at Daryl now, anger burning a hole in his gut. "You don’t understand," he said, voice raw. "You don’t know what I'm doing. What I’m building."

"We know exactly what you’re doin'," Daryl said quietly. "You’re fallin' for him. And it’s gonna get you — and all of us — killed."

Rick’s throat tightened. Images flooded him: Negan’s lazy grin. His hand tracing Rick’s jaw. The way he said Rick’s name, almost reverent. The stupid little hopes Rick had allowed himself to have.

"You don't get it," Rick said, breathing hard through his nose. "I need to do this. I need him to listen. We can fix this."

Daryl shook his head, his face lined with exhaustion and betrayal. "Your people ain’t waitin' on you anymore, Rick. They're plannin' to fight back. With or without you."

Rick yanked uselessly against the ropes again, his heart hammering against his ribs.

And worst of all, deep down, he knew Daryl was right. But it didn’t change the fact that when he closed his eyes... all he could see was Negan’s face.

And somewhere, out there, Negan would realize Rick was gone — and Rick didn’t even want to think about what would happen next.

Rick stared up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, feeling more trapped than he had in a long, long time. Not by the ropes—but by the crushing realization that everything he had worked for, everything he had started to believe in, was falling apart right in front of him.

Daryl stood over Rick for another long moment, his jaw grinding like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he shook his head and muttered, "You need to get your head straight, Rick. For all of us."

He turned toward the door without waiting for an answer.

Before stepping out, Daryl paused and glanced back at Rick — something almost like guilt flickering across his face. "We’ll give you some time," he said, voice low, almost reluctant. "Maybe when you’re not so... confused, you’ll see we’re right."

Rick didn’t respond. He just glared at him as the door clicked softly shut behind them.

The room plunged into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint creak of the bed as Rick shifted against the restraints.

He lay there for a long moment, breathing hard through his nose, heart hammering in his chest.

His mind swirled with too much: anger at Daryl and Dwight, guilt over his people, confusion over Negan, and something else too — something deeper and more dangerous.

He closed his eyes briefly. In the darkness behind his lids, he saw Negan’s crooked smirk, the way his hand had so tenderly brushed Rick’s cheek hours earlier.

He didn't know how long he lay there — minutes or hours but the rage didn’t fade like they probably hoped it would.

If anything, it only burned hotter.

Because if they thought tying him down and dragging him away would make him see things their way… then they didn’t know him at all.

Chapter Text

Negan sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cold, empty spot beside him.

Gone.

Rick was gone.

He didn’t even try to lie to himself—this wasn’t some midnight walk. The bastard had left. Slipped out in the night like a thief. After everything.

Negan’s jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His breath came hard and heavy through his nose. The scent of Rick still clung to the sheets. Still lingered on his skin.

And now?

Now it tasted like poison.

He shot to his feet, grabbing the nearest chair and hurling it across the room. It shattered against the wall with a crash that brought people running.

“GET. ME. SIMON.” His voice was a growl—a low, furious snarl barely holding itself together.

When Simon arrived minutes later, breathless and uncertain, Negan didn’t even wait.

“He’s gone,” Negan said flatly, eyes dead with something far more dangerous than rage. “Rick fucking Grimes is gone.”

Simon’s brows lifted. “Gone? What—like left?”

Negan stepped closer, jabbing a finger into Simon’s chest. “You think he stumbled out of here, Simon? After crawling into my goddamn bed night after night, whispering sweet nothings and bullshit promises? No. He planned this.”

“You think—?”

“I think he played me. I think he wormed into my head to weaken me. That whole song and dance about peace? About seeing a future? Lies. Every damn word.”

Simon watched him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to put together a team?”

Negan’s voice was cold steel. “I want every name of the guards on perimeter duty last night. I want them lined up in the yard in five. And then, yeah. We’re calling a meeting.”

Simon nodded, already moving, but paused. “You think he’s gone back to Alexandria?”

Negan didn’t answer. He turned toward the window, looking out over the compound.

“War’s coming, Simon,” he said finally. “And I’ve been too damn soft. Rick reminded me who I am. Time to remind everyone else.”

He turned back, voice low and furious. “Start preparing. If he went home, we’re going to make sure it’s the last time he sees it standing. I want to see every outpost leader here by tonight. If Alexandria wants to burn down the future I was trying to build, we’re gonna give them the ashes they’re begging for.”

Simon smirked slightly but didn’t argue. “You got it.”

As Simon left the room to get the gears moving, Negan stayed behind for just a moment longer, his gaze falling to the chair Rick always sat in during their late night talks—sometimes smirking, sometimes brooding, sometimes just... there.

He walked over and gripped the back of it, hard enough to make his knuckles pop.

“You wanted to break me, Sheriff?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You just might’ve done it.”

He let go, straightened up, and walked out. There was no time for mourning.

Not when war was coming.

-
-

Rick

Rick stirred slowly, his body heavy with soreness and his mind fogged by the events of the night. For a moment, he forgot where he was—until the faint smell of antiseptic brought it all back. The infirmary. Alexandria. Not the Sanctuary.

He blinked up at the ceiling, and it was only then that he noticed his wrists were no longer tied. They ached with the ghost of the restraints, but they were free. The blanket was pulled up over him, and soft footsteps moved nearby.

“Hey,” came a quiet voice.

Rick turned his head, and there she was. Michonne.

She stood at the edge of the bed, sleeves rolled, cleaning a shallow cut on his arm with practiced gentleness. Her eyes were focused, but her jaw was tight. There was no anger in her hands, just care. That was almost worse.

“You look like shit,” she said softly, her attempt at humor falling flat between them.

Rick’s lips twitched, but no smile came. “Feel worse.”

She nodded, her silence full of things she wasn’t sure she could say yet. When she finished with the gauze, she sat down beside him on the cot and handed him a bottle of water.

Rick took it. The first sip hit his throat like fire.

“Michonne…” he started, but she raised a hand gently.

“No. Let me go first.”

He nodded, because she deserved that.

“You’ve been gone,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly, “but not just from here. From us. From Carl. From yourself. I didn’t know what I’d find when I saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting…” She swallowed. “Rick, what are you doing?”

He looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

“I thought I could fix this,” he said quietly. “Find a way to stop all of it. Keep the peace. Maybe even change him.”

Michonne leaned forward. “And did you?”

Rick didn’t answer.

She reached out, her hand brushing over his. “You’re not weak for wanting peace. But you’re fooling yourself if you think you can have it with someone who’s built his kingdom on blood and control.”

Rick looked at her then, and something inside cracked. He didn’t want to hear it, but he knew she was right. She saw too much, always had. And yet, there was no judgment in her gaze. Only concern. Maybe sadness. Maybe love.

“I thought…” he choked, stopping himself. “I thought maybe I didn’t have to hate him anymore.”

Michonne’s expression softened. “Then that’s what scares me most.”

She stood and picked up a folded set of clean clothes from a nearby chair. She placed them gently in his lap, her voice quiet now. “Get dressed. Carl’s been asking about you.”

Rick nodded, not trusting himself to speak. As she turned to leave, she hesitated in the doorway.

“I missed you, Rick. We all did.”

And then she was gone.

Rick stared down at the clothes in his lap, his fingers curling into the fabric. The guilt, the confusion, the ache of what he left behind—and what he might’ve fallen into—swirled like a storm in his gut.

But for now, he had one thing to do.

He pulled on the shirt, slid into the jeans, and stepped into his boots with a weight in his chest. Outside, the world waited for answers.

And so did his son.

-

Rick walked through Alexandria with his head low, the late morning sun casting sharp angles across the pavement. Every step felt heavier than the last, not from physical pain, though that lingered too but from the weight of eyes. Watching. Whispering.

He could feel them. Behind fences. Through windows. Standing at doorways. He didn’t have to hear the words to know what they said. He’s been with Negan. He’s one of them now. Can we even trust him anymore?

Every footfall on familiar ground felt like trespassing. This place was supposed to be home, but it didn’t welcome him now, not fully. And maybe it shouldn’t. Not after what he’d done. Not after what he’d let himself feel.

The knot in his chest twisted tighter.

By the time he reached his front door, Rick felt more like a ghost than a man. He paused on the porch, letting his hand rest on the doorknob for a moment too long, bracing himself.

Then he opened it.

The sound hit him first, the light clink of dishes, the soft murmur of a child’s laughter. He stepped inside, and there they were. Carl at the kitchen counter, Judith in a high chair nearby, spooning something with both hands and making more mess than success.

Carl looked up first.

His eyes went wide for a second, as if unsure whether to believe what he saw. Then his face settled not into anger or joy but something tired. Wary.

Judith spotted him next, her face lighting up with recognition and a delighted squeal. “Daddy!”

Rick felt his knees go weak.

He walked toward them slowly, unsure if he deserved to. His hand found the top of Judith’s curls, brushing over her hair, and she grinned like nothing was wrong in the world.

Carl didn’t speak right away. He just watched.

Rick turned his eyes toward his son really looked at him. Older than he had any right to be. Hardened. Guarded. A boy forced into manhood too fast. A boy who had come after him, even at the risk of war.

“I’m here,” Rick said quietly, voice hoarse. “I know I should’ve been... sooner. I’m sorry.”

Carl didn’t answer.

Rick stepped back, leaning on the counter beside him, watching the two of them, his family. The pieces he’d nearly lost. The pieces he was still in danger of losing.

And in that moment maybe for the first time since all of this began the fog in Rick’s mind started to clear.

He couldn’t afford to straddle the line anymore. He couldn’t keep chasing something that might have been real or might have been a fantasy wrapped in survival and desperation. Negan... whatever had happened between them... it couldn’t cost him this.

His kids. His people. His home.

He had to fight again. Not for revenge. Not even for pride.

But for them.

He clenched his jaw, stealing a glance at Carl, who still hadn’t said a word.

But Rick’s voice was firm when he said, “We’re gonna fix this. I’m gonna fix this. I promise you.”

Carl’s eyes narrowed slightly, his shoulders still stiff — but there was something in his gaze. Maybe hope. Maybe not. But he didn’t walk away.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since he woke up in the infirmary, and the silence hadn’t gotten any easier.

Rick sat on the porch of his house, elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing. The community buzzed quietly around him, but no one came near. No friendly waves. No curious hellos. Just glances that flickered past him like he wasn’t really there.

He might as well have still been tied to that bed.

The only faces he saw with any consistency were Carl’s and Judith’s. And even then, it felt like he was grasping at something that kept slipping through his fingers. Carl was quieter now. Guarded. Like he didn’t know how to talk to his father anymore. Like he didn’t trust him and maybe, Rick thought, he had every reason not to.

Judith, at least, didn’t look at him with doubt. Her small arms always reached for him, her giggles came freely. He clung to that warmth like it was the only light left.

Besides them, it was only Michonne and Morgan who came by. Once in the morning, once in the evening. Food in hand. Updates in vague, clipped sentences. No real news. Just vague talk about “keeping things calm” and “avoiding more tension.”

Rick had stopped asking for details after the second day.

But it was Michonne’s silence that hit the hardest.

She barely looked at him. Her jaw clenched when he spoke, her posture stiff when she handed him a bowl of soup or a plate of whatever they managed to scrape together. She never sat. She never lingered.

She never said what was sitting heavy in her eyes.

But Rick saw it.

He caught her watching him once when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. There was something in her stare... a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak. A friend betrayed, maybe. Or someone watching a person they used to know become someone else entirely.

He hated it.

He hated the weight in her eyes, and the way Morgan always looked between them, clearly caught in the middle but choosing silence. That silence only deepened Rick’s own.

He was in his house, in his community, in his own clothes again.

And yet, it didn’t feel like home.

It felt like a stranger had come back in his place. And now everyone was just trying to figure out what to do with him.

He leaned his head against the wooden railing, closing his eyes for a moment.

It shouldn’t feel like this. Not after everything. Not after all he fought for. All he sacrificed. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this was the cost of giving a part of yourself to someone like Negan, even if it was just for a moment. Even if it was more than that.

Maybe this was the price.

And he was still counting the change.

-
-

Rick had just sat down with a mug of tea when the door opened without a knock.

Daryl stood in the doorway, jaw tight, arms crossed. “Get dressed,” he muttered, not quite meeting Rick’s eyes. “Now.”

Before Rick could ask anything, Michonne stepped in behind Daryl, her expression unreadable.

“Follow us,” she said, simply.

Rick didn’t argue. He set the mug down and slipped into his boots, shrugging on a jacket. They said nothing else as they walked. Daryl stayed ahead, stiff and storm-like. Michonne stayed behind, silent and still.

By the time they reached the meeting hall, Rick could feel something cold sinking in his chest. The door creaked open and his steps faltered as his eyes swept the room.

They were all there.

Maggie. Carol. King Ezekiel. Rosita. Tara. Jesus. Aaron. All sitting or standing in sharp silence. A few Hilltop guards. Some Kingdom warriors. Even Father Gabriel, toward the back.

But all eyes were on him.

Maggie sat tall, her hands clasped tight in front of her. She didn’t blink. She didn’t flinch.

Rick stepped in slowly, his spine straightening, though he felt like he was walking into the gallows.

He didn’t miss Carol’s look wary, uncertain. Or Rosita’s narrowed eyes, or Tara’s silent disgust as she crossed her arms.

But it was Maggie’s voice that finally broke the silence.

“What is he doing here?” she asked, her voice cold and sharp. “He was sleeping with the enemy.”

The words slammed into Rick like a punch. No one corrected her. No one gasped. It was what they all had been thinking waiting to say aloud.

Maggie stood, her eyes blazing, voice rising with every word.

“The man who killed my husband. The man who bashed Glenn’s head in and laughed while he did it. And Rick—” her voice cracked slightly, but she caught it, strong again. “Rick was in bed with him. Making deals with him. Giving him what he wanted while our people were suffering, dying. What kind of betrayal is that?”

Rick clenched his jaw, his eyes darting briefly to Michonne, but she was already stepping forward, voice calm but cutting.

“Enough.”

Maggie turned to her. “You knew. Didn’t you?”

Michonne didn’t blink. “I did.”

“So you defended this?” Maggie hissed.

“I didn’t say that,” Michonne said. “But I saw what none of you did. Rick wasn’t just sleeping with the enemy. He was inside the walls. He was gaining insight, watching how they operated. And maybe it wasn’t clean. Maybe it wasn’t easy. But it might be the only reason we still have a shot.”

Maggie’s jaw tightened, but before she could answer, Daryl stepped forward, growling low.

“You all act like you got a better plan.” He looked around the room, eyes blazing. “What if we need him? What if he’s the one with the map inside the lion’s den? Negan trusts him. That’s something we can use.”

Carol spoke next, quietly. “But at what cost?”

Rick hadn’t said a word yet. His mouth was dry. His chest felt tight. And yet... he didn’t move. He didn’t shrink.

He looked at Maggie. “You’re right,” he said hoarsely. “About everything.”

She blinked the smallest crack in her anger.

“I don’t expect forgiveness. Not from you. Not from anyone.” Rick’s voice was rough, but it didn’t waver. “But I was trying to find a way. A way to end this without more blood. And yeah... somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing him as just the enemy. Maybe I wanted to believe there was more than just killing left in the world. Maybe I needed that.”

He took a breath, ignoring the burn in his throat. “But I’m here now. And I’ll give you every detail I know. Everything. Because I still want the same thing I always did. To protect this place. To protect our people.”

The room stayed still.

Michonne looked at him with something almost like relief. Daryl gave the smallest of nods.

Maggie stared for a moment longer, then turned away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Talk, then,” she said bitterly. “Let’s hear what you learned while you were lying in his bed.”

Rick didn’t flinch.

He stepped toward the table. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

-

Rick stood at the head of the meeting table now, a map of the Sanctuary spread out in front of everyone.

Sweat gathered at his temple. He pointed with a piece of charcoal. “Their armory is here. Second level. Two guards, sometimes three, depending on time of day. They rotate shifts every six hours. East gate’s the least watched mostly symbolic, that’s where they bring in food runs.”

Rosita leaned in. “What about Negan’s quarters?”

Rick hesitated, glancing up. “Top floor. South wing. Two guards posted at night. None during the day when he’s out. But he… he’s got a back exit no one knows about. Leads out near the generator shed.”

Maggie crossed her arms tightly. “How do you know that?”

Rick didn’t look away. “He showed me.”

Daryl made a sound half disbelief, half annoyance but said nothing.

Michonne pressed her fingers together. “We use that. Not just for infiltration, but extraction. We could get someone in and out without detection.”

Rick nodded. “They’re rebuilding the outer fences near the west field. Vulnerable. Could slip in there.”

Aaron leaned forward now. “How many fighters do they have left?”

Rick’s brow furrowed in thought. “Couple dozen we need to worry about. Most of them trained, some loyal. But a lot are scared. After Carl… there’s tension. Some of the Saviors want Negan out. If we press the right way, we could splinter them.”

Jesus added quietly, “Divide and conquer.”

“Exactly.”

They kept at it for another hour. Moving pieces. Assigning lookouts. Timing supply runs to mask the movement of weapons.

And Rick though exhausted spoke clearly, confidently. Each detail he shared was met with nods. Some even admiration.

When they finally broke, Aaron clapped Rick on the back, startling him slightly.

“Glad you’re back, man,” he said with a tired smile. “It’s good seeing you… you know. Doing what you do.”

Rick just nodded. “Thanks.”

Rosita didn’t say anything, but she didn’t scowl when she passed him, which might’ve been a start.

Even Carol gave him a small glance. Not forgiveness, not yet. But something like acknowledgment.

Rick lingered at the edge of the room as the others left in pairs or small groups, talking about next steps. For a flicker of a moment, he felt it again useful. Like maybe he wasn’t entirely cast out.

But when he stepped into the fading light outside, the warmth of their nods began to cool.

Because deep down, behind the tactics and maps and whispered plans… his thoughts drifted back to the man he’d betrayed.

To the sound of his voice.

The weight of his arms.

The vulnerable way he’d whispered, “Only for you.”

Rick pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. What the hell is wrong with me?

He should feel relief. He should feel vindicated. He was back with his people, doing what was right, building a way forward.

But instead… he felt torn in half.

Because part of him still remembered how it felt to lie in Negan’s bed. And he wasn’t sure if the version of himself who wanted peace with the man who took so much… had died back in the Sanctuary. Or if that version was the truest one he’d ever been.

And that scared him more than anything.

Rick had just stepped outside the meeting hall, the late afternoon sun streaking through the clouds in long orange beams. His hands were still stained faintly with charcoal from the mapwork, and despite the nods and handshakes, the weight in his chest hadn’t lightened.

He sat on the edge of the steps, elbows on his knees, staring at the dirt path that led down the hill toward the gardens. The town looked normal quiet, almost peaceful but he knew better.

He was about to head back toward his house when he heard boots crunching behind him.

Daryl.

Rick didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

“You just gonna sit there all day?” Daryl asked, voice gravel-low but not harsh. “We’re headin’ out.”

Rick glanced back. “Out where?”

“Hilltop,” Daryl said. He stepped around Rick, tugging on his vest, crossbow slung over his shoulder like always. “Supplies. Weapons training. Checking on the new perimeter Morgan and Jesus started.”

Rick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Who’s going?”

“Me. Tara. Enid. Couple others.” He paused. “Thought you should come.”

Rick stood slowly, brushing off the dust from his jeans. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t matter what I think. You’ve been back for days and barely seen sunlight. That ain't helpin’ anybody. You want people to trust you again?” He turned, meeting Rick’s eyes. “Then act like it.”

Rick opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because Daryl was right—and it stung more than he wanted to admit.

“…Carl should stay,” Rick said finally.

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “He will. Judith too. Michonne’s stayin’ back with them.”

Rick looked toward the horizon, the sun now beginning to dip below the trees. A cool wind whispered through Alexandria, and the scent of dirt and smoke rode on the breeze.

“Alright,” Rick muttered. “I’ll go get ready.”

Daryl gave a single nod, then added, quieter this time, “You comin’ is the first thing that’s made sense all week.”

And with that, he walked off toward the trucks.

Rick stood there another moment longer before he moved.

He didn’t know what he’d find at Hilltop. He didn’t know how many angry glares he’d have to stomach, how many people were still whispering about what he did or what he didn’t do.

But he did know one thing: he needed to keep moving.

Because the moment he stood still for too long, he’d remember Negan.

And that was a thought he wasn’t ready to wrestle with again… not yet.

-
-

WEEK LATER

The week at Hilltop passed faster than Rick expected.

He kept busy training new fighters, helping with supply runs, even fixing parts of the outer fencing with Enid and a few others. The physical work helped; it cleared his head, quieted the guilt that still whispered at him when the nights got too still.

For the first time in what felt like months, Rick felt lighter. People had started talking to him again some cautious, some warm. Tara cracked jokes, Aaron made a point to walk beside him, and even Ezekiel clasped his shoulder with quiet respect.

But Maggie didn’t say a word.

Every time she entered a room, he felt her presence like a weight. Her eyes cut through him, sharp and unyielding. She didn’t yell. She didn’t accuse. She didn’t need to. The silence was enough.

And Rick understood. She had every right to hate him. Every right to question if he’d forgotten what they lost.

Still, each time he saw her walking across Hilltop with her son in her arms… it reminded him why he was there. Why he had to keep going. Why he couldn’t afford to fall apart not yet.

Rick found Maggie by the edge of the garden, hands buried in soil, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned back like it always was when she needed to focus. She didn’t look up when he approached, but he knew she knew he was there.

He waited. Quiet. Letting the silence settle between them until finally, she spoke.

“You gonna hover or you gonna help?”
Rick knelt beside her, grabbing a small trowel. “Just thought I’d check in.”

Maggie hummed, noncommittal.

A few beats passed as they worked in silence. The breeze rustled the nearby trees, and somewhere in the distance, a hammer clanged against wood.

Then—soft but sharp:

“If you see him again… could you kill him?”
Rick stilled. The dirt in his hands suddenly felt heavier.

She looked at him now. Really looked at him. Eyes dark, not angry—but hollow. Tired. Tired of grief. Tired of everything.

“Would you?” she asked again. “Could you look him in the eye, after everything he did—to Glenn, to Abraham, to all of us—and pull the trigger?”
Rick opened his mouth. Nothing came out at first.

He swallowed, jaw tightening.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “Some days, I think I could. I think I should.”
“And the other days?” she pressed.
Rick looked away. Out over the field. “Some days, I see what we were trying to build. The kind of peace we kept chasing. And I wonder if killing him now... just resets the cycle.”

“Peace,” she repeated, bitterly. “He took that from us.”
“Yeah,” Rick said quietly. “He did.”
Maggie’s voice cracked, just a bit.

“I can’t forgive him. I never will. But I need to know you remember. I need to know you still see what he took.”
Rick looked at her then—really looked.

“I do,” he said. “Every damn day.”
She nodded slowly. Her jaw trembled, but she didn’t cry. She just turned back to the soil, digging again.

“If you ever get the chance… and you can do it…”
A beat.

“You do it.”
Rick didn’t answer. He just sat there beside her, the dirt caking under his nails, a storm turning quietly behind his eyes.

And when that time finally came Rick couldn’t do it.. he couldn’t pull that trigger.
-
-

NEGAN

The Sanctuary hadn’t been quiet since Rick Grimes vanished.
And neither had Negan.

He barely slept. Barely ate. Just kept moving.

One meeting bled into the next supply runs, internal disputes, territory claims, rotations, scouting formations. His days were full of noise, people talking, people waiting, people watching him. Always watching.

Expecting something.

He gave it to them. With a grin. With force. With fire in his eyes.

But under it all?

It wasn’t the same.

He’d been good at pretending at owning the stage. That was his role, after all. Leader. Savior. King of this damn castle.

But the truth was, Rick had carved out a space in him, and now it throbbed. Empty. Agitated.

Like an itch beneath skin.

“Alright,” he barked at the room, standing at the head of the long war table. Maps spread across it, pins marking trade routes, scouting trails, trouble zones. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. We double the perimeter patrols starting tonight. Every mile. Every damn turn. I want updates every hour.”

His men shifted. Some nodded. Simon leaned forward.

“You thinking Alexandria’s planning something? Retaliation?”

Negan’s jaw flexed. He looked out at the men around him. Eyes hard. Voice low.

“I’m thinking the only son of a bitch smart enough to pull something that bold is gone. And I don’t trust silence. So we don’t wait to get hit. We watch. We scout. And we prepare.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

He didn't tell them the real reason he was tightening their perimeter.

He didn’t tell them the nightmares had come back images of Rick tied up, hurt, dead, whispering things Negan didn’t want to hear. Didn’t tell them how many times he’d thought about marching into Alexandria just to see.

He just poured another drink that night. Let the burn in his throat remind him he was still here. Still in control.

Still waiting.

Even if he’d never admit it out loud he missed the bastard.

-
-

Negan sat at the long, scarred conference table, one boot propped on an overturned crate, the other planted on the floor like a stake. Half-finished bourbon sweated in his fist. Maps and reports littered the wood too many loose ends, too many ghosts.

Across from him, Regina jabbed a finger at the map.
“We can’t keep bleeding fuel on these patrols, Negan. Hilltop’s hiding grain, not guns. We crack ’em head-on or pull back and fortify.”

Beside her, Simon leaned forward, eyes fiery.
“And your little lapdog Dwight? He’s vanished. Took off same night Grimes did. If that ain’t betrayal, it’s damn close.”

Negan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, Simon, I noticed Dwight ain’t writing me love letters.” He swirled the bourbon, staring through the amber. “And Sherry? Long gone. Ancient history.”

“But it matters,” Regina pressed. “If Dwight flipped, he’s handing them every route, every weak wall.”

Negan’s laugh was short humorless. “Then we tighten every screw and show ’em what happens when you tug the wrong thread.”

The door banged open.

Arat one of the outer-ring rifle guards strode in with two soldiers. Dust clung to their boots.
“Boss,” she said, breathless, “three trucks left Hilltop after dark. One carried Alexandrian barrels blue, stamped with their crop seal. Looks like they’re partnering up.”

Simon straightened. “Grimes is guiding ’em.”

Negan set the glass down softly, deliberately. When he lifted his eyes, the room went still.

A slow, crooked grin crawled across his face.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he drawled. “Looks like the prodigal sheriff found himself a posse.”

He rose, rolling his neck until it cracked.
“Ambush positions ridge road just west of the quarry. Full magazines, nail-spike barricades every quarter-mile, and I want a goddamn welcome banner made of razor wire.”

Regina shifted. “You want prisoners or bodies?”

Negan’s smile sharpened.
“Oh, we’ll leave a few breathing. Can’t have a party without storytellers.” He grabbed Lucille from the chair back, patting the barbed wood affectionately. “Time to remind ’em the road home ain’t paved with second chances.”

He turned to Arat. “Clock’s ticking, sweetheart. Saddle up.”

The soldiers scattered, boots hammering through the hallway. Simon lingered, eyebrow arched.
“Think Grimes’ll be there?”

Negan’s eyes glinted in the low light.
“He better be. Daddy’s got unfinished business.”

He scooped up his bourbon, drained it in a single pull, and slammed the tumbler down crystal cracking along the rim.
“Let’s go raise a little hell.”

Chapter Text

The sky was the kind of pale gray that promised a storm but hadn't yet decided when. Rick loaded the last crate into the back of the truck, hands working on instinct. His muscles ached, but he welcomed it. The weight in his arms was easier to carry than the one in his chest.

Daryl came up beside him, pulling his gloves tighter over his hands. “You’re drivin’ solo,” he said, jerking his chin toward the truck at the edge of the line. “Middle of the convoy. Don’t get fancy. Stay close.”

Rick nodded. “I won’t.”
His voice came out quieter than he meant, but Daryl didn’t question it.

“You good?” Daryl asked, not looking at him directly. His voice had that careful edge half concern, half suspicion.

Rick gave a non-committal shrug. “Good as I can be.”

They stood there for a second, long enough for the sounds of the others prepping to fade into the distance between them.

“Just don’t get lost out there,” Daryl muttered, turning to walk back toward his bike. “We’re not coming back for your ass if you decide to run off into the woods and get yourself killed.”

Rick smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t make it that easy.”

He climbed into the truck, the door groaning louder than he expected. The silence inside wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. No Carl in the backseat. No Judith in his arms. Just him. The road. And his thoughts.

People had been warmer the last few days. Smiling. Talking. Maggie had even hugged him before they left. It still surprised him, her arms wrapped around him, the tension bleeding away into something like forgiveness.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she’d said.

He still wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

The engines roared to life, one by one, and the convoy pulled out of Hilltop. Rick kept his eyes ahead, knuckles tight on the steering wheel as they rumbled down the road.

But something itched under his skin. That old instinct crawling up the back of his neck.

Because he couldn’t shake the feeling…
That he was being watched.
That the road ahead was about to end in something he wasn’t ready for.

And as the first drops of rain started to hit the windshield, Rick muttered to himself,
“Don’t get separated…”

But deep down, some part of him knew

He was about to.

-

The sky cracked open as the rain poured harder, slicking the road into a river of mud and tension. Rick’s fingers tightened on the wheel, squinting through the streaked windshield. The convoy ahead was just visible the tail lights of Daryl’s bike a red blur in the mist.

Then he saw it.
A dark vehicle in the rearview mirror.

Too fast. Too close.

Rick’s stomach dropped.

The black muscle car swerved into the other lane, gaining on him like a shadow coming to collect. His hands gripped tighter. He didn’t have to see the driver to know who it was. That damn car. That reckless speed.

Negan.

Rick cursed under his breath and floored it, the truck groaning as it picked up speed. He swerved between potholes, keeping his line tight.

But Negan didn’t flinch.

The car shot up beside him, horn blaring. And there he was wild smile on his face, one hand on the wheel, the other holding up Lucille like a trophy. Their eyes locked.

Rick’s pulse kicked into overdrive.
He growled and jerked the wheel left, trying to ram the bastard off course. But Negan swerved, effortlessly dodging him, taunting him with that damn grin. It was a game to him.
It always was.

Negan rolled his window down, rain soaking through.
"Miss me, Ricky boy?!"

Rick didn’t answer. He veered again, close enough to scrape paint.
“Pull over, Negan!” he shouted out the window.
Negan just laughed. “Hell no.”

The road ahead curved sharply and Rick had to back off just enough to take it without flipping. But Negan didn’t.
He floored it around the bend and slammed into the side of Rick’s truck — hard.

Rick’s world tilted.

The truck skidded off the road, wheels screeching in the mud. He fought for control, but the rear spun out. Tires hit something a ditch? A tree root?
He couldn’t tell.

BANG.

The front end of the truck smashed into a tree with a sickening crunch. Glass shattered. Rick’s body slammed into the steering wheel. The world blurred. His ears rang like a gunshot had gone off inside his skull.

Silence.

Then the door jerked open.

Rick blinked through the rain as Negan stood over him, panting, rain dripping from his leather jacket. His face wasn’t smiling now. It was twisted with something between fury and fear.

"You really thought you’d outrun me?" Negan said, voice low, like it cost him something.

Rick tried to speak but only managed a grunt, his vision swimming.

Negan crouched lower, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “You dumb, stubborn son of a bitch… why do you keep making me do this?!”

Rick could barely breathe.

“Now,” Negan growled, “you’re gonna listen. Because I am done watching you walk away.”

The storm howled behind him but neither of them moved.

Rick shoved Negan back, hard, adrenaline still roaring through him despite the crash. His side ached, head spinning, but he powered through it.

Negan stumbled a step, water flying from his soaked jacket. “Well damn, Sheriff—”

Rick didn’t wait.

He bolted, boots slamming into the mud, lungs burning as he made for the abandoned building up ahead a half-collapsed factory framed by broken windows and rusted beams. He should’ve stayed with the convoy. Should’ve listened to Daryl. But it was too late now.

He heard Negan’s boots thunder after him.

Rick reached the door and threw himself inside. The air smelled like mildew and metal and rot. He spun around, heart pounding, just in time to see Negan shove the door open.

“Jesus, Rick,” Negan huffed, catching his breath. “You always run toward trouble?”

Rick didn’t answer. He sprinted deeper into the dark, weaving through shadows and scattered debris.

Negan followed, laughing under his breath.
“You gonna make me chase you all damn day? You know how this ends!”

Rick ducked behind a pillar, listening. The footsteps slowed. Negan’s voice echoed off the steel and concrete.

“I don’t want to kill you, Rick.”

Rick’s hand closed around a stray piece of rebar.

He waited until Negan passed the pillar then swung.

CLANG.

The metal slammed into Negan’s shoulder, knocking him sideways with a grunt. He stumbled but didn’t fall.

Rick lunged again. They collided, bodies crashing to the floor, fists swinging, grunts filling the space as they rolled across broken tile.

Negan’s fist cracked across Rick’s jaw. Rick shoved a forearm into Negan’s throat.

They scrambled apart, panting.

“You still think this is about survival?” Rick growled, wiping blood from his mouth.

Negan stood tall, bruised but grinning. “No, Rick. This is about you not knowing who the hell you are anymore.”

Rick roared and tackled him into a stack of rusted shelving. It collapsed with a crash, sending both of them sprawling.

Negan crawled backward, grabbing a piece of pipe. “You keep pretending you’ve got a code—like you’re better than me. But look around, Rick! You’re just like me!”

Rick surged up and slammed into him again.

More punches. More blood. A crash of fists and broken glass.

The fight had turned brutal, personal stripped down to nothing but rage and breath and grit. Rick’s knuckles were split open, blood trailing from his mouth, and Negan was no better limping, wheezing, his shirt soaked in rain, sweat, and dirt.

They were both bleeding. Both exhausted.

Rick grabbed Negan by the collar and shoved him hard — hard enough to send him stumbling backward into the rotten edge of the upper walkway.

The metal groaned.

“Rick—!”

The floor gave way.

Negan dropped with a loud CRASH, splintered wood and dust exploding below.

Rick stood at the edge, chest heaving. He couldn’t even feel the ache in his hands anymore.

“Still alive?” he shouted down, voice ragged, strained.

From below, a cough. Then that damn voice: “I’m a goddamn cat, Rick... got nine lives and balls of steel.”

Rick didn’t smile. He turned and spotted it, Lucille, lying just feet away from the hole. Abandoned. Forgotten.

He stared at it.

He walked over and picked her up.

Heavy. Familiar. Scarred like the man she belonged to.

Rick wrapped both hands around the bat and stepped toward the hole.

Negan was still down there, on his side, clutching his ribs probably cracked, maybe broken. He looked up, chest rising and falling in shallow, painful breaths, sweat dripping down the side of his face, blood in the corner of his mouth.

Rick stood above him, rain dripping from his hair, from the edge of the broken ceiling, Lucille raised in both hands.

Negan looked up and laughed actually laughed, hoarse and rough.

“Well shit, Rick. You gonna do it? Go on, swing away. Hell, you want to make it count, say something clever first.”

Rick didn’t flinch.

He just stared down, eyes blazing, jaw clenched. Lucille twitched in his grip.

“You deserve it,” Rick growled, breathing heavy. “For everything.”

Negan coughed again, flinching as the pain in his ribs tightened. “Then stop talking about it and do it.”

Rick raised Lucille higher arms trembling and took a step forward.

Then—

WHAM.

Negan’s boot caught his leg and yanked. Rick’s foot slipped on the slick concrete. He stumbled, grunted, dropped Lucille. The bat clattered to the ground and rolled toward Negan, who lay panting and too battered to move for it.

They froze both breathing like dying animals.

Rick scrambled back to his feet and pulled his gun. He pointed it directly at Negan’s chest.

This was it.

Do it.

Negan didn’t move. Didn’t plead. Just looked at him through bruised, bloodied eyes.

“Do it,” he rasped. “Go ahead. Shoot me. Ain’t like I haven’t earned it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rick’s finger twitched over the trigger.

Negan’s gaze didn’t waver.

And suddenly, Rick wasn’t sure if the tears on his face were from the rain or something else.

The gun slipped from his hand before he even made the decision.

It hit the ground with a dull clatter.

Rick followed a moment later his knees buckling, collapsing onto the cold, dusty floor like something in him had simply shut off. He didn’t realize he was crying until he tasted salt on his lips, mixing with blood. His hands trembled. His chest ached.

He had nothing left.

Nothing but confusion and anger and guilt.

The rain still echoed somewhere far above, distant against the metal roof. His ears rang with silence.

Across the floor, he heard the slow scrape of movement measured, hesitant. Rick didn’t even look up. He didn’t have the strength to.

Then a hand was on his shoulder.

Gentle.

Warm.

And that damn familiar voice broke through the silence, hoarse and low:

“Rick...”

Rick didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his thoughts too tangled.

Negan slid closer, one arm still wrapped around his ribs, the other hesitantly pulling Rick in.

“I got you,” he murmured, brushing Rick’s head against his chest. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re okay.”

Rick didn’t resist.

Didn’t fight it.

He just let himself be held.

Negan’s voice was quieter now, close to his ear. Not mocking. Not smug. Just... soft.

“I missed you,” he breathed. “God, Rick, I didn’t know where the hell you were... thought you left because of me. Because I pushed too hard. I thought I broke this thing before we even had a chance.”

Rick’s hands clutched at Negan’s shirt without meaning to.

Negan’s fingers slid slowly through Rick’s curls, brushing the blood and sweat from his temple. “It’s okay,” he whispered again. “You’re okay. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He pressed a kiss light and trembling to Rick’s temple. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. Let it out.”

Rick did.

He cried.

Silent, wrenching sobs that he couldn’t hold in anymore. And Negan didn’t tease him. Didn’t let go. He held him tighter, murmuring sweet nothings it’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you, I missed you, you’re not alone over and over until Rick’s sobs started to slow.

Until he finally rested against Negan’s chest, eyes closed, pulse racing but steady.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Rick let himself feel it.

Not hate. Not war. Not guilt.

Just the truth.

He needed Negan.

And maybe... Negan needed him, too.

-
-

The dust still clung to the air, heavy and thick between them, when Negan finally pulled back just enough to meet Rick’s eyes. His hands were still steady on Rick’s shoulders, grounding him, and his expression—though touched with the usual cocky glint was softer now, more serious.

“We really need to talk about what happens next,” Negan murmured, voice low and gruff. “What are we doing, Rick? ‘Cause we can’t keep doing this hiding behind fists and fire and pretending it’s not real.”

Rick opened his mouth, heart in his throat, but—

The distant sound of engines roared outside.

Tires skidded across wet dirt.

Voices shouting orders, echoed in through broken windows.

Rick’s eyes went wide, panic cutting through the haze like a knife. “Shit,” he breathed, trying to get to his feet. “They found us.”

But before he could fully rise, Negan surged forward, pulling him into a sudden, desperate kiss, hungry and rough, like it could be their last. Rick gasped against his mouth, stunned by the heat of it, his hands tangling in Negan’s shirt without thought.

Negan pulled back just slightly, forehead pressed to Rick’s, breath mingling. “We’ll talk later,” he said, firm. “Now go before they see you like this.”

Rick could barely nod before Negan was already moving. He shoved Rick’s discarded gun into his hands, curling Rick’s fingers around the grip like it meant something, then gave him a push toward the doorway. “Go.”

Negan stepped back into the darkness, Lucille slung over his shoulder, the shadows swallowing him whole.

Rick hesitated for just a heartbeat… and then turned and walked away.

The overcast sky cast the wrecked lot in a gray wash as Rick stumbled from the side door, blinking against the sudden light. He barely made it past the alley when he saw Daryl dismounting from his bike, gun slung low, boots splashing through the mud.

“Rick!” Daryl jogged over, eyes scanning his torn shirt, bloodied face. “Jesus, you alright?”

Rick nodded once, but couldn’t speak right away. His mind still reeled with what just happened. That kiss. That voice. Those words.

Daryl reached for him, his touch rough but brotherly, checking for wounds. “What the hell happened in there? You got jumped?”

Rick blinked and forced the lie out through gritted teeth. “Negan. He was here.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“He got away from me,” Rick muttered. “Slipped out the back while I was trying to catch my breath.”

Daryl cursed under his breath and turned toward the building. “We’ll fan out. He couldn’t’ve gone far.”

But Rick didn’t move.

He stayed frozen in place, Negan’s kiss still burning on his lips.

-
-

The truck rolled through the gate at Alexandria, creaking like it had just survived a war. Rick sat behind the wheel, coated in dried blood and grime, hand still trembling from the weight of the last hour. His ribs ached with every breath, and his mind felt like it had been cracked open and left in the sun.

As soon as the truck stopped, the front door of one of the houses slammed open.

“Rick!”

Michonne was sprinting down the steps before the engine had fully died. Her katana was still strapped to her back, but her eyes wide, frantic were what hit him hardest. She reached the driver’s side just as Rick pushed open the door, stumbling out.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, grabbing his arms, eyes darting over the bruises on his jaw, the gash above his eyebrow. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine,” Rick rasped.

“No, you’re not,” Michonne snapped, her voice shaking. “Don’t do that—don’t lie to me.”

Before he could protest again, she hooked her arm around his waist and all but hauled him toward his house. He didn’t resist. Not when his legs barely wanted to hold him.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of dust and old books. Michonne sat him on the edge of the couch and grabbed a towel and a basin of water. She knelt in front of him, the cloth warm as she dabbed at the dried blood streaking his face.

They sat in silence for a while, the kind that buzzed with things unspoken. Rick winced as she cleaned the cut on his forehead, but still said nothing.

Finally, Michonne broke it.

“What happened out there, Rick?”

He looked at her, tired and hollow, lips parted like the words might not come.

But they did.

All of it.

The ambush, the chase, the empty building, the fight—the way Negan had looked at him, like he was the only damn thing that mattered.

And then… the kiss.

Michonne’s hands froze when he got to that part.

Rick’s throat closed. “He held me after,” he murmured, voice raw. “He held me like I mattered. Like he… like he missed me.”

And then the dam finally broke.

Tears slipped down his cheeks before he even realized he was crying. He turned away, ashamed, but Michonne didn’t let him. She moved forward, arms wrapping tightly around him. She held his shaking frame to hers and started crying too, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, over and over. “This is my fault. I told you to play nice to get close to him. I pushed you into this. I didn’t know it would get this far.”

“It’s not your fault,” Rick choked out. “I didn’t expect this either. I didn’t plan on feeling anything. But he—he got in my head. And I let him.”

They held each other for a long time, both quiet except for the broken breathing and the ticking of the old clock on the mantle. When they finally pulled apart, Michonne wiped his cheek gently with the same cloth she’d used on his wound.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said softly. “But you’re not doing this alone anymore.”

Rick nodded, slowly.

But as he sat there in his bloodstained shirt and swollen jaw, the ghost of Negan’s voice still echoed somewhere deep in his ribs.

-
-

Negan’s POV

-
-

For a second, maybe two, all Negan could do was stare.

Rick dropped his gun, and with it, everything else seemed to fall too.

His shoulders collapsed, his knees hit the ground with a soft thud, and his hands just... hung there. He was shaking. Crying.

And that that Negan hadn’t been prepared for.

The anger boiling inside him, the betrayal curdling like poison in his gut, the plan to unleash hell on Alexandria—it all just evaporated. Like smoke through his fingers.

“Shit, Rick…” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t hesitate. He moved, crawling across the broken concrete, ribs screaming from the fall, but none of it mattered. None of it fucking mattered.

He reached Rick and pulled him in no hesitation, no gloating, no smugness. Just instinct. Just his arms wrapping around the man who had somehow wrecked him and saved him all at once.

“Hey,” Negan whispered into Rick’s ear, voice barely audible. “Hey, you’re alright… It’s alright, baby. I got you.”

He held him tighter, Rick’s face pressing into his neck, hot tears soaking into his collar.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hand slid up Rick’s back, cradling the base of his skull like he was afraid he’d shatter if he let go.

“I missed you, you stubborn son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Every goddamn day.”

He rocked him gently, like a man who’d forgotten how to comfort but was doing his best anyway. There was nothing performative in it no angle, no power play. Just raw, simple need.

Rick didn’t speak.

Negan didn’t expect him to.

He let the silence stretch, fingers rubbing soft circles on Rick’s back, listening to the ragged, broken breaths start to even out. His heart still thundered in his chest, but not from rage anymore.

From relief.

And something else he wasn’t ready to name out loud.

Not yet.

After what felt like forever, he slowly pulled Rick back just a little, just enough to see his face. His jaw clenched at the sight red-rimmed eyes, blood-crusted temple, and the pain… God, the pain there nearly undid him.

“We really need to talk about what happens next,” he said, his voice gruff, low, steady.

Rick opened his mouth but before he could answer, the distant rumble of engines cut through the stillness. Voices outside. Boots crunching.

Negan froze, eyes snapping toward the broken window.

“Shit.”

Rick moved to stand, unsteady.

But Negan wasn’t letting him go without something to anchor him.

He grabbed Rick’s hand, pulled him in, and kissed him hard. Desperate. Passionate. Their lips collided like it was the last time, and maybe it was.

“We’ll talk later,” Negan muttered, forehead pressed to Rick’s for a heartbeat before he stood, grabbing Lucille from the floor.

He shoved Rick toward the exit, palm warm against his back.

“Go.”

Rick hesitated just long enough for their eyes to lock.

Then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the hall.

Negan waited in the shadows, listening.

And when he heard Daryl’s voice shouting Rick’s name, something sharp twisted in his chest.

He whispered to himself, "Don’t you dare disappear on me again, Grimes."

Then he turned and vanished into the dark.

He didn’t move at first.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe right.

He just stood in the middle of that ruined building, the echoes of Rick’s voice and sobs still ringing somewhere deep inside his skull. His fingers were curled too tightly around Lucille, his heartbeat uneven, his throat dry despite the blood he could still taste.

Rick fucking Grimes.

He’d come here ready for war. Ready to finish it.

But instead, he got broken confessions, desperate kisses, tears on his neck, and the kind of silence that stuck in his ribs like a knife. And then Rick was gone again ripped away by headlights and the screech of tires—and Negan was left alone in the dark, soaked in blood and aching in ways he didn’t want to name.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, standing in the dust with his hands trembling and heart rattling like a loose windowpane in a storm.

But eventually… the sound of Alexandria’s convoy pulling out reached his ears.

Only then did he leave.

He stepped outside into the gray morning, the skies cracking open like they were echoing his mood. The rain came fast and relentless, cold and punishing, soaking him to the bone in seconds. His boots squelched against the mud as he walked down the road without a real direction.

Maybe he’d hoped to run into them again.

Maybe he just didn’t want to go back yet.

But the rumble of tires behind him forced a pause, and he turned slowly as a dark truck pulled up beside him.

The window rolled down, revealing Simon behind the wheel.

“You look like shit,” Simon said with a dry chuckle. “Get in.”

Negan didn’t argue. He yanked the door open, collapsed into the seat, dripping water all over the upholstery.

Simon glanced at him again, lips twitching with restrained questions. “Well?”

Negan didn’t look at him. He just stared out the window, rain streaking down the glass.

“Rick got away,” he said quietly.

That was all.

Simon, for once, didn’t push. Just nodded and put the truck in gear, the silence between them heavy and unspoken.

Back at the Sanctuary, the compound buzzed with restless energy. People wanted answers. Orders. Assurance. They wanted their leader back at the helm, all fire and fury and threats.

But Negan… couldn’t give them that. Not tonight.

He strode through the gates without a word, water still dripping from his coat, and ignored the voices that called after him Regina, Laura, Arat, all looking for guidance. All wanting to know what came next.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look at them.

He made it to his room, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

Then he stood there, the silence pressing in on him like a hand around his throat.

His jacket peeled off with effort, soaked through. His shirt stuck to the bruises blooming across his ribs. He caught sight of himself in the mirror blood-smeared, battered, haunted and looked away before the reflection could cut too deep.

He stripped the rest of the way down, dropping everything into a pile near the door before stepping into the shower.

The water hit him like a wall.

Hot. Blistering.

He didn’t flinch.

He leaned against the tile, head bowed under the stream, hands braced against the wall as the water turned pink at his feet.

And then… he just let go.

The tension cracked first.

Then the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

And then finally the tears.

They burned more than the bruises. More than the fall. More than seeing Rick cry and not knowing how to make it stop.

Negan pressed his forehead to the tile, jaw clenched, shoulders shaking.

This war this whole damn war was unraveling.

But it wasn’t the enemies outside these walls that were breaking him down.

It was Rick.

Every word. Every look. Every quiet thing left unspoken.

And as the water kept pouring, so did everything else he’d been holding back.

-
-

The sunlight filtered weakly through the cracked blinds, casting dull stripes across the room. Negan lay on the edge of his bed, staring up at the ceiling, mind still tangled in the mess of last night’s fight, rain, and the heavy weight of Rick’s brokenness.

The quiet was almost suffocating.

A soft knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Negan croaked, voice rough from the night’s exhaustion.

The door creaked open, and Simon stepped inside, holding a tray with breakfast coffee, some eggs, and toast. Negan blinked, his brow arching in surprise. This wasn’t like him.

Usually, it was one of the wives or a trusted aide who brought him food, never Simon.

Simon placed the tray on the small table by the bed and lowered himself into the chair across from Negan, watching him with those calculating eyes.

Negan just stared back, his expression unreadable.

Simon finally broke the silence, “You okay, boss? You been quiet since last night.”

Negan shook his head slowly, pushing himself up from the bed. He began pacing the room, the familiar rhythm helping to sort out the storm inside.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Simon,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I’m the one who let Rick Grimes get away. I’m the one who’s got a damn war brewing and a mutiny at my back.”

He stopped pacing and faced Simon, eyes sharp but tired.

“Did you expect me to have some grand plan? Some answer that’ll fix this mess overnight?”

Simon didn’t flinch. “No, boss. I just need to know where you stand. Because the guys… they’re scared. And they want to know if you’re still the man who leads them.”

Negan’s jaw tightened, the weight of leadership pressing down hard.

“I’m here, Simon,” he said finally, voice steady but quiet. “But I’m damn well tired of fighting ghosts and maybe it’s time we figure out what the hell we’re really fighting for.”

He looked back toward the tray, picking up the cup of coffee, but his mind was still elsewhere, lost in thoughts of Rick and what was coming next.

Simon leaned forward slightly, a cold edge creeping into his voice.
“Maybe what you’re really tired of, Negan, is losing.”

Negan’s eyes snapped to Simon, darkening instantly.
“Watch your mouth, Simon.”

Simon smirked, unfazed.
“You think this is about some damn war or loyalty? It’s about strength. Rick Grimes showed weakness, you showed weakness, and now the Saviors are questioning if you’re still the man who can keep us alive.”

Negan’s jaw clenched tightly, fists balling at his sides.
“You want to test me? Go ahead. But don’t forget who built this place and who’ll tear it down if you keep talking like that.”

Simon’s smirk faltered for a moment, but he held his ground.
“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Negan took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm the rising storm inside.
“Fine. Then you better make damn sure the rest of them know that I’m the one who decides what happens next.”

He picked up his coffee, eyes burning with fury and something deeper determination.
“This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

-
-

A Few Days Later – Negan’s POV

-
-

Welding sparks hissed and died at the edge of the outer fence. Negan wiped a sleeve across his brow, glancing down the line of guards replacing rust-rotted panels. The hard work and noise were a welcome distraction: keep the hands busy, keep the thoughts quiet.

“Boss.”

He looked up as Regina strode across the gravel, clipboard tucked under her arm. She stopped a few paces away, waiting for him to set down the torch.

“We got fresh intel on your boy Grimes,” she said, voice low.

A flicker of something half hope, half adrenaline—jumped in Negan’s chest. He jerked his head, motioning for her to walk. They started down the fence line together, boots crunching in rhythm.

“What’ve you got?” he asked.

Regina glanced at her notes. “Spotters near Alexandria claim Rick comes outside the main gate every morning around dawn. Patrolling alone. Same stretch of road, same pattern.” She tucked the clipboard tighter to her side. “Could be habit, could be bait. Either way, if we’re ready to end this war, that’s the opening.”

Negan stopped so abruptly the guards twenty feet ahead nearly dropped their steel panel.

Patrolling alone.

Every morning.

The rain-soaked image of Rick clutching him in that ruined factory flashed across his mind: the shaking breath, the tear-streaked face, the way he’d melted in Negan’s arms before running back to his people.

Excitement sharp and unsteady burned through him. He straightened, Lucille’s strap creaking across his shoulder.

“No,” Negan said, voice quiet but certain. “No plans. Not yet.”

Regina frowned. “Sir?”

He turned, gaze hard but lit with something new. “I’m going. Alone. You just give me the coordinates and the timetable.”

“Negan, that’s risky as hell. You sure you don’t want backup?”

A slow grin tugged at his lips equal parts defiance and something softer. “I’m sure. Rick and I have unfinished business.” He leaned closer, eyes glinting. “And if anyone else shows up, they’ll only get in the way.”

Regina hesitated, then nodded once, handing over the scribbled map. “Be careful,” she muttered. “He’s still Rick Grimes.”

Negan’s grip tightened on the paper, heart thudding like distant thunder. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, an almost-fond smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “That’s exactly why I’m going.”

He turned back toward the gate, Lucille tapping against his boot, the clang echoing like a promise.

One way or another, he was going to see Rick again—and this time, he wouldn’t let him disappear into the rain.

Chapter Text

The morning sun broke through the cracked blinds of his bedroom, but Rick didn’t feel its warmth. It touched his face, lit the wooden floors, and kissed the framed photos of Judith and Carl… but it didn’t reach him. Not really.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers laced, elbows digging into his knees. His whole body felt wrong too heavy, too light, too quiet. Like something had been stripped away. Like he was missing something. He thought sleep might’ve helped, but it hadn’t. He’d barely managed a few hours before the weight of everything pulled him awake again.

Around Alexandria, things had returned to normal. Or at least, their version of it. People nodded at him again. Looked him in the eyes. Aaron had even smiled and handed him a radio, like things were going back to how they used to be. Like Rick Grimes was finally back—like the war hero had returned.

But Rick didn’t feel like a hero.

He felt like a fraud.

They thought he’d escaped. That he’d been a prisoner, tortured and broken, and now he was home to lead again. But only he and Michonne knew the truth.

The real truth.

That he hadn’t wanted to leave. That part of him still ached for Negan. That part of him missed him. Missed his voice. His smile. His goddamn arrogance. Missed the way he’d touched him like he was something sacred, even when Rick hated himself.

The others didn’t know what had really happened behind enemy lines. The things whispered in the dark. The promises. The way Rick had cried in Negan’s arms, not from fear but from knowing it was real.

He felt hollow now, like someone had scooped him out and left just enough to stand up straight in front of the others.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m going out,” he muttered as he passed Michonne on the porch. She looked up from sharpening her blade, her eyes meeting his with understanding but no judgment.

“Don’t go too far,” she said softly. “Please.”

Rick gave a half-nod. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her. His boots moved before his mind caught up. He walked, rifle slung across his back, heading beyond the gates like he always did.

But today… he kept walking.

Farther than he’d meant to.

His thoughts drowned out the world: the what-ifs, the self-loathing, the memories of Negan’s voice in the dark whispering, “It’s okay, baby.” The way he’d held him like he’d never let go. Rick clenched his jaw. He couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t feel like that.

He just kept walking.

It wasn’t until his legs ached that he stopped and realized where he was a mile or so past the old church, tucked near the edge of the woods. An old farmhouse stood at the end of a beaten trail, sun-bleached and leaning slightly. Forgotten.

Like him.

Rick hesitated, then pushed the door open. It groaned on its hinges but didn’t resist. Inside was quiet, dust motes dancing in the light.

He sat in the center room, on the floor, not even bothering with the broken furniture. He rested his back against the wall and let the silence settle.

This place… it wasn’t home. But it was his, for now. Somewhere to breathe. Somewhere to think.

Somewhere to wait.

Because something told him maybe hope, maybe madness that if he kept coming here, if he made it a habit… Negan would find him. If the bastard was watching. If he was still out there.

So Rick stood again, took a deep breath, and walked a trail back home.

And decided he’d walk it again tomorrow. And the next day. And every day after.

Until he saw him.

Until he came back.

-
-

By the third day, Rick had the trail memorized—the twists around the thick trees, the broken log where he always paused to catch his breath, the rusted fence lining the final stretch before the farmhouse came into view. He walked it without thinking now, each step carrying the weight of routine and anticipation.

The others didn’t question his patrol routes anymore. Michonne gave him quiet nods and Daryl looked at him a little longer than necessary, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Rick didn’t blame him. He barely knew what the hell he was doing out there.

But his feet kept bringing him back.

He told himself it was for peace. To think. To be alone. But the truth… the truth itched under his skin like a secret splinter he couldn’t dig out.

He was waiting.

For something.

For him.

The sky was bruised with clouds as Rick crested the last hill. The farmhouse sat the same way it always did—half-rotting, barely standing, familiar now in a strange way. He shifted his rifle across his back as he approached, bootsteps crunching over gravel and dead leaves.

And then he stopped.

A figure leaned against the railing of the porch. Leather jacket. Smirk like a loaded weapon.

Rick’s heart skipped once, hard then kicked into a gallop.

“Jesus,” he whispered, blinking like he didn’t believe it. But Negan didn’t move.

He just stood there, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been waiting all damn day. His bat was nowhere in sight. Just him.

“Well, well…” Negan finally drawled, voice low and rough. “Three days in a row. Thought maybe you were out here trying to summon me like a damn forest spirit.”

Rick stared at him, his throat tightening, mouth suddenly dry. “How long you been here?”

Negan’s lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Long enough to know your boots squeak when you’re nervous.”

Rick glanced down instinctively, scowling, but couldn’t find it in himself to be truly angry.

“How’d you find me?”

Negan shrugged, pushing off the porch rail and stepping forward, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to spook him. “You think I stopped watching after that shitshow in the warehouse? You think I’d just let you walk back to Alexandria and forget all this?”

He stopped a few feet away, hands loose at his sides.

“I told you, Rick. We needed to talk.”

Rick’s chest was heaving, and he hadn’t even realized how tightly he was gripping the strap of his rifle. He let it go. “And you just… waited here?”

Negan nodded. “You made it easy. Same trail, same time. Either you were tryin’ to lure me out or you’re a creature of habit.”

Rick didn’t answer.

Not right away.

The wind blew through the trees. Leaves rustled. The air between them felt like something alive.

Finally, Rick stepped forward once. “You came alone?”

Negan nodded again. “No tricks. No gun. Just me.”

Rick studied him his face, the bruising still yellowing along his jaw, the raw look in his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping. And something in Rick cracked again.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” Rick murmured.

Negan took another slow step. “Me neither.”

Silence stretched out again, and then, Rick asked—quiet, almost desperate, “Why did you come?”

Negan stared at him a moment longer, then smiled—soft, real. “Because you didn’t shoot me. Because you cried in my arms. Because I’m still thinking about you, every damn day. That a good enough reason?”

Rick swallowed hard, blinking faster than he wanted to. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, it is.”

And then he opened the door to the farmhouse.

And let him inside.

The door creaked shut behind them, the sound loud in the heavy silence. Dust floated in shafts of late-day light that spilled through broken blinds. Rick stood still for a second, then turned to see Negan standing just inside, eyes roaming the dim space like he didn’t quite trust it. Like he didn’t quite trust this.

Rick cleared his throat. “Ain’t much to look at.”

Negan huffed. “You’ve dragged me into worse places. Remember that blown-out church with the half-eaten walker in the vestibule?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Rick’s mouth, brief and unsure. He moved to the table near the window and sat, shifting awkwardly in the creaky chair. Negan followed slowly, finally sitting across from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, thick and strange. Their eyes met and darted away, over and over again.

Rick fiddled with the edge of the table. “I didn’t think you’d really show up.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” Negan admitted, voice low. “But here we are.”

More silence. More glances.

Rick finally leaned forward, hands clasped tight in front of him. “I didn’t want to leave.”

Negan blinked. “What?”

Rick met his eyes. “Back then. That night. I didn’t run. I wasn’t trying to trick you. Daryl and Dwight… they took me.”

Negan’s brows drew together. “You serious?”

Rick nodded once. “Knocked me out. Dragged me to Alexandria. Tied me to the goddamn bed like I was some prisoner.”

Negan leaned back in his chair, a dark laugh escaping before he rubbed his hands down his face. “Well, shit. Guess that answers a few questions I had. Thought maybe… maybe you’d played me. That this whole thing was your plan.”

Rick frowned. “I thought you would’ve known me better than that.”

Negan looked at him again, long and quiet, before nodding. “Yeah. I should’ve. But… I was angry. Felt like a damn fool. I trusted you, Rick. I let you in.”

“I know,” Rick said softly. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Didn’t get to… explain.”

Negan’s jaw tightened, and he dropped his gaze. “You were the only thing I had left that made this war feel like it wasn’t a complete shitshow. I ain’t ashamed to say that.”

Rick’s throat felt dry. He sat back, heart pounding. “And now?”

Negan glanced up, something unguarded flickering in his expression. “Now I don’t know what the hell we’re doing.”

Rick gave a tired laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That makes two of us.”

They sat like that for a moment worn down, both unsure, both trying to piece something together that neither of them knew how to name.

Finally, Rick broke the quiet again. “I came out here hoping maybe… maybe you’d come back. I didn’t know what I’d say. Or do. But I guess part of me hoped you’d show up.”

Negan leaned forward, arms resting on the table, voice quieter now. “And now that I’m here?”

Rick looked him in the eye.

“I guess we figure it out.”

Negan stood slowly, the chair scraping back against the warped wood floor. Rick stayed still, watching him with guarded eyes until Negan stopped in front of him close, almost too close. The light through the slatted blinds hit the side of his face, shadowing his eyes but catching the slight downturn of his mouth. Regret, maybe. Worry. Something softer than Rick was used to seeing in him.

Negan lifted his hand, slow and deliberate, giving Rick time to pull back if he wanted to. He didn’t.

His fingers brushed gently across Rick’s cheekbone, the bruised skin still tender from the crash days before. His thumb lingered, tracing the edge of the bruise, and his voice came out quieter than Rick expected.

“Sorry about this,” Negan muttered. “Didn’t mean to run you off the damn road. That part wasn’t in the plan.”

Rick scoffed, lips quirking into something that almost looked like a grin. “Yeah? Guess you’re not the best damn driver after all.”

Negan let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, the tension in his shoulders breaking just a little. “Well, shit. You’ve got jokes now?”

Rick’s grin faded as he looked up, something stirring behind his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment before. “Only for you.”

That was all it took.

Negan leaned in slowly, his hand still resting against Rick’s face, the other ghosting around his jaw until their foreheads nearly touched. And then the distance closed. The kiss wasn’t rushed or rough nothing like the desperate clutching of that night in the Sanctuary or the war-heavy passion of their first encounters. This was slow, reverent… honest.

Rick let his eyes drift shut as he leaned into it, the warmth of Negan’s mouth against his anchoring him in the moment. Their lips moved with a quiet intensity, like they were both afraid to break whatever fragile thread had drawn them back together.

Negan’s hand cupped the back of Rick’s neck, pulling him in just a little closer. Rick’s fingers gripped the edge of Negan’s shirt like he was afraid he’d disappear.

They stayed there for a long moment kissing, breathing, holding.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other again, Rick whispered, “I missed this.”

Negan smiled, brushing his thumb along Rick’s cheek again. “Yeah, me too.” Then, quieter: “Let’s not waste it this time.”

Rick nodded. “Let’s not.”

Rick didn’t know what came over him, but something in the softness of Negan’s kiss the quiet apology still lingering between them sent a jolt straight through him. He pulled back just long enough to see the flicker of surprise in Negan’s eyes before surging forward again, kissing him harder, deeper, with purpose.

It wasn’t gentle anymore.

Negan let out a low sound in his throat, caught between surprise and satisfaction, his hands instinctively rising to grasp Rick’s sides, grounding himself in the moment. Rick climbed into his lap with a kind of reckless abandon, threading his fingers into Negan’s hair and tugging, grinding down against him just enough to send a shock of heat up both their spines.

“You always gotta take the lead, huh?” Negan murmured against Rick’s mouth, his tone rough but breathless.

“Shut up,” Rick whispered, and kissed him again slow now, savoring it, like he was trying to memorize the way Negan tasted after too many sleepless nights and bruised memories.

They broke apart, barely, their foreheads pressed together. Rick’s chest heaved, his thumb brushing along the line of Negan’s jaw. It was the quietest they'd ever been with each other and maybe the most honest.

Negan’s voice cracked the silence, low and reverent. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Rick shook his head, eyes locked on his. “I didn’t want to go.”

Negan exhaled shakily and let his head fall back, the weight of those words settling over them both.

They didn’t need to say anything

The room felt charged, thick with the electricity between them as their lips met again this time softer, more urgent, as if trying to make up for all the time lost. Rick’s hands roamed with growing confidence, fingers tracing the lines of Negan’s shoulders, sliding beneath the damp fabric of his shirt. Negan responded without hesitation, matching Rick’s movements, pulling him closer until the heat between them was undeniable.

Clothes became unnecessary barriers, slipping away piece by piece until they tumbled down together onto the floor. Their bodies pressed close, skin against skin, hearts pounding in sync. Rick’s breath hitched as Negan’s fingers traced the curves of his back, memorizing, soothing, igniting.

For a while, nothing else mattered except the way they fit together, a tangle of limbs and whispered names. The world outside, the war, the endless battles it all faded to a distant hum.

But then, breaking the silence with a low, almost reluctant chuckle, Negan’s voice cut through.

“We really need to talk business.”

Rick’s lips curved into a tired smile as they caught their breath.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “we do.”

They stayed wrapped around each other a moment longer, both knowing the storm waiting for them outside this roombut finding, for now, a fragile peace in this stolen time.

-
-

The warmth between them lingered, their breathing slowly settling as they lay tangled on the floor. Negan’s fingers traced light patterns on Rick’s bare chest, the earlier passion melting into a fragile quiet. For a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist just the two of them, vulnerable and close.

But the weight of everything they’d been avoiding settled back in like a shadow.

Rick shifted, breaking the silence first. His voice was low, hesitant, but firm. “Negan… I don’t understand why you keep pushing so hard to control everything. You have power, yeah, but what about peace? What about making things better for all of us?”

Negan’s gaze darkened as he propped himself up on one elbow, watching Rick carefully. “Peace? You think peace just happens because you want it? That’s not how it works. Not with people like us. Not in this world.”

Rick frowned, the frustration simmering beneath his calm tone. “It doesn’t have to be like this. If you just stopped pushing your agenda, maybe people would stop fearing you. Maybe we could stop fighting.”

Negan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “My agenda? You think I’m the only one here with an agenda? You think the Sanctuary’s just gonna roll over because you’re hoping for peace? That’s naive, Rick.”

Rick sat up slowly, his eyes locking with Negan’s. “Maybe. But I’ve seen what war does. I thought... I thought you might’ve seen it too.”

Negan’s jaw tightened. “I’ve seen plenty. I’m not the bad guy you want me to be. And I’m not about to back down just because you want me to.”

Rick’s heart pounded. The space between them seemed to shrink and swell with every breath. “So what then? You want this to keep going? The fighting, the fear? Because it’s tearing us apart.”

Negan’s voice was sharp now, tinged with hurt. “You think I want to tear us apart? You think I want to lose people? I’m doing what I have to do to survive. To keep my people safe.”

Rick’s frustration boiled over. “And what about the rest of us? Your ‘people’ don’t get to decide the fate of everyone else! We deserve peace too.”

Negan stood, running a hand through his hair. “Peace isn’t just handed out, Rick. Sometimes you have to fight for it. Sometimes, you have to be willing to do what others won’t.”

Rick grabbed his clothes, his hands shaking slightly. “I thought... I thought you were different this time. I thought maybe you wanted to be better, to be with me — not this... warlord everyone fears.”

His voice cracked, the weight of disappointment heavy in the room. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe everyone else was right about you all along.”

Negan’s eyes flashed with a mixture of pain and anger as Rick headed toward the door. “Don’t walk away thinking you know me, Rick. You don’t.”

But Rick didn’t turn back. The door closed softly behind him, leaving Negan alone with the echoes of a fight neither of them wanted to have but both knew was inevitable.

Rick stormed out of the farmhouse, shirt half-buttoned and boots crunching against the dry dirt. The sun was sinking behind the trees, casting everything in long, shadowy gold, but Rick barely noticed his pulse was loud in his ears, his thoughts louder.

"Rick!"
Negan's voice cut through the stillness behind him. "Wait!"

Rick didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when his chest felt like it was going to cave in, not when everything in him screamed that he was a damn fool for believing anything could work between them.

"Rick, come on, don’t be like this!" Negan called again, closer now, his heavy footsteps trailing just behind. "I didn’t mean to upset you just come back inside and talk it out."

Rick whirled around so fast that Negan almost walked into him. His face was twisted in something sharper than anger it was betrayal, heartbreak, and years of bitterness.

"Talk it out?" Rick barked, incredulous. "Is that what you call it? You want peace, but only if it goes your damn way."

Negan blinked, taken aback. His shirt hung open, and his chest still bore faint red marks from their earlier desperation. But now, any warmth in his expression cooled.

"You know what I think, Negan?" Rick went on, voice trembling. "You never wanted peace. You wanted control. You always have. You don’t want a partner you want a fucking trophy."

Negan’s jaw tightened. "Is that what you think this is? That you're some prize I’ve been trying to win?"

Rick huffed a bitter laugh. "Don’t matter what I think anymore. Whatever this thing is between us? It’s done. Over. Go get your war. Rule your Sanctuary. Take your goddamn victory lap."

He turned again, but not before he saw Negan’s expression flicker something unguarded, raw. And then it hardened.

"Fine," Negan said, voice low and edged like broken glass. "Guess I should’ve known better than to fall for a man who breaks easier than he bends."

Rick froze for just a breath, that sentence hitting like a sucker punch to the gut. His fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t look back. He just kept walking stiff, wounded, and furious.

Negan didn’t follow.

The distance between them stretched wider than the road beneath their feet.

Rick stormed through the gates of Alexandria just as the orange-pink dusk bled across the sky. His body ached, still sore from everything emotionally, physically but it didn’t matter. The moment he stepped onto familiar ground, a numbness took over. One foot in front of the other. That’s all he had to think about. Just keep walking.

His shirt was half-buttoned, wrinkled and stained from dust, rain, sweat. His boots were caked in dried mud. His eyes, though, were something else entirely haunted and blazing all at once.

He didn’t know what burned more: the heartbreak sitting like acid in his gut, or the goddamn shame of wanting to turn back.

Because Negan had followed him. Rick had heard him stumbling behind, barefoot, throwing on his shirt, calling his name in the distance like it meant something. And Rick Rick almost stopped.

Almost.

But when he finally did turn, he hadn’t found the apology he needed. Just another damn clash of words accusations, pride, and pain.

Whatever this is... it’s over.

He’d said it. Thrown it like a blade. Watched the way it sliced through both of them.

Now he was back home. Alone.

Daryl spotted him as he rounded the corner by the armory, the low light catching the outline of Rick’s frame like a shadow. The crossbow was slung across Daryl’s back, but his eyes were sharp and quick.

“Rick?” Daryl called, stepping down the steps. He squinted. “Jesus, you look like shit. What the hell happened?”

Rick didn’t slow his pace. “Where is everyone?”

Daryl hesitated, falling into step beside him. “Aaron and Tara are in the meeting house. Michonne’s still with Judith. Rosita’s by the tower. Why?”

Rick stopped walking and turned, eyes wild and glassy with something unreadable. “Call ’em,” he said. “All of ’em. Everyone. Tell them we’ve got a war to plan.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Rick... you sure about that?”

Rick’s jaw clenched. “I’ve never been more sure.”

They stood like that for a moment. Daryl’s gaze searched his face, trying to read what he wasn’t saying. Rick’s lips were drawn tight, his eyes unreadable. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and probably hadn’t. But there was no hesitation in his voice. No question in the way his fists curled at his sides.

Daryl nodded slowly. “Alright... I’ll put the word out.”

Rick turned and started walking again. His steps felt heavier now, like each one was dragging chains behind him. Chains he’d willingly picked up and locked around his own ankles.

As he passed a few people on the main path Barbara from the kitchens, Scott and Tobin helping reinforce one of the fences they all looked up. Their conversations stopped. Whispers followed him like wind in the trees.

Rick didn’t meet their eyes. He didn’t have the strength.

He hadn’t even seen Carl yet. Or Judith.

When he made it to the door of his old house, his hand trembled as he reached for the knob.

He had nothing left but this. His home. His kids. His people.

And if they were going to survive what was coming next, he had to put whatever was left of his heart in a box and bury it deep.

Because Negan wasn’t going to break him again.

He wouldn’t let him.

Rick stepped through the door of the house slowly, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing louder than it should have. For a moment, he didn’t move just stood there in the entryway, letting the air of home wrap around him. It smelled like Judith’s formula and Carl’s boots, like soap and wood and dust.

His heart twisted, but he didn’t let it show. Not when he heard little footsteps.

Judith came bounding around the corner of the living room with a squeal. “Daddy!”

Rick dropped to his knees, arms open. “Hey, baby girl,” he murmured, scooping her up and holding her close, closing his eyes as she pressed her face against his neck. For that one second, nothing else mattered.

Carl was in the kitchen, half-turned, watching him. His arms were crossed, but his face was softer than Rick expected. Not angry. Not cold. Just... quiet.

Rick gave a small nod in Carl’s direction. “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

Carl nodded back.

Rick climbed the stairs, every step dragging heavier with the weight of the day. By the time he reached his bedroom, he could feel the ache setting into his bones. He shut the door behind him, peeled off his shirt, and went to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and didn’t wait for it to heat up before stepping under the spray.

The water was cold.

But it woke him up.

As the water ran down his face, Rick braced both hands on the wall. His reflection in the fogged mirror was a stranger now worn down and raw. His bruises were fading, but the ache inside wasn’t.

Negan.

That name lived behind his ribs now. And it throbbed with every heartbeat.

Every word they said to each other every kiss, every fight, every unspoken what if it all swirled in his head like a storm.

And now? Now Rick had to lead again. Put on the mask. Pretend he had a plan.

He dried off quickly, slipping into clean clothes dark jeans, a soft long-sleeved shirt, his boots. His fingers trembled when he buttoned the cuffs.

A knock came at the door just as he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

He looked up. “Come in.”

Carl stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him. His hair was a little longer, his features sharper. He looked older than his years tonight.

“You alright?” Carl asked, leaning against the dresser.

Rick nodded, though it wasn’t convincing. “Just thinking.”

Carl sat in the chair near the window, arms resting on his knees. “You and Negan…”

Rick’s head snapped up slightly, startled. “What about it?”

Carl didn’t answer right away. “I know, Dad. You don’t have to say anything. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Rick exhaled through his nose, rubbing his palm down his face. “Carl, it’s not what you think.”

“I think it’s complicated,” Carl said. “And I think it’s tearing you up inside.”

Rick looked at him long and hard. That same sharp gaze Lori used to have when she saw right through him.

“Why are we doing this?” Carl asked after a pause. “Going back and forth. One second, we’re talking about peace. The next, we’re loading guns. The next, we’re breaking down. And I get it. People are scared. But we’re not getting anywhere. And I’m just wondering…” He shrugged. “Maybe we should just stop. Try harder. Try for real. Not this game. Not this back and forth. Just something better.”

Rick didn’t answer right away. The words hung heavy in the room.

He looked down at his hands bruised, rough, calloused—and wondered when they’d last held anything other than a gun or a mistake.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like your mom,” Rick finally said, voice thick.

Carl smiled, small and sad. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Rick stood slowly and walked to the window, staring out at Alexandria. The walls. The people inside them. The safety they all wanted. And the war still breathing down their necks.

“I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.

Carl nodded once. “I hope you do.”

He stood, gave his dad one last look, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Rick stared out the window a while longer, one thought repeating in his head:

Try harder.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

But deep down he knows it is

-
-

The morning sun was crawling its way up the sky when Rick stood in front of the mirror, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows.

The shirt was plain. Gray. Clean. Fitting snug over the bruises that were still blooming along his ribs. The silence of the house was heavy. Judith was still sleeping. Carl was already out somewhere, maybe on the wall, maybe thinking the same things Rick couldn’t stop thinking about.

Maybe we should try harder.

Carl’s voice still echoed in his head like it had been carved into bone. Rick had barely slept, those words replaying on loop through the dark. And now, here he was—buttoning his cuffs like it mattered, like today was different.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

Because deep down, Rick knew the truth.

It’s too late.

He pressed his palms against the sink, leaning into his reflection. He looked like hell. Tired. Older. Eyes bloodshot from more than just lack of sleep. The man looking back at him wasn’t the same one who walked into the Sanctuary weeks ago. That man still believed there might be a way to balance everything. To carry the weight of both love and loyalty.

But that man was gone now. Buried somewhere under shattered promises and lines crossed.

He couldn’t go back to Negan not after everything. Not after the things that had been said. Not after the way it had ended. And even if a small, aching part of him wanted to… Rick knew better.

Too good to be true.

And if it was true? If those nights, those soft moments in the quiet, those kisses that never felt like a lie… if they were real?

That didn’t matter now.

Because the war was still on. People were still dead. And every face he passed in Alexandria reminded him of what was at stake.

He strapped on his belt, tucked his pistol into the holster, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the door. As he made his way downstairs, the weight of his boots on the floorboards felt heavier than usual.

He paused at the door, glancing back once toward the stairs toward Judith’s room, toward the place where he’d felt most human these past few days.

But he didn’t turn back.

He stepped outside. The sun was higher now. Bright. Blinding. The streets were starting to buzz with movement. People setting up patrol, trading gear, preparing for the meeting that was already in motion.

Keep going.

That was the only way now. Forward. One foot in front of the other.

He couldn’t change what happened. Couldn’t make people understand how complicated it really was. He couldn’t explain that part of him still ached for something that no one would ever accept.

So he pushed it down.

Stuffed it into the part of him that had buried Shane. That had killed Jessie’s husband. That had made all the ugly calls to keep everyone else breathing.

The part that didn’t have time to feel sorry anymore.

Rick squared his shoulders and kept walking toward the meeting hall.

Rick entered the church that served as Alexandria’s council hall and found it already crowded.  Maggie, Jesus, and Enid had driven in from Hilltop; Ezekiel, Carol, and a trio of Kingdom fighters stood near the front; Rosita, Tara, Aaron, and Daryl filled the pews along the aisle.  Michonne sat on the edge of the lectern platform, katana across her knees.

The low murmur died the moment Rick stepped up to the map‑covered table.

“Let’s get to it,” he said, voice steady.

1. Cut the Supply Lines
Aaron traced a pencil along the highway grid. “Sanctuary’s been scavenging fuel and grain from three satellite depots. We hit those first night raids, small teams, burn the stores they can’t carry off.”

Tara added, “No shootouts. In and out. If they start rationing, morale nosedives.”

2. Smoke‑and‑Sound Diversion
Rosita slid a sketch of portable speakers and smoke canisters across the table. “We rig trucks with sound loops herd walkers straight at their south fence. They’ll scramble every gun to that side.”

Ezekiel nodded. “Meanwhile, our main force breaches the north service dock lightly manned, blind spot to their watch‑towers.”

3. Inside Access
Jesus pointed to an air‑shaft vent. “Dwight marked this as a maintenance crawl that leads to the generator mezzanine. Two climbers can enter, kill power, and unlock the dock gate from within.”

Michonne met Rick’s eyes: “You and me.”

4. End the Fight Fast
Maggie laid a transparent overlay atop the map colored zones for cross‑fire arcs.
“Once power drops, Daryl’s team sweeps left, Kingdom pushes right. Hilltop secures the armory. No long firefight shock, flank, disarm.”

Rick summarized: “Starve ’em, distract ’em, cut the lights, and finish before dawn.”

No one objected.

He looked around the semicircle of grim, determined faces.  “This is it.  We go in four days.”

-
-
Time‑Skip – The Day Before the Strike

The streets of Alexandria were buzzing carts stacked with arrows and canned goods, Hilltop wagons creaking past, Kingdom horses being saddled.

Rick stood near the front gate, overseeing loading details with Daryl, Aaron, and Rosita. Spirits were high focused and grim, but united. It felt like the old days, like a real chance to take everything back.

Then the outer siren wailed once the signal for a distress arrival.

Rick’s heart stuttered. He dropped the clipboard and broke into a run.

By the time he reached the gate, Dwight and Sherry were already stumbling through. Mud-caked, pale, and trembling, their faces looked like they’d crawled out of hell.

Sherry's shirt was torn. Dwight's hands were cut and bloodied, and his eyes darted like he was still being hunted.

“Open the gate!” shouted the guard.

Rick met them halfway, Daryl right behind him.

Dwight collapsed to his knees, grabbing Rick’s arm. “We—we barely got out—”

Sherry was shaking. “Rick… it’s not Negan. It’s something else. It’s not human.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Daryl asked, stepping closer.

Sherry grabbed Rick’s sleeve, eyes wide and wet. “We were scouting. In the woods southeast of the river. We heard walkers, we saw a small herd. But it… it wasn’t right.”

Rick frowned. “You’re not making sense.”

Dwight lifted his head, his voice low and hoarse. “They moved like walkers… but they talked.”

The world tilted slightly around them.

Rick blinked. “What?”

“They whispered to each other,” Dwight said, his voice cracking. “They hunted us. Surrounded us. They led the herd like they were part of it.”

Sherry shivered violently. “They wear the skin of the dead. Rick, they wear the dead.”

The people gathered nearby were slowly growing quiet, the tension rising like a wave.

Aaron stepped forward, pale. “You’re saying people are… dressing like walkers?”

“They’re not just dressing like them,” Dwight said. “They move like them. They blend in. You don’t even know they’re there until it’s too late.”

Rick felt the ice settle in his spine.

“How many did you see?”

Dwight’s answer came in a whisper. “Too many.”

A long silence followed. Rick stared toward the treeline just past the walls. The woods had always been dangerous, but now… now it felt haunted.

Daryl finally broke the silence. “What do we do?”

Rick’s jaw tightened. He looked around at everyone soldiers, friends, kids holding onto weapons too big for their hands.

He drew a breath. “We hold off the assault. We get eyes out there. We find out what the hell we’re dealing with.”

Sherry pulled close to Dwight, who was trembling harder now, the memory clearly still fresh.

And in the hush that followed, even the trees beyond the wall seemed to grow quieter.

They didn’t know yet what the Whisperers were.

But whatever was coming… it wasn’t just war.

Something worse.

And it had just stepped into their world.

Chapter Text

Rick hadn’t slept much. Between the whispers in town and the screams in his own head, the thin mattress might as well have been a bed of nails. Alexandria felt like it was holding its breath and it had been ever since Dwight and Sherry stumbled back covered in blood, muttering about “walkers” that moved like people and never made a sound.

Rick watched the recon team gather outside the gates as the sky lightened.

Daryl, quiet as ever, checked the bolts on his crossbow. Aaron adjusted his rifle strap. Jesus fastened a bandage tighter around his forearm from a minor scrape the day before. Rosita, restless, tapped her machete against her thigh, ready.

Behind them stood Magna and Yumiko, fully geared, despite only being in Alexandria a few days. They’d seen enough of the outside to want to help now.

“You’re sure you want in?” Rick asked Magna again.

She gave him a look. “People are dying. Of course we’re in.”

Yumiko gave a slow nod. “We’ve seen weird things out there. Thought maybe we were going crazy. But hearing Dwight and Sherry describe it? Yeah… we’ve seen the same.”

Rick gave a short nod. “Alright. Daryl, take them with you. Keep it tight. Don’t engage unless you have to. Just track. Find out what we’re dealing with.”

Daryl grunted his approval. “You got it.”

As the gate rolled open with a slow groan, Connie and Kelly stood nearby, watching tensely. Connie signed, Be careful. Daryl nodded.

They slipped out into the misty morning woods like shadows.

-
-

An Hour Later – Deep in the Forest

The team had gone further than expected. Tracks had led them off the main path and into a low valley filled with fog and stillness. Rosita crouched by a disturbed patch of earth.

“Someone was dragged here,” she murmured. “Recently.”

Magna moved ahead to scout, then stopped. “We’ve got something.”

A small clearing, ringed with toppled tents and animal bones, spread out before them. A grave sat in the center, freshly turned dirt and a wooden X marking it. Flies buzzed. The air was... wrong. Too quiet.

Jesus approached slowly, kneeling at the grave. “What is this?”

Then they heard it.

A whisper.

“…leave…”

Then another, behind them.

“…they’re watching…”

The group spun around. Daryl’s crossbow was up instantly.

Magna hissed, “That wasn’t a walker.”

More rustling. Footsteps that didn’t shamble, but crept.

Suddenly, the tree line broke three walkers appeared, but they didn’t lurch. They charged.

Yumiko loosed an arrow, dropping one but it didn’t moan. It made a low, human grunt. Its mask slipped.

Rosita screamed, “It’s a mask! It’s a goddamn mask!”

Then it happened—

A figure in walker skin lunged out from the mist and stabbed Jesus in the side before anyone could react. The blade sunk in deep, just below the ribs.

“JESUS!” Aaron caught him before he fell.

Daryl shot two attackers, one in the throat. It gurgled human. Another shrieked and vanished into the brush.

“We need to move!” Yumiko shouted.

The remaining figures were falling back, disappearing like ghosts. The clearing returned to stillness, but the damage was done.

Aaron helped Jesus to his feet, his shirt soaked in blood. “He’s bad,” Aaron muttered, panic in his voice.

Jesus groaned, barely conscious. “Not… walkers…”

“No shit,” Daryl growled, already carving a path back. “Let’s go!”

-
-

Alexandria – That Night

Rick was outside the gate when the team returned. They looked like hell.

Jesus was being carried by Aaron and Daryl, unconscious and pale. Yumiko was limping. Magna had a shallow gash down her arm. Rosita’s eyes were wide and wild.

“They weren’t walkers,” Aaron said as they approached. “Rick—these people wore the dead. They were pretending.”

Rick's stomach dropped.

“The one that got Jesus was fast,” Daryl said. “Too fast. They didn’t growl. They didn’t groan. They waited.”

Rick stared at them all, the words sinking like stones.

Rosita said it quietly. “They whispered. They moved in the trees. They were watching us before we saw them.”

Jesus groaned from the stretcher, bleeding out, barely holding on.

Rick stepped back and looked out past the gates, out into the dark woods.

Something had changed. Something terrible had come.

And this war… had only just begun.

-
-

The attack left Alexandria rattled, the air thick with panic and whispered fears. The infirmary was a frenzy of activity as Aaron and Siddiq worked to stabilize Jesus, his breathing shallow and labored, blood seeping through the bandages. Faces passed by in a blur some pale, some grim, all unsettled.

Rick stood near the church steps, heart pounding, the weight of responsibility heavier than ever. Around him, the community scrambled families barricading doors, children clutching their parents, guards doubling shifts. The fragile peace they’d fought for felt as if it were slipping through their fingers.

Michonne joined him quietly, her eyes fierce but worried. “We can’t wait for them to come to us. We need to see what we’re really dealing with.”

Rick nodded once, jaw set. “We go while it’s still light.”

Rick led the second team beyond the gates: Daryl, Rosita, Magna, and Alden every fighter who could still run, every rifle they could spare. The forest felt wrong: birds silent, windless, the air thick with scent of rot.

Two miles out, Daryl stopped, lifting a hand. “Hear that?”

A distant, rolling murmur like surf under the trees.

They crept forward and reached a ridge that overlooked a shallow valley. The sight below dragged the breath from them.

A horde hundreds, maybe thousands milling in slow concentric swirls. But it wasn’t the sheer number that froze them; it was the pattern. The undead moved almost… directed. Not random shuffling shifting currents, as if shepherded by an invisible hand.

Then Rosita hissed, “Down there bodies.”

Just beyond the herd’s outer edge lay half‑a‑dozen corpses human. Rick recognized a few of them-
Saviors. Their throats were slit ear to ear, faces hacked clean of flesh in places.

Rick’s pulse hammered as he scrambled along the ridge, eyes scanning every silent body. Simon? Arat? Spare uniforms? And one fear hammered louder than all the others:

Negan.

He found smashed bats, shattered rifles no Lucille, but plenty of blood.

Daryl crouched beside a fallen Savior, rolling the corpse just enough to show its face. Not Negan. Another. Rick swallowed hard, relief and dread tangling in his chest.

Alden crouched beside a corpse, noting the deep cuts across its throat, the missing flesh. “They didn’t just kill ‘em. They made ‘em suffer.”

Magna’s voice was tense. “Who would do this to Saviors, and control walkers like that?”

Rosita held up a strip of cured skin fashioned into a grotesque mask.“Look skin masks.” She examined the up cured walker hide, cut into a crude face‑shape, eyeholes jagged. “Whoever did this is using the dead like weapons.”

Daryl turned slowly, shoulders tight. “That ain’t human. That ain’t even Saviors’ kind of crazy.”

A cold shiver ran down Rick’s spine. He clenched his fists, eyes hard. This wasn’t just a random attack. It was a warning.

“We head back. Now.” His voice was sharp. “Tell everyone what we found. And tell them to prepare because this is just the beginning.”

As the team retraced their path, Rick’s mind churned with dread and determination. As they pulled back, Rick couldn’t escape the mix of emotions swirling in his gut:

Relief that Negan’s face hadn’t been staring lifeless from the leaves.
Dread that somewhere in those shifting ranks of the dead, a new enemy walked wearing flesh, steering death.
And anger white‑hot that this nightmare threatened all of them.

-
-

The chapel was packed shoulder to shoulder, the air hot with the press of fear and questions. Rick stood at the front, hands braced on the old wooden podium, eyes scanning the crowd families, soldiers, farmers all of them looking to him.

“We found the missing Saviors,” Rick began, voice low but steady. “They’re dead. Slaughtered. Left out in the open. And it wasn’t walkers that did it.” He let that settle for a beat. “It was people.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

Rick continued. “They wear the skin of the dead. Stitch it on like masks. They walk with the herds. Control them.”

A sharp intake of breath came from someone near the back.

“They killed trained fighters like it was nothing,” he said grimly. “They’re smart. They’re coordinated. And they’re using the walkers as weapons. If that horde comes this way…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

The noise swelled. Voices overlapping, rising:

“How do we fight that?”

“What if they’re already watching us?”

“Are they in the walls?!”

“We’re not safe!”

Rick raised his hand. “We don’t panic. We don’t go out alone. Pairs at minimum. Watch the gates, watch each other. We’ve faced the impossible before. We’ll do it again.”

After the Crowd Cleared
Later, in the council room, the air was thick again but quieter now, more focused. The familiar faces sat around the table: Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Aaron, Rosita, Father Gabriel, Maggie, and even Siddiq. Carl leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

“So,” Daryl grunted, “what now?”

“We train harder. We watch the roads. Lock things down tighter,” Rosita offered.

“We’re outnumbered,” Gabriel said softly. “If that herd comes this way, we can’t hold them back.”

Everyone was thinking the same thing. No one wanted to say it.

Until Carl did.

“What about the Saviors?” he asked suddenly, straightening. “We keep fighting them, but we’re both bleeding. Maybe… maybe now’s the time to stop. We work together. They have fighters, weapons. They know how to handle bad people. Maybe we stop this war, just long enough to survive this.”

The room went still.

Rick’s head turned sharply. “Carl—”

“It’s not crazy,” Carl said quickly. “We can’t beat both. Not like this. I’m not saying we trust them. I’m saying we need them.”

Maggie tensed across from him. “You’re too young to know what it means to trust the wrong people.”

“I know what it means to die because you didn’t have help,” Carl snapped.

Aaron spoke gently, “We’ve lost too much time trying to destroy each other.”

Rick shook his head, jaw clenched. “They’ll just use it as an opening.”

But then Michonne leaned forward. “Maybe Carl’s right.”

Rick blinked at her.

Michonne looked around the table. “I’m not saying I want to work with Negan. But if these people these things are coming? We might not get another shot. We die divided.”

Carol, quiet until now, added, “It’s worth a conversation. That’s all I’m saying.”

Rick stared down at the grain of the table, heart pounding.

All this time, he’d fought for a future. Now it might depend on the very man who haunted his nights.

“Fine,” Rick said, voice tight. “We’ll send a message. See if they’ll even listen.”

He didn’t look up when he said it but he felt Carl’s faint, hopeful smile all the same.

-
Rick couldn’t sleep.

He’d tossed all night, flinching at every creak of the house, every gust of wind brushing against the windows. In his head, it kept looping — Carl’s voice, Michonne’s support, Carol’s rare agreement.

Was he really going to do this? Try and broker peace with the man who tore his life apart?

He stared at the paper in front of him, a crumpled draft of a message, but his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Every sentence felt too soft or too harsh. Too desperate or too proud.

He rubbed his face hard, muttering, “What the hell are you doing, Rick?”

Then the scream tore through the night.

He was up and out the door before the second one echoed, his boots thudding down the stairs and across the street. The siren bell started ringing from the south tower. Lights flickered on one by one across the neighborhood.

By the time Rick reached the center of the commotion near the east wall, Tobin was there — blood streaked down his cheek, a knife clutched tightly in one hand, shaking. A body lay at his feet. It wasn’t a walker.

It was a person.

Or what was left of one, face stretched tight with decaying skin stitched crudely together.

A Whisperer.

“She came right through the gate,” Tobin said, voice cracking. “Slipped in when the guards switched. She had a knife. I—I stopped her before she could get to house.

Rick’s heart froze at the mention of the whisper getting so close to his family.

That was it.

Enough planning. Enough thinking.

Enough fear.

-
-

The gates were just coming into view when Rick hit the gas harder, the truck roaring down the old road. His breath came in short bursts, like he couldn’t catch it — not from running, but from the weight pressing in on him from all sides.

There were guards posted, like always. They stiffened, rifles raising the moment they spotted the lone vehicle.

Rick slammed the brakes, the tires skidding in the dust. He jumped out before the truck had fully stopped.

“I want to talk to Negan!” he shouted, hands raised slightly, palms open. “I’m not here to fight!”

Guns didn’t lower.

Rick stood his ground, heart pounding.

“Tell him it’s Rick. Tell him it’s important.”

Before he could take more than a few steps, a rifle slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping. Strong hands grabbed him roughly from behind, yanking his arms back and snapping cold metal cuffs around his wrists.

“Easy there, sheriff,” one of the Saviors sneered, shoving him hard to the dusty ground. Rick’s fists clenched against the rough earth, but he stayed silent—breathing hard, eyes scanning for any sign of mercy.

“Go get Negan,” the guard barked over his shoulder.

Moments later, the gates groaned open, and Negan stepped out, his signature smirk already in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, eyes locked on Rick. “You sure know how to make an entrance.”

They stared at each other across the threshold, the silence stretching like barbed wire.

Rick swallowed hard.

“We need to talk,” he said. “Face to face. About what’s coming.”

Negan’s brow ticked up. He crossed his arms. “This better be good, Rick.”

Rick didn’t blink. “It’s worse than good. It’s survival.

Two Saviors yanked Rick to his feet, forcing him to stumble forward as Negan fell into step beside him. The air was thick with tension as they crossed into the compound, the walls looming high around them.

“Let’s go,” Negan said, voice low but sharp. “Time’s ticking.”

Rick gritted his teeth, following blindly, every muscle taut with anger and desperation. This wasn’t the greeting he wanted. But it was the one he’d earned.
he stepped inside enemy territory again only this time, it wasn’t to spy.

It was to beg for a future neither of them knew how to build… but both might die trying to.

-
-

Negan POV

Three days after the farmhouse.

Negan hadn’t slept much since Rick walked out that door.

The memory of Rick’s voice raw with anger, wounded pride, and something else Negan wasn’t ready to name echoed in his skull like a bullet ricocheting in a steel drum.

"I thought you changed. I guess everyone else was right."

Yeah, well, maybe they were.

If Rick Grimes wanted a villain, maybe it was high goddamn time he gave him one again.

Negan lit a cigarette with a snap of his lighter, the end flaring like the heat that hadn’t left his gut since that argument. He stood overlooking the Sanctuary yard, smoke curling past clenched teeth as Simon and Regina laid out the latest border patrol updates.

They weren’t enough. Not now.

Not after what happened at that damn farmhouse — after seeing the look on Rick’s face, after feeling it when he’d pulled away. Negan had been stupid. He let the man get under his skin. Inside his head. His chest, if he was being honest.

And for what?

Rick had made his choice.

Fine.

If the bastard wanted to play hardball again if Alexandria was ready to start shit then they were going to see exactly what he’d been holding back.

Negan crushed the cigarette under his heel and pointed to the map sprawled across the table in the meeting room.

“We double patrols,” he said, voice sharp. “Full perimeter sweeps, day and night. And I want eyes on Alexandria. Constant. If Grimes so much as sneezes, I wanna know if he’s catching a cold or planning a goddamn ambush.”

Simon exchanged a look with Regina. “You think they’re planning something?”

Negan didn’t answer at first. He rolled Lucille along the edge of the table, his jaw tight.

“I think Rick’s gonna do what he always does. Pretend to take the high road while someone bleeds out on the dirt for his cause. I’m not gonna be the poor bastard lying there this time.”

He picked a few names and sent them out his best guys. They’d been loyal for years. He trusted them to watch, report, handle it smartly.

But days passed.

No messages. No radio calls. Not even a goddamn footprint back.

Negan’s bad feeling grew like a sickness in his gut.

And then, just as he was about to organize a retrieval team, a guard screamed for him in the yard.

“Boss! We got someone coming in he’s messed up bad!”

Negan moved fast, Lucille in hand, coat flapping behind him.

The man that collapsed in the dirt just past the gates was barely recognizable. Blood was smeared down one side of his face. His jacket was shredded. One eye swollen shut. He clawed at the ground like the pavement itself had betrayed him.

It was Calvin, one of the patrol.

“Jesus,” Simon muttered, running to help hoist him.

Negan crouched. “What the hell happened? Where are the others?”

Calvin’s head lolled as he tried to speak. His lips were cracked, flecked with dried blood. “They… they’re gone. We didn’t… we didn’t see ‘em coming.”

Negan narrowed his eyes. “Who? Was it Rick? His people?”

“No,” Calvin rasped. “Not them. Not… not people, not really.”

His voice grew urgent, hoarse. “They wore faces skin. They moved like the dead. Quiet. Slow. We thought they were walkers until one grabbed Jason and talked.”

Negan froze. “Talked?”

“They said…” Calvin swallowed. “Said to leave them alone. Said this land is theirs now. That we walk in their shadows.”

A chill ran down Negan’s spine.

“They’re not people,” Calvin whispered. “They’re something else. Something wrong.”

Silence fell around the yard.

Then Negan stood slowly, Lucille slung back on his shoulder.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just turned his face to the sky.

This wasn’t war.

This was something else. Something worse.

But he couldn’t afford to look weak.

He faced his people and growled, “Get everyone ready. We’re locking this place down tighter than ever. I want every outpost on alert and I want someone tracking where the hell these things are coming from.”

Simon hesitated. “What do we call them?”

Negan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the bloodied, broken man on the ground.

“Call ‘em whatever the hell you want,” he said lowly. “But if they want to threaten me, threaten us, then they’re gonna learn just how ugly things can get when you poke the wrong goddamn bear.”

-
-

The storm rolled in without warning.

The sky turned a sickly gray and lightning danced like broken nerves across the horizon. Negan stood at the edge of the catwalk overlooking the yard, wind snapping at his coat. The Sanctuary was in motion—guards running drills, orders being shouted, weapons being hauled out of storage.

Calvin hadn’t survived the night.

The poor bastard’s ramblings hadn’t made full sense, but the fear in his eyes had told Negan everything. These… whatever-the-fuck-they-were… weren’t just some new group. They weren’t raiders. They weren’t pissed off stragglers or exiled scavengers.

They were something older. Smarter. And cruel.

He’d barely slept. What time he hadn’t spent locked in strategy meetings, he spent alone. Nursing a drink, pacing his quarters, staring out the window and waiting.

He kept seeing Rick’s face.

The farmhouse. The kiss. The fight.

The way he’d walked away like he didn’t look back. But Negan knew better.

Because if he were being honest—if he could be honest, just for a damn second—he wasn’t mad that Rick left.

He was terrified that Rick had meant it.

So if that stubborn bastard really had flipped the switch and decided to go full Saint Rick again, to rally the walls of Alexandria and march them toward war, well...

Negan would be ready.

Even if part of him hated it.

Even if part of him wanted to take it all back.

He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight, muttering under his breath. “Stupid son of a bitch... Should’ve just stayed.”

A knock came at the door.

Negan turned, brows raised. “What?”

A nervous-looking Savior cracked the door open. “We, uh… we got eyes on movement down the road. Truck. Alone.”

Negan’s heart gave a sharp twist.

He didn’t let it show. He stood straighter, wiped his palms on his pants, and asked, “Who’s driving?”

“Can’t tell from here,” the Savior said. “But… it’s slowing down. Heading right for us.”

-
-

He made it down the stairs two at a time, Lucille slung over his shoulder, adrenaline buzzing through his bones like electricity. His boots hit the dirt just as the gate buzzed open and the truck rolled to a stop.

Negan didn’t know what he expected to see when the gate buzzed open.

Maybe another Savior patrol, or one of his people dragging back a corpse to dump at his feet. Hell, maybe even another runaway wife deciding she’d had enough of Sanctuary life. But not this.

Not him.

Rick fucking Grimes.

Alone. Covered in road dust, shoulders stiff like a man walking straight into fire. He didn’t flinch, didn’t stall, just stopped the truck, killed the engine, and stepped out like he wasn’t surrounded by twenty guns and an entire history of heartbreak.

Negan blinked once, like maybe the image would disappear.

It didn’t.

Before he could say a damn thing before he could even breathe one of his idiot guards shouted, “Get him!”
Before Negan could say a word, three Saviors rushed out. One slammed a rifle into Rick’s stomach; the other shoved him face-first into the ground, yanking his arms behind his back.

“What the fuck—HEY!” Negan thundered.

Rick grunted, coughing, spitting in the dirt. His hat had fallen off. His hands twisted beneath him, trying not to struggle, but he didn’t cry out. Didn’t beg.

Rick was hauled to his feet, breathless and bruised, chest heaving. He didn’t look at Negan at first.

Negan, though, stared hard.

Mouth dry. Mind racing.

What the hell are you doing here, Rick?

What the hell are you doing to me?

Negan approached slowly, brows drawn. When he was close enough, he tilted his head and smirked low, sharp, weary.

“This better be good,” he said, voice rough. “I was just starting to forget your pretty face.”

He turned to the men. “Walk him inside. Nobody else touches him.”

As Rick was led in, Negan walked behind his expression unreadable, storming on the inside gripping Lucille just a little tighter as he followed the man who haunted him.

Negan followed close behind, the rhythmic sound of Rick’s breath like thunder in his ears. He could see the stiffness in Rick’s shoulders, the way his hands trembled just slightly from being shoved around.

But more than anything… he could feel the weight on the man.

This wasn’t a game.

This wasn’t seduction or spy work or strategy.

Rick Grimes had come here for a reason—and judging by the way he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, hadn’t eaten properly in longer… the reason was probably tearing him apart.

Negan’s fingers twitched on Lucille’s handle as they entered the long corridor. Every step echoed off the walls.

He wanted to say something Anything.

Why’d you come back?

Are you okay?

Do you know what the hell you’ve done to me?

But instead he said, quiet and rough, “Put him in the conference room. No cuffs. And nobody interrupts unless someone’s dying.”

Rick glanced at him just for a second and there it was.

The flicker of something.

Trust. Shame. Pain.

All wrapped up in the face Negan hadn’t been able to forget since that goddamn farmhouse.

Negan slowed a little behind him, watching the guards walk Rick toward the room, and felt something claw its way up his throat. Not anger. Not smugness.

Fear.

Because something was coming.

Rick had come here as a last resort. Negan could feel it in his bones.

And something told him… this was the beginning of the end of something between them.

He just didn’t know what.

Chapter Text

He was sore. Dirty. The sting in his side hadn’t faded since they threw him on the ground and bound his wrists.

But that wasn’t what kept Rick’s hands clenched on the table in front of him.
It was the silence.
The long, unbearable stretch of it while he waited in the same room where, not long ago, war was all they talked about.

And now?

Now he was asking Negan for help.

His knee bounced uncontrollably under the table. The metal chair creaked every time he shifted. Every second that passed felt like someone tightening a wire around his throat.

The door opened.

Bootsteps, slow and confident.

Rick didn’t look up right away. He didn’t have to. That sound — the way Negan walked like he owned every room he entered — was familiar.

“Jesus,” Negan said low, voice almost amused. “First you show up at my gates bloody and pissed, then you get tackled like a common criminal. You sure know how to make a damn entrance, Rick.”

Rick looked up slowly.

Negan was leaning against the doorframe, sleeves pushed up, Lucille nowhere in sight. But there was something different in his eyes — sharper than usual. Tired, too.

Negan studied him for a beat, then stepped in fully and shut the door behind him.

“So,” Negan continued, dragging a chair out across from Rick, “why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on? ’Cause for you to come all the way back here after everything…”
He tilted his head, mockingly.
“You either lost your damn mind… or you’re real desperate.”

Rick exhaled slowly. “It’s not about me.”

Negan raised a brow. “That so?”

Rick nodded once. “It’s about all of us.”

Negan sat down. His chair creaked under his weight. The smirk faded, even if the tension in his jaw didn’t.

Rick leaned forward, voice steady. “There’s something new out there. We’ve been tracking a horde. Thought it was just walkers at first, but it’s not. They’re organized. They move like they’re being led.”

Negan’s expression shifted. A flicker of something passed over his face — disbelief, maybe. Maybe curiosity.

“We ran into one,” Rick said, voice low. “He wore skin. Human skin. Sewn like a mask.”

That did it.

Negan’s eyebrows pulled together.

“You’re saying people… are walking with the dead?”

“They’re smarter than walkers. Quieter. Meaner,” Rick said. “One got into Alexandria last night. Killed someone before we even knew he wasn’t dead.”

A heavy pause.

Rick leaned back, eyes fixed on Negan. “This ain’t some scare tactic. This is real. We don’t know how many there are or what they want, but they’re watching us. They’ve killed our people. And if we don’t come together now…”

Negan was quiet.

“…we’re all gonna burn,” Rick finished.

Negan stayed still. For once, completely unreadable.

Then, he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.

“You came all this way… just to ask for my help?” he asked, voice softer now.

Rick met his eyes. “I came because you’re still the only one with a system that works. You got the men. The weapons. The discipline. And for better or worse…”
He hesitated, jaw tight.
“You’re the only person who can help stop this.”

Negan looked at him for a long moment, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something sharp. Then he looked away, staring at the corner of the room, deep in thought.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. Measured.

“I lost two patrol teams last week. Just gone. No bodies, no signs. One guy made it back rambling about hearing voices in the woods.”
He turned back to Rick.
“I thought he lost it. Figured maybe your people ambushed ’em.”

Rick shook his head. “Wasn’t us.”

Negan ran a hand over his mouth. “Shit.”

Rick stood slowly. “Look, I didn’t come here for round two of the war. We don’t have time for grudges. I just want to keep my people alive. Same as you.”

Negan stood too. They were close now — closer than felt safe, but neither moved away.

“You’re serious about this?” Negan asked.

“I am.”

Negan studied his face — like he was trying to find the lie. But there wasn’t one.

Then he gave a slow nod. “Alright then.”
He stepped back, that trademark grin just barely tugging at the corner of his lips.
“But let’s get one thing straight…”

Rick narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not doing this because I like you,” Negan said. “I’m doing it because whatever this is? It sounds bigger than both our egos.”

Rick let out a short breath. “Fair enough.”

Negan held out his hand.

Rick stared at it.

Then took it.

It wasn’t trust.
It wasn’t forgiveness.

But it was something.

And for now, maybe that was enough.

-
-

They stood over a map now, the flickering lantern casting shifting shadows across the worn paper. Rick leaned over it with furrowed brows, his finger tracing a red-marked trail from the riverbend to a stretch of woods they now knew wasn’t empty.

Negan stood beside him, arms crossed, Lucille leaning against the wall in the corner. He’d gone unusually quiet — no snark, no sarcastic comments — just focus.

Rick broke the silence first. “They’re smart. They know how to herd walkers, mask their movements. If we keep trying to track them the way we do regular walkers, we’re just gonna keep getting hit.”

Negan nodded, jaw tight. “We need tighter perimeters. More patrols. Eyes on every side of your fences and mine.”

Rick gave a sharp nod. “I already got Daryl setting up watch schedules, but we need more than just defense. We need a plan. A real one.”

Negan looked at him. “You want to hit them back?”

“I want to be ready when they hit us again.”

There was a pause.

Then Negan smirked slightly, rubbing his jaw. “You and I drawing battle plans together. If anyone told me this would happen a year ago, I’d have laughed ‘til I puked.”

Rick cracked a dry smile. “Yeah. Same.”

Another beat passed between them — the kind that used to boil over with tension. Now, it just… lingered. Familiar. Charged.

Rick cleared his throat, glancing toward the door. “I want you to come to Alexandria.”

Negan raised a brow, tilting his head like he hadn’t heard right. “You inviting me to your dinner table now, Grimes?”

“I’m inviting you to sit down with Maggie, Ezekiel, Carol, and the rest,” Rick said, steady. “We need to share everything we’ve got. Intel. Numbers. You’re a part of this whether they like it or not.”

Negan exhaled slowly, studying Rick for a long moment. His voice was quieter this time. “You sure about that? You know damn well they’ll lose their minds when I show up.”

“I don’t care,” Rick said firmly. “This is bigger than old grudges.”

Negan stepped closer to the map again, dragging his finger slowly along one of the paths where the patrol disappeared.

“When?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Rick replied. “We’ll ride out early. You, me… and a few others. But you gotta come in peace, Negan. No threats. No speeches.”

Negan snorted. “Well damn. There goes half my personality.”

Rick rolled his eyes, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite make it.

Negan glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You really trust me enough to walk me through your front gate again?”

Rick’s expression sobered. “No. But I trust that you want to survive just as much as I do.”

Negan was quiet for a moment… and then he nodded. “Alright, Sheriff. I’ll play nice.”

Rick folded the map, slid it under his arm. “We leave at dawn.”

Negan watched him as he moved toward the door, the weight of this truce hanging heavy in the air. Before Rick stepped out, Negan called after him.

“Hey.”

Rick turned.

“I meant what I said. Back there… at the farmhouse. None of this’s been a game.”

Rick met his gaze — just for a beat — and nodded once. “I know.”

As Rick turned to leave the war room, map tucked under his arm, Negan’s voice stopped him again.

“Hey, wait.”

Rick paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to crash on a couch or the floor of the truck tonight,” Negan said, more casual than his words might’ve deserved. “Your old room’s still made up. Wasn’t sure why I kept it that way… guess I do now.”

Rick blinked, surprised. “You… kept it the same?”

Negan shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t exactly bring in a replacement. Guess part of me thought if you ever came back, you’d want your own space.”

Rick hesitated — heart thudding against his ribs — then nodded, slowly. “Alright. Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Negan said, already grabbing Lucille from the corner and falling into step beside him.

They didn’t say much as they walked down the dimly lit hallway, the quiet between them strangely… comfortable. Not long ago, silence between them meant something brewing. Now, it felt like a reprieve.

They reached the door — Rick’s old room.

Negan stopped in front of it, leaning against the frame with a small smirk. “If I was a better man, I’d make a joke right now. Something about seeing you to bed, tucking you in.”

Rick chuckled under his breath. “You’re not gonna?”

Negan gave a little shake of his head. “Nah. I’m trying to be decent. Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

Rick looked up at him, lips twitching. “You just did.”

Negan grinned at that — slow and smug — and then his eyes softened just a touch. “Get some sleep, Rick. Big day tomorrow. Lotta eyes on us. Gonna need that charming little scowl of yours fully recharged.”

Rick flushed slightly — the comment catching him off guard. He ducked his head as he pushed the door open.

“Good night, Negan.”

“Night, Sheriff.”

Rick lingered just a moment longer, halfway behind the door. Then he looked back, voice quiet.

“…Thanks. For everything.”

Negan didn’t say anything — just nodded once, slow and serious — before turning and walking away down the hall.

Rick closed the door behind him, exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The bed was the same. The room smelled faintly like old leather and warm wood, like something familiar. And for the first time in days… Rick felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a piece of peace waiting on the horizon

Chapter Text

Rick didn’t sleep much.
His mind had been a maze all night full of images of Whisperers, blood, Maggie’s cold stare, Carl’s words, Negan’s smirk, and Negans kiss. Everything blurred.

By the time dawn broke over the Sanctuary, the sky pale and dull, he was already dressed and standing by his truck, arms folded, watching his breath curl in the cool morning air. He looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes, jaw tight.

A loud rumble of an engine pulled his attention up.

One of the Saviors’ bigger supply trucks came to a screeching halt, gravel kicking up around its tires. The door swung open and a few of the Sanctuary men climbed out all sharp eyes, cocky shoulders, and loud voices.

They immediately started unloading crates from the back and placing new ones inside. Weapons. Medical gear. Canned food. All part of the show of good faith they were taking to Alexandria.

As they passed Rick, one of them a tall, sharp-faced man muttered under his breath with a crooked smirk, “Didn’t know the guest of honor would be waitin’ out here like a damn stray.”

Another one snorted and looked down, nudging the dirt by Rick’s boots with his toe. “Better not stand too close, boys. Wouldn’t want to scuff the sheriff’s pretty little shoes. Might cry to the boss.”

Rick’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. He stepped forward, voice flat and biting. “You got a problem with me, you say it like a man. Not behind your teeth.”

The first man stepped forward, clearly ready to escalate. “Or what? You’ll go runnin’ to Negan again? Seems to be the only thing you’re good at these days.”

Rick’s fists clenched. His heart thudded in his chest and he was two seconds from knocking the bastard flat on his back when a familiar drawl rang out from behind:

“Gentlemen.”
Negan’s voice was calm, almost amused, but with that unmistakable edge that cut through noise like a blade.

Rick looked over to see him descending the Sanctuary stairs, coat brushing behind him, Lucille slung over his shoulder.

“This what passes for team-building now?” Negan added dryly, approaching. “Because if it is, I’ve got a whole stack of TPS reports for your ass, and we can call it a day.”
The men immediately backed down, stiffening and muttering a few apologies as they returned to the truck.

Rick, still burning, stormed up to Negan and grabbed his arm, dragging him aside behind one of the smaller jeeps.

“You can’t let that shit slide,” Rick hissed low. “Not in front of people. Not when we’re about to walk into Alexandria together. They see that, hear that it’s gonna blow everything up before it even starts.”
Negan didn’t resist. He let Rick pull him aside, only looking at the hand still gripping his arm and then back at Rick’s face. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes.

A softness.

A pull.

Rick realized how close they were. His hand still on Negan’s arm, breath brushing between them in the morning chill. For a second, neither of them spoke. Just stood there, pressed between tension and something else entirely.

Rick cleared his throat, stepped back, letting go. “I mean it,” he said, voice rougher now. “Everything’s fragile. You wanna prove this can work? Don’t let your people walk all over mine.”

Negan just smiled slow, smug, familiar. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Noted, Sheriff. Promise I’ll give ’em the ol’ ‘we’re all one big happy apocalypse family’ speech. Rainbows and sunshine.”
Rick shook his head, exasperated but grateful, and turned back toward his truck.

Behind him, Negan watched for another long moment before turning toward the supply line, voice booming:

“Alright! Let’s get this love train rollin’. Try not to look like assholes when we get there, huh?”
Rick climbed into the truck, hands gripping the wheel tighter than he meant to heart still racing, mind still clouded. But they were on the move now.

And whatever came next… would define everything.

-
-

The gates of Alexandria creaked open under Rick’s hand.
He stepped through first, dust still settling behind him from the caravan that followed. The morning sun cast long shadows over the familiar gravel path, and for the first time in a while, it really did feel like home. Or… close enough.

Michonne was there waiting.
Her eyes softened the second she saw him, and before he could say anything, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug tight and quiet, like she’d been holding her breath since he left. He leaned into it, burying his face in her shoulder just for a beat, letting himself feel it.

“Welcome home,” she said gently against his ear.
He stepped back just as Daryl approached, arms crossed and ever skeptical.

“So,” Daryl muttered, glancing toward the dust cloud behind them, “this really gonna work?”
Rick gave a small exhale, hand settling on his hip, gaze narrowing.

“It has to,” he said. “This is our shot. Maybe our last one.”
Michonne and Daryl exchanged a look cautious, hopeful, unsure.

Behind them, engines rumbled closer.

Rick turned just in time to see the Sanctuary’s convoy pulling in. The biggest truck came first, followed by two more vehicles, all heavy with crates and Saviors packed inside. The second the doors opened, Alexandria seemed to go silent.

People paused mid-step, mid-conversation. Mothers pulled their kids closer. Hands moved to belts, resting near weapons. Eyes stared. Judged.

Then, Negan stepped out.

Lucille slung over his shoulder like she belonged there. His coat was open, black shirt underneath soaked with the sun. Simon and Arat flanked him like dark satellites, but it was Negan’s gaze that swept the place first slow, careful, daring.

Rick walked toward him. His boots scuffed against the gravel, heartbeat oddly calm.

He stopped just a foot in front of him and nodded toward the bat.

“You promised you wouldn’t bring it.”
Negan exhaled dramatically through his nose, cocking his head.

“What can I say, Ricky boy? Old habits die hard. Besides…” he gave Lucille a lingering pat “she gets separation anxiety.”
Rick raised an eyebrow.

Negan groaned theatrically, rolled his eyes, then turned back to the truck, walking over and placing Lucille inside the passenger seat like a person. He shut the door and turned back around, empty-handed now, palms open.

Rick offered a small, wry smile. It was more than he expected.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing him forward. “We’ve got introductions to make.”

He led Negan, Simon, and Arat up the path where Daryl and Michonne waited. The tension practically crackled in the air.

Negan’s smile twisted a little when he laid eyes on Daryl.

“Well, shit. If it isn’t my favorite scowlin’, crossbow-carryin’, perpetually pissed-off hillbilly. You still grunting full sentences, or should I translate in head tilts?”
Daryl didn’t even blink. He just stared.

Rick nudged Negan with his elbow, muttering under his breath, “Try not to start something.”

Negan gave a huff, looking back at Daryl and then at Michonne.

“Fine. Peace mode, got it.” He turned to Michonne. “Brought gifts. Supplies. Weapons. Medicine. All real nice and neatly labeled. ‘Cause I’m not just a pretty face I’m a giver.”
Michonne’s jaw tightened, but she nodded.

Rick spoke up before things could tip sideways.

“We’re gonna have a meeting. You, me, leaders of the Hilltop and the Kingdom. You say you wanna work together? Time to show ’em.”
Negan lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“Lead the way, Sheriff.”
And so Rick did walking side by side with Negan through the gates of Alexandria, feeling the heat of every stare, the hum of every loaded emotion.

This was the strangest peace dinner ever assembled. But maybe, just maybe… it was the start of something better.

-
-

They’d been told he was coming.

Every leader still sitting in the meeting hall had nodded their reluctant agreement just days ago that Negan should be invited to Alexandria, that it was necessary, that survival mattered more than history.

Through the heavy wood, he could already hear the low murmur of voices: Carol’s measured tone, Ezekiel’s calm baritone, Rosita snapping at someone maybe Daryl — and Maggie, her voice cold as ice as she repeated the same words she’d said the night they agreed to this:

“If he shows up swinging that bat like it’s some peace offering, I walk.”

Rick closed his eyes, took a breath, and pushed the door open.

Maggie was at the table. Arms crossed, jaw clenched.
Carol sat beside Ezekiel, calm but unreadable.
Rosita had a knife in her hands not threateningly, just sharpening it… slowly. Loudly.

Rick stood at the head of the table. Alone.

“He’ll be here soon,” he said quietly.
No one replied.

And then the doors opened behind him.

Negan walked in like a storm that forgot how to thunder.

No Lucille. No swagger. Just long strides and a faint, unreadable smirk. Simon and Arat trailed behind him, alert but quiet. They didn’t expect a warm welcome. And they weren’t getting one.

The moment he entered, all noise died. Chairs shifted. Faces tightened.

Maggie didn’t look away.

Michonne stood at Rick’s side, nodding once steadying him. She was the only reason he was still standing.

Negan stopped at the edge of the circle of chairs, eyes flicking across the room like a wolf assessing a trap. Rick caught the briefest hesitation — just a flicker — before he recovered.

“Well damn,” Negan said lowly, voice rough but calm. “If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under. Again.”
No one laughed.

Rick motioned toward the open chair beside Ezekiel. “Let’s get to it.”

Negan sat without argument.

Simon and Arat remained standing at the back wall — respectful, for once.

Rick turned to face the group. His group. His people.

“You’ve all heard what we’re dealing with. These aren’t just walkers. They move different. Smarter. They use the dead — walk with them. Hide among them.”
He saw the tension ripple across the room again. Every time he said it out loud, it felt more impossible.

“Jesus was stabbed,” Rick continued. “By something that looked like a walker, but it wasn’t. It was human. Disguised.”
Rosita broke the silence, eyes flicking toward Negan.

“And you thought bringing him here would help?”
Negan didn’t rise to the bait. Just leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, watching her with a calm that was unsettling in itself.

“I didn’t bring him here,” Rick said firmly. “I invited him. Because this threat it’s bigger than any of us. Bigger than our grudges.”
Maggie’s voice was sharp as a blade.

“What about Glenn?”
The room froze.

Rick looked down, jaw clenching. He didn’t have an answer that could make that right.

It was Carol who finally spoke up, her voice soft but strong.

“None of this makes it right. But if we let the past kill us, these new things out there won’t have to try very hard.”
Ezekiel nodded slowly. “The world has changed. Again. And if we cannot adapt together, we will fall separately.”

Rosita stabbed her knife into the wood table with a snap. “So what? We let him in? Sit him at our table like nothing happened?”

“No,” Michonne answered simply. “We don’t forget. But we don’t die because we couldn’t try.”
Everyone fell quiet again.

Negan hadn’t spoken.

Until now.

“Look, I know I’m the last person anyone here wants to see. And trust me, if I thought I could fight these freaks alone, I would. But I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the signs. I’ve lost men. You think I like being on the same side as you assholes? I don’t. But I do like breathing. So maybe, just maybe, we focus on staying alive.”
No apology. But not exactly arrogance either.

Rick studied him. That unreadable expression was back — like Negan was holding something behind his teeth and biting down hard on it.

“This isn’t a peace treaty,” Rick said. “It’s survival. We share intel. We protect our people. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Carol, Ezekiel, Michonne they nodded. Slowly.

Others followed.

Maggie didn’t. But she didn’t leave, either.

Rick took that as the best he was going to get.

Later that evening, Rick stood outside the council room alone, trying to process what just happened. The wind picked up, sharp and cool. A storm was coming. From the woods. From the inside.

Footsteps approached behind him.

Negan.

“Hell of a reunion,” he muttered, stopping beside Rick. “Rosita looked like she wanted to gut me with that knife. Honestly? Little turned on.”
Rick shook his head, but a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You handled yourself better than I thought you would.”

Negan tilted his head, mock offended. “Careful, Grimes. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Rick didn’t smile.

“I meant what I said,” he added. “This isn’t peace. But it’s a chance. And I’m not letting it go.”

Negan watched him closely, eyes scanning Rick’s face like he was trying to read the pages of a book with half the words torn out.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Negan asked.
Rick looked at the sky.

“No. But it has to.”

Then Rick exhaled and motioned toward the row of houses just off the main path.

“There’s a guest house. Empty. Two bedrooms. You and your people can stay there until we sort things out.”
“What, no welcome basket?” Negan drawled, but the usual edge in his voice wasn’t there. Just exhaustion wrapped in sarcasm. “Hope you don’t mind me bringing my own soap.”
Rick didn’t bite. He met Negan’s eyes squarely.

“Just don’t cause trouble. Everyone here is on edge. You show them you’re serious about this? They’ll meet you halfway.”
“And if I don’t?”
Rick stepped in close not threatening, just… resolute.

“Then you’ll see exactly how much trust you’ve burned.”
Negan was quiet for a beat, staring at him. That smirk softened. Then, quietly:

“That really what this is about? Trust?”
Rick looked away, then back. Something passed between them. That old heat, dulled but never gone. That tension that made every word feel like it could tip a scale.

“Just get some rest. We meet again tomorrow at nine.”
He turned to leave, but Negan caught his arm gently.

“Rick.”
Rick looked back.

“Thanks for not making me sleep in the cell.”
Rick allowed the faintest smile just a flash.

“You can thank me by not screwing this up.”
He walked off into the dark, leaving Negan standing in the quiet with nothing but porch lights and memories to keep him company.

-
-

The sun wasn’t even at its peak, but the heat inside the council hall was suffocating and not just from the bodies packed in or the air barely stirred by the cracked windows.

Rick sat at the head of the table, flanked by Michonne and Ezekiel. Daryl leaned against the far wall. Across the table, Maggie sat stiff, her arms crossed, brows drawn. The room was filled with faces: Carol, Rosita, Aaron, Tara, Yumiko, Connie, and even Magna and at the very end, Negan.

He hadn’t said much all morning. Just watched. Listened. Every once in a while, he offered a brief nod or a “sounds smart” but no jokes, no grin. Lucille was locked in the truck, and Negan looked smaller without her, though not less dangerous.

“We’ll sweep the forest perimeter every third shift,” Aaron was saying. “At least until we know the Whisperers haven’t relocated closer.”
“We need runners to Hilltop and Kingdom,” Michonne added, “keep supply lines open. No one goes alone. Always in pairs.”

Negan nodded once. “Smart.”

Rick marked it down. He hated that part of him still clocked every time Negan didn’t push back.

Then Maggie stood. The room shifted with her.

“There’s another strategy,” she said, voice cool. “Something Hilltop’s already discussed. We move north and push them back with a bait front but we use Saviors to draw the line. They’ve got the numbers. Their people are used to more aggressive maneuvers. They lead the charge.”
The silence was immediate. Rick’s pen paused mid-note.

Negan’s jaw clenched.

“Excuse me?” he said, rising to his feet slowly, voice low but sharp. “So what your grand plan is to send my people into a goddamn death trap?”
Maggie’s expression didn’t shift. “We’ve lost too much already. Glenn, Abraham, others. If you’re serious about peace, then this is your chance to prove it.”

Negan’s voice rose. “Peace doesn’t mean suicide missions. It doesn’t mean throwing bodies at the problem and hoping the Whisperers choke on bones. That’s not strategy, it’s revenge.”

“And what would you know about revenge?” Maggie snapped, standing now too. “You don’t get to talk about sacrifice when you sat in a throne built on corpses.”
“I know damn well what I’ve done,” Negan growled, stepping toward the table. “I’m not running from it. But I’m not letting you use it as a reason to wipe us out either.”
“Enough,” Rick finally said, rising and slamming a hand on the table.
All heads turned to him.

“We reassess. This doesn’t work if we’re throwing each other to the wolves literal or otherwise.”
Carol nodded. “Rick’s right. We need the Saviors. We need everyone. The bait line needs to be volunteers not scapegoats.”

“And what if there aren’t enough volunteers?” Maggie fired back, still glaring at Negan. “What then?”
Negan let out a bitter laugh, pushing his chair back hard. “Then maybe the people who want peace shouldn’t act like war’s their answer to everything.”

He turned. Stormed toward the doors.

Rick took a step after him. “Negan—”

“Save it,” Negan snapped over his shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready to stop pretending this is unity and start acting like it.”
The door slammed behind him, leaving a sharp quiet in his wake.

Maggie didn’t sit back down. She stared at the door like she wanted it to burst open again just so she could say more.

Rick stayed standing, his mind spiraling.

They were barely holding the seams together and now the thread was pulling loose again.

And if they lost Negan... they might lose this fragile chance altogether.

After a minute delay Rick turned and started chasing after Negan.

“Negan!”

Rick’s boots pounded the dirt, faster now, his voice sharp and echoing across the open ground. But the man ahead of him didn’t stop not even a pause, not even a damn flinch. He just kept walking, shoulders tight, jaw clenched from what Rick could see even from behind.

“Negan, come on!”

Still nothing.

Rick jogged harder, chest heaving with frustration and guilt he wasn’t sure which one was worse. The wind bit at his face, a storm brewing behind every breath, and when Negan turned that corner near the tool shed, finally out of view of Alexandria, Rick saw his chance. He lunged.

He grabbed Negan’s arm and yanked him back.

“What the hell—” Negan spun, yanking his arm halfway free, face twisted in rage until his eyes landed on Rick’s, too close, too desperate. “Was this it, Rick?” he bit out, voice low and sharp like a blade. “That your grand fucking plan all along? Bring me here, wave the olive branch, then let Maggie offer up my people like cattle?”

Rick shook his head, his grip tightening. “That wasn’t part of the deal. I didn’t know she planned that.”

Negan scoffed bitterly, lips curled in disbelief. “Oh, please. You knew enough to get us here. What, you think I’m an idiot? You think you can just slap a handshake on top of a grave and call it progress?”

Rick’s chest rose and fell, fast, furious. “I didn’t know,” he said again, more firmly this time. “And it’s not going to happen. I shut it down.”

“Sure you did.” Negan laughed, but it was hollow a bite without teeth. “You don’t get it. I walk into that room and I see it all over again. The way they look at me. Like I’m already a body to bury. Trusting you trusting them it’s not worth it.”

“You think you’re the only one they look at like that?” Rick snapped. “Like you’re a monster? I’ve seen that look too. From Maggie. From Daryl. From everyone I’ve let down. And yeah maybe I deserve it. But this... this isn’t about you or me anymore. It’s about them. It’s about surviving.”

Negan opened his mouth, but Rick wasn’t done.

“You want the truth? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time. I wake up, and I see Carl’s face in Judith’s eyes and I think, ‘I better not screw this up again.’ I think about you—” his voice caught. “I think about the farmhouse. And I keep thinking, maybe it wasn’t all a mistake. Maybe we could’ve been more than all this.”

Negan’s stare softened just slightly but his expression was still clouded, unsure.

Rick took a small step closer, lowering his voice. “We need you. Maybe more than you think. You’re a leader. You always were, even when you were an asshole. And yeah, you scare the shit outta people. But right now? That might be the thing that saves us.”

Negan exhaled sharply. His hands finally relaxed, curling at his sides.

“I can’t lose you again,” Rick whispered. “So if you’ve got any part of you that still believes in this in us, in peace, in anything then don’t walk away now.”

For a long moment, Negan said nothing. Then he slowly sat on the wooden steps behind him, the weight of it all crashing down with a thud as he buried his head in his hands. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease, but it didn’t rise either.

Rick stepped forward, cautiously, like if he moved too fast, this would all blow away like dust.

He sat beside him.

Their knees brushed.

Negan didn’t look up, but his hand reached out blindly, finding Rick’s and holding it in a rough, calloused grip. Not forceful. Just steady.

Rick let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and held on just as tightly.

They didn’t speak again. They didn’t need to.

Because for now just for this moment silence meant survival.

And neither one of them had let go.

They sat there for a moment longer, just the rustle of the trees around them and the weight of everything unspoken between them. Rick’s heart had started to slow, but it still thudded in his ears from the confrontation, from the feelings tangled in everything Negan brought out of him, from the pressure of what came next.

Beside him, Negan lifted his head. His jaw was tight, but his eyes god, those eyes were steady and unguarded for once. He looked at Rick, no smirk, no bravado. Just real.

“I believe in us,” Negan said quietly. “I want this to work. I want all of us to survive.”

Rick’s throat felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t from anger. He nodded, his hand still in Negan’s.

“Then let’s go back in there,” Rick said. “Let’s face them. Let’s come up with a good damn plan so we can make that happen.”

Negan huffed a quiet laugh. “You sure know how to ruin a brooding exit.”

Rick cracked a faint smile. “You’ll live.”

They stood, brushing dirt from their jeans and walking back side by side. The tension still lingered like smoke but it was manageable now. Purposeful.

When they entered the council hall, the room went silent.

The buzz of murmuring stopped like someone had flipped a switch. Maggie, Rosita, Daryl, Michonne, Aaron, Carol, Ezekiel — every set of eyes turned toward them.

Rick felt the weight of every stare. Some curious. Some resentful. Some exhausted.

He stepped forward anyway.

“I know that last conversation didn’t go how any of us wanted,” Rick started, voice steady and clear. “We’ve all lost people. We’ve all got reasons to be angry. But this fight coming? It doesn’t care about our grudges or our history. It’s not just about Alexandria or the Sanctuary anymore.”

He took a breath, eyes scanning the faces in front of him.

“I’m calling it off. We’re scrapping it. It puts too many people at risk. Too much division. We reassess. We come up with something better. Together.”

A few seconds passed then the murmurs started again. But this time, they weren’t tense. They weren’t laced with venom.

Aaron nodded. Carol leaned in, whispering something to Ezekiel, who smiled. Even Rosita, arms still crossed, gave a short nod.

Maggie didn’t say anything but she didn’t protest.

Michonne stood, stepping beside Rick, her voice calm but firm. “We work together. That’s the only way we survive this.”

Negan remained a few steps behind Rick, arms crossed, face unreadable. But when Rick looked back at him, he caught something small but powerful a nod of agreement.

The war wasn’t over. The fight hadn’t even started.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like they were ready.

-
-

Rick sat alone in the dim glow of lantern light, elbows resting on the edge of the planning table. Maps were spread out before him, dotted with pins and scribbled notes, but his eyes were unfocused. The silence of Alexandria at night was heavy too heavy and his thoughts were loud.

The door creaked open, and heavy boots thudded in with casual authority.

“Well, well, Sheriff,” Negan drawled, stepping inside with his hands in his coat pockets. “You planning the future without me? Or are you just up past your bedtime?”

Rick looked up, exhaustion softening the usual edge in his expression. Despite everything, he let out a low chuckle. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well try to make something useful out of it.”

Negan walked over and leaned on the opposite side of the table, his gaze scanning the maps. “Mind if I help?”

Rick gave a small nod, and for the next hour or so, they talked quietly working through routes, supply lines, escape options, and scout rotations. Somewhere in that time, their conversation turned less tactical and more familiar. Laughter broke out once or twice. A bottle of cider left from a past celebration sat open between them.

“Alright,” Rick said eventually, dragging a red marker across the paper. “That… could actually work.”

Negan raised his brows. “Look at us. Almost like we don’t want each other dead anymore.”

Rick smiled not a wide one, but one of those small, rare smiles that meant something.

They both reached out at the same time to move a piece on the fingertips brushing. Rick’s hand froze. Negan’s did too.

Slowly, Rick looked up, meeting Negan’s eyes across the table. There was a beat of silence. Then two.

“You make it hard,” Negan said softly, voice rougher than usual, “to stay away.”

Rick’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice quiet, hoarse.

Negan rounded the table slowly, deliberately and stood in front of Rick. The tension was thick, but not aggressive. Just… charged.

Rick didn’t move away. Not this time.

Negan leaned in, one hand brushing Rick’s jaw, tentative but not unsure.

When their lips met, it wasn’t rushed or hungry not yet. It was firm, grounding. A kiss born from everything they hadn’t said and everything they’d survived. Rick’s hand came up to Negan’s shoulder, pulling him in just a little closer.

When they parted for air, Rick let out a shaky breath. “You think this is a mistake?”

Negan’s smirk was softer than usual. “Most of the good things in life are.”

They stayed close, leaning against the table, sharing quiet conversation and the comfort of being understood maybe for the first time in a long while.

Negan rested his forehead against Rick’s, his hands lightly gripping Rick’s waist. The tension between them hadn’t faded it simmered, low and steady, like coals that had been burning long before either of them realized it.

Rick’s fingers bunched in the fabric of Negan’s shirt, brushing against the open collar as he quietly said, “I shouldn’t want this… shouldn’t want you.”

Negan’s lips quirked into a crooked, tired smile. “You think I don’t know that, Sheriff?” he murmured. “I’ve tried walkin’ away more times than I care to admit.”

Rick leaned in, pressing his forehead into Negan’s chest, gripping the front of his shirt tighter.

Negan exhaled and let one hand slide up Rick’s back, his other settling along the curve of Rick’s jaw. “But here we are.”

And just like that, Rick kissed him again firmer this time. Slower, but no less intense. It was messy, unpracticed, but it was real. All that anger and confusion all the complicated history between them melted away in the heat of it.

Negan guided Rick back against the table, lifting him up gently to sit on the edge as their kiss deepened. The lantern light flickered around them, casting long shadows over war maps and supply plans that neither of them were thinking about anymore.

Rick’s hand threaded into Negan’s hair, tugging slightly, and Negan let out a quiet groan against his lips.

“I didn’t plan for this,” Rick muttered, his voice low.

“No one plans for this,” Negan said, brushing his thumb against Rick’s cheekbone. “Hell, Rick we’re a disaster.”

Rick huffed out something between a laugh and a breath. “Maybe,” he whispered. “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”
.
Negan’s hands gripped Rick’s hips as he kissed him like the world was finally tilting into place. Rick melted into it into him his fingers trailing up Negan’s neck, into his hair, tugging slightly, breath quickening.

Negan chuckled against Rick’s mouth, voice husky, “Keep that up and I’m not gonna be responsible for—”

Suddenly—

Screams.

Not just one. Several.

Piercing cries rang out from the streets of Alexandria, followed by the chilling, unmistakable groan of walkers.

They froze. Just for a second.

Then Rick jolted back, already reaching for his gun. “Shit.”

Negan’s entire body snapped into focus, his own hand flying to the bat holster at his side empty. “Lucille’s in the damn truck.”

They ran.

Out the door, down the front steps of the town hall, the cool night air cutting through the heat of the moment like a blade. The shouting grew louder, more frantic.

Children yelling. Metal clanging.

Rick’s boots pounded against the dirt as they raced to the sound. People were scrambling through the square armed residents, some half-dressed, some barefoot, stumbling from their homes with weapons in hand.

From the direction of the south wall, a horrifying sight came into view one of the barricades had collapsed inward. Walkers were flooding in.

“Son of a bitch,” Negan muttered, eyes wide, already charging forward.

Rick turned, shouting to anyone within range, “Get to the armory! Get on the rooftops push them back!”

Daryl was already there, blood on his shirt, taking out walkers with brutal swings of his crossbow. Michonne ran up beside Rick, katana drawn, face pale and furious. “They came out of nowhere like they were herded.”

Rick’s stomach dropped. He glanced at Negan saw the recognition, the alarm in his face.

“The Whispers,” Rick said under his breath.

Negan’s jaw clenched. “They knew when to strike.”

A walker lunged from the side. Rick swung, gun butt cracking its jaw. He stepped back, breathing hard. “We’ll talk later.”

Negan grunted. “If there’s a later.”

Together, they dove into the chaos two men once ready to destroy each other, now fighting back-to-back to save the very people who feared them both.

And somewhere behind the smoke, screaming, and blood that moment they shared still burned. But survival came first.

And the night was just beginning.

Chapter Text

The second those screams tore through Alexandria, Negan knew the night was ruined and not just because things had finally started going right with Rick.

The sound of walkers groaning close too close made his heart drop like a rock. And Rick was already flying down the stairs with that haunted, battle-hardened look in his eye.

Negan ran after him, boots slamming the ground. The square was erupting in chaos people were pouring out of their houses in every direction, yelling, some still pulling shirts on, others grabbing kids, weapons, anything.

“Lucille,” Negan muttered and broke hard left toward the truck they’d arrived in.

He threw the latch and yanked her free his bat, still wrapped in her barbed wire glory, was cold in his hand, familiar. Comforting in a sick way. She belonged here. Just like he did now.

And then it was game time.

Negan swung without hesitation, bringing Lucille down hard on the nearest walker, the crack of skull against wood echoing in the air. Blood splattered across his shirt, warm and fast. He didn’t care.

He spotted a woman trying to drag a kid away from a fallen gate, a walker closing in on her.

“Move!” Negan bellowed, rushing over. He shoved the walker off and swung head gone.

He helped them both up, adrenaline charging through him like a goddamn flood. “Get inside. Lock up. NOW.”

He turned again scanning for Rick.

No sign.

“Rick?!” he shouted, pushing past a small cluster of armed Alexandrians. More walkers were coming from the south too many. This wasn’t just a breach this was coordinated. Someone led them here.

His chest tightened.

He gripped Lucille tighter, muscles aching from each swing, but he couldn’t stop not until he found him.

Another walker lunged he ducked, came up swinging, the back of its skull folding under the force. He staggered back, panting, eyes darting.

Smoke from one of the burning barricades drifted in his path, and behind it nothing.

Still no Rick.

“Goddammit, Rick,” Negan muttered under his breath, panic crawling into his throat now. Not here. Not tonight. Not when they were finally—

He turned in a full circle, scanning every face, every swing of a blade, crossbow bolt, and club.

But Rick Grimes was nowhere to be seen.

And suddenly, none of the blood or the screaming mattered more than that.

“Rick!” he shouted again, voice ragged as he shoved another walker off his shoulder, the thing snarling before he caved its skull in with Lucille. His breath came fast, lungs burning, eyes scanning too much firelight, too many bodies, too many screams.

Then—

“Negan!”

He turned, half-ready to swing again until he saw Aaron, covered in grime and sweat, blood streaking his cheek.

“We need you. South gap gate's going to give again if we don’t hold it!”

Negan didn’t hesitate. “Lead the way.”

They ran side by side through the smoke, ducking between fighting Alexandrians, cries for help, and groaning walkers. Negan’s shoulder clipped a fencepost, jarring the bruised ribs he hadn’t let anyone see, but he didn’t slow.

As they rounded a corner, Negan spotted the panel where the breach had started two support beams cracked, the makeshift barricade barely holding under the weight of corpses trying to spill through.

He skidded to a stop, breath catching.

Rosita and Ezekiel were already there, holding the line. Rosita’s machete was drenched, her jaw clenched as she shouted orders. Ezekiel swung a blade like it was a dance, his posture still regal even in the storm of the dead.

Negan moved to help when an arrow whizzed past his head.

It thunked into the skull of a walker behind him. The body dropped with a thud.

He looked up.

Maggie.
On high ground, standing on a stack of pallets with a clear line of sight. Her bow was already drawn again, face cold and locked in. Around her were Hilltop soldiers, just as bloodied and battle-ready. For a split second, their eyes met.

Negan didn’t know what she saw. He didn’t ask.

Because she looked away and let the next arrow fly.

Good enough.

He turned back just in time to slam Lucille into another walker crawling over the rubble. Blood sprayed across his face. He ducked under a broken support beam and joined Aaron and two others in lifting one of the panels upright again.

“Push come on, push!” Aaron grunted.

The wood creaked. Negan growled low in his throat, ribs screaming in protest, but they forced the panel up. Rosita and another Hilltop fighter slammed new beams in place.

The horde pushed from the other side, but the barricade held.

And then—

“NOW!” someone shouted.

Arrows flew. Gunshots cracked. Pipes and rebar and blades came down in a brutal symphony.

Walkers fell.

One by one, they went down. Some still crawled through the gaps in the fence, but they were slower now, outnumbered.

The tide was turning.

Negan stood panting in the center of it all, Lucille heavy in his hands, blood on his face, smoke thick in his nose.

Still no Rick.

But for now, Alexandria still stood.

And Negan wasn’t going anywhere.

The barricade was almost done.

The final panel clicked into place as the last of the walkers were put down some with arrows, others with hard steel and boots to the skull. The air still reeked of death, but the worst had passed.

Negan exhaled, Lucille still tight in his grip, and turned, his eyes searching.

And there coming through the smoke, a little battered but standing tall, jogging up with that stubborn-ass half-grin on his face was Rick.

Goddamn.

His shirt was torn at the collar, red at the sleeves, dirt smeared on his cheeks. His curls stuck to his forehead, soaked in sweat and maybe a little blood. But he was there.

Alive.

And in that moment, Negan didn’t care about the war or the whispers or any of the bullshit. All he could think was he’s so goddamn beautiful. Even like this—especially like this.

His lips curled into a real smile, wide and warm. His heart swelled a little, like he could breathe again. He reached out his hand to meet Rick halfway.

“Hey, sweetheart—”

Agony.

Like fire ripping through his side.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then the pain came screaming in, hot and violent. He staggered back, eyes wide, Lucille falling from his hand.

Rick’s smile vanished. Screams erupted.

Negan’s hand pressed to his side and came away soaked in blood.

Another stab.

Lower. Sharper. Deeper.

The attacker moved fast a blur of tattered skin and the stink of rot. Not a walker. Not a walker. A Whisperer.

“NEGAN!” Rick’s voice tore through the chaos.

But Negan was already crumbling.

His knees gave out.

The ground slammed into his side, jarring pain through his ribs. Someone was yelling Rosita maybe? Ezekiel?

The world tilted.

Rick’s face panicked, running toward him was the last thing he saw before the dark swallowed him whole.

-
-

RICK POV
-
-
The last panel was finally up. Reinforced. The tide of walkers had slowed, and Rick jogged toward the group near the gap, spotting the familiar back of that damn leather jacket near the center. His chest tightened when he saw Negan Lucille still in his hand, sweat at his brow, blood on his shirt but none of it his. Not yet.

Rick allowed himself the smallest smile. Just for a moment.

Negan turned.

That cocky, crooked grin met his. For a second, Rick felt... relief. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding finally released.

He made it.

Rick quickened his pace. “Negan—”

Then everything shattered.

Negan flinched hard. His body lurched. Rick’s brain struggled to process what he was seeing then he saw the red. So much red.

“NEGAN!” he screamed, breaking into a run.

He saw the attacker a figure that looked like death itself, skin peeled back and face unrecognizable, weapon slick with blood. The “walker” moved too fast. Too human.

A Whisperer.

Negan dropped Lucille. His knees hit the ground.

The figure struck again.

Rick got there just in time to catch him as he collapsed.

“No, no shit Negan hey!” he shouted, dropping to his knees. He yanked his jacket off and pressed it to the wound. Blood soaked through immediately.

Negan’s face twisted in pain, lips parted but no words coming.

“Stay with me,” Rick begged, voice cracking. “You hear me? You son of a bitch, stay awake. You don’t get to check out now. Not now. Not after all this.”

Negan tried to say something. His mouth moved. A cough. A grunt. Blood at the corner of his mouth.

Rick wiped it away with a trembling thumb. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he repeated. It sounded hollow even to him.

Rick’s hand pressed tighter, trying to slow the bleeding. “You ain’t going out like this, Negan. You’re not. I won’t let you.”

“Rick!” Daryl’s voice rang out from behind him.

Rick didn’t look back.

A shot cracked out. Rick flinched, but it wasn’t aimed at them.

The Whisperer screamed behind him, their leg buckling as the bullet tore through it.

“Got him!” Daryl shouted. “Take him alive! Put him in the damn cell!”

Aaron and Tara rushed in, grabbing the wounded Whisperer, dragging him away as he hissed and cursed. He didn’t even sound human anymore.

Rick looked down. Negan’s eyes were fluttering, his breathing shallow.

“Stay with me,” Rick whispered, pressing his forehead to Negan’s temple. “Come on, baby, you fight harder than anyone I know. Don’t you dare give up.”

Rosita was suddenly at his side with a makeshift stretcher. “We’ve gotta move. Now.”

Rick nodded, too panicked to speak.

As they carefully lifted Negan onto the stretcher, Rick didn’t let go of his hand.

Rick’s hands were covered in Negan’s blood.

It stained under his fingernails, dark and drying, caking in the lines of his palms no matter how tightly he gripped the edge of the infirmary cot. It was everywhere. He could still feel its warmth even as Siddiq pressed gauze to the wound, barking quick orders to Rosita and Magna as they moved around the small, sterile space.

"Clamp," Siddiq snapped.

Rick watched, barely blinking.

Negan lay still too still. His face was pale, soaked with sweat. His shirt had been cut open, his side wrapped and soaked again, gauze being swapped out faster than Rick could follow.

Michonne's hand found his shoulder.

He flinched.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her eyes scanning him. “He’s not gone.”

Rick swallowed. “I should’ve seen it coming. I... I let my guard down.”

“He saved people today,” she said, “so did you. You both did.”

Rick didn’t answer. He watched Siddiq work like the world depended on it, and maybe it did. Rick had seen the way Negan fought like a man with something to live for. Not vengeance. Not glory. Something real.

A family. A home. Him.

“Pulse is thready,” Siddiq muttered. “We’re gonna need more sutures. Keep that pressure.”

Rosita moved quickly, blood smeared on her sleeves, focused and fierce as ever. Magna came back with a fresh med kit, glancing once at Rick before moving to Siddiq’s side.

Rick didn’t even realize his legs were buckling until Michonne pulled a chair under him.

“I can’t fall apart right now,” he whispered.

“No,” she agreed gently, crouching beside him. “You can fall apart later. Right now, you breathe. You hold his hand if that’s what keeps you still.”

He didn’t argue. He just reached for Negan’s hand, calloused and blood-slicked. He held it like it might anchor him to reality.

The door opened and closed as others rushed in and out—clean-up crews, injured fighters, people giving updates Rick barely registered. Ezekiel was organizing defense reinforcement. Daryl was out at the wall. Tara was setting up night patrols.

Everyone was moving.

And Rick sat still, his eyes locked on the pale face of a man he once called his enemy… a man who had bled out in his arms tonight.

“Come on,” he whispered so only Negan could hear. “I didn’t say it before, but you already know. You knew. So don’t make me say it like this. Not like this.”

Negan didn’t respond.

But his fingers, weak as they were, curled just slightly around Rick’s.

Rick closed his eyes.

And for the first time in hours he let himself breathe.

-
-

Rick didn’t remember when he fell asleep.

One minute he was just watching Negan breathe—slow, shallow but steady. The next, the room was quieter than before, and his neck was sore from the way he’d slumped forward in the chair, still gripping Negan’s hand like a lifeline.

He blinked the blur from his eyes, straightened slowly, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Two hours had passed. Siddiq had stepped out at some point, and only a dim lamp illuminated the room. The world outside the infirmary had calmed, at least for the night.

And then—
A low groan broke the silence.

Rick sat up fast, his heart leaping into his throat. “Negan?” he whispered.

Negan shifted slightly, a wince pinching his face, his eyelids fluttering. “Mmmph... fuck… did someone get the name of the truck that hit me?”

Rick let out a startled breath that turned into a laugh. “Still got that mouth,” he murmured, leaning closer. “You scared the hell outta me.”

Negan’s eyes cracked open, unfocused but aware. “Don’t go soft on me, sheriff… not when I’m lookin’ like roadkill.”

“You look worse than roadkill,” Rick teased, his voice thick with something softer. “But you’re alive.”

Negan tilted his head slightly, lips twitching. “You stayed.”

“I never left.”

They were quiet for a second. Rick brushed a strand of sweaty hair from Negan’s forehead, lingering in the touch. It didn’t feel foreign anymore. It felt right. Natural. Like something that had always been there but took the end of the world for either of them to see.

“I thought I lost you,” Rick admitted quietly.

Negan’s eyes found his. “You almost did. But shit… you’re hard to leave behind.”

Rick gave a soft laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed now. “I’m not good at this. Talking about… feelings.”

“Yeah, well… good news.” Negan’s voice was hoarse, but his smirk was real. “I am.”

Rick chuckled again, but it faded quickly as he looked down, serious now. “I care about you. More than I expected. More than I wanted to. But I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Negan blinked slowly. “You think I don’t know? Every time you look at me, Rick… it’s like I’m the only thing anchoring you down. Same way you’ve been holdin’ me together.”

He reached out, shaky but determined, and gripped Rick’s wrist. “I wanted to hate you forever, but turns out, I just couldn’t. And now I don’t want to.”

Rick let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. “Neither do I.”

Negan nodded faintly. “Then let’s figure this out. When I get outta this bed, when I stop feeling like I’ve been stabbed by a goddamn ghost—”

But just then, the door creaked open.

Daryl stepped inside, boots heavy against the floor. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was firm. “Rick. We need you.”

Rick turned, instantly alert. “What is it?”

“The prisoner,” Daryl said. “He started talkin’. Said some shit you’re gonna want to hear. Urgent.”

Negan groaned. “Ah, the freak in the flesh robe finally got tired of playin’ cryptic. What, did he start speakin’ in tongues again?”

Rick gave him a look. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Better,” Negan said, slumping deeper into the pillow. “Can’t be charming without someone to impress.”

Rick smiled faintly and leaned down. He kissed Negan’s forehead gently, thumb brushing over his temple. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Negan grunted. “You make that sound like a challenge.”

Rick gave his hand one last squeeze before pulling away. As he stepped past Daryl, he could still feel Negan’s eyes on him.

Something in his chest ached but it wasn’t pain. Not this time.

-
-

The hallway leading down to the holding cells felt colder than Rick remembered. Even with the heavy tension of war lately, this part of Alexandria always seemed separate still, quiet. But not tonight. Tonight, the air vibrated with something off. Something wrong.

Daryl walked beside him, jaw tight, eyes forward. Rick could tell he was holding something back.

“What’s he been saying?” Rick asked, voice low.

Daryl glanced at him, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes. “Nonsense mostly. Some of it sounds like scripture. Other times like he’s talkin’ to someone who ain’t there.”

Rick frowned. “Crazy?”

“Crazy like a fox,” Daryl muttered. “He knows things. Where our outposts were. How many patrols go out. But every time we press, he just starts smilin’. Like he’s waitin’.”

They pushed through the heavy metal door, Michonne and Rosita standing just inside. Maggie was already near the cell, arms folded, jaw clenched.

“He say anything new?” Rick asked, voice low.

Rosita didn’t look away from the cell. “Enough to scare some of the younger guards.”

“What kind of things?” Rick asked.

“He knows our rotation schedule,” Michonne said. “Which towers are manned. Which nights we’re lighter. And he recited the Hilltop’s gate codes like they were nothing.”

Rick’s blood went cold.

Inside the cell, the man sat hunched on the bench, eyes hidden under greasy, stringy hair. But he lifted his head at the sound of Rick’s voice and smiled.

That smile made Rick’s stomach turn.

“Well, look who finally came to visit,” the man rasped, his voice thick like wet gravel. “The great Rick Grimes. Thought maybe you’d keep hiding behind your walls while we listened. Watched. Learned.”

Rick kept his tone steady. “You’ve been spying. How long?”

The man chuckled low and hollow. “Long enough to know you’ve built a house of glass. And soon, the wind's gonna blow.”

Daryl took a step closer to the bars. “You better start answering real questions before we drag your ass out to the fields and let the crows get you.”

The prisoner didn’t flinch. “You think you’ve seen fear. But you haven’t met the ones who walk like the dead, live like shadows. They’re coming.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Who are they?”

“You’ll know,” the man said. “When your gates fall. When the dead don’t just moan, but speak.”

Silence fell across the group. Rick didn’t move, his heart pounding harder than he’d admit.

“Your plans,” the man continued. “Your supply routes. The safe houses. We know all of it. And we know the weak points the ones you didn’t even realize were there.”

“Enough,” Maggie snapped. “He’s trying to get in our heads.”

“But he’s already there,” the man whispered.

Daryl grabbed the bars with both hands and leaned in close. “You keep talkin’, I swear you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

The prisoner just smiled wider.

Rick turned sharply, voice clipped. “He’s not gonna give us anything else. Not now.”

Michonne gave a short nod. “We’ll increase watch. Check every outpost. And get every scout briefed on this.”

Rosita lingered a second longer, glaring into the cell before turning and walking out.

Daryl shut the gate and double-checked the lock. “I don’t like this,” he muttered as they walked away.

Rick glanced back once. The prisoner had started humming a strange, tuneless sound, off-rhythm, low like something buried deep.

Neither of them said a word until they were back outside. The air was still, but the tension pressed down harder than ever.

“He’s not bluffing,” Rick finally said.

Daryl gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. I know.”

They didn’t say the other part out loud. That something worse than Negan was out there now. And whatever it was it already had their scent.

Rick stepped out of the cellblock, the heavy door groaning shut behind him. The low murmur of the watchtower torches flickered against the night. Daryl walked beside him, arms crossed, boots crunching gravel in the dark silence.

They walked in silence a few more steps before Rick stopped and turned to face him. “Send a team out tomorrow. First light. Scouting detail south perimeter, and maybe check Hilltop’s routes too. Quiet, quick, in and out. If they’re watching us... we need to know how close.”

Daryl gave a short nod. “Rosita, Aaron, maybe Magna. They’ll handle it.”

Rick nodded. “Good. Make sure they’re careful. These people whoever they are they're not just hiding in the woods. They’re walking right up to our walls.”

Daryl looked at him, brow pinched like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just muttered, “Get some sleep, Rick.”

“You too,” Rick said softly, watching Daryl walk off into the shadows toward the barracks.

Rick’s body ached from the stress, the lack of sleep, the never-ending wheel of leadership. But his feet carried him back toward the infirmary without a second thought.

The hall was dim, lit by the last few battery-powered lamps. His boots echoed faintly across the tile, and when he pushed the door open, he found Negan half-sitting up in the bed, one arm braced around his bandaged ribs, the other gesturing animatedly toward Siddiq, who stood by with a clipboard and a tired smile.

Negan looked up when Rick entered and broke into a lazy grin.

“Well, well, the man himself,” he drawled. “Doc was just giving me the lowdown on how not to die painfully and in slow motion. Real mood booster.”

Rick couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How bad is it?”

Siddiq answered, pulling off his gloves. “Not great. But he’s stable. The wound missed anything vital by about a finger’s width. Lucky.”

Negan scoffed. “Lucky? I’d call it poor aim. They had two shots at me.”

Rick moved closer, slowly, eyes scanning the fresh wrappings on Negan’s side. The bandages were pink with fresh blood but not soaking anymore. Still breathing. Still here.

“That second stab… got deep,” Siddiq added, quieter. “He’ll be sore for a while. No heavy lifting. No fights.”

“Which rules out our usual date nights, I guess,” Negan teased.

Rick let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at him. “Guess I’ll have to be the one keeping you out of trouble for once.”

Negan tilted his head, squinting up. “You saying we’re switching roles now? You gonna start swinging Lucille and I’ll start giving the hope speeches?”

Before Rick could answer, Siddiq cleared his throat with a small smile. “On that note… I’ll give you two a minute.”

He slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Rick moved to the edge of the bed, lowering himself into the chair Siddiq had vacated. For a moment, he just sat there, looking at Negan his face pale under the warm light, brow furrowed slightly from pain, but his eyes sharp and fixed on Rick.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Rick murmured.

Negan’s voice dropped into something softer, something rare. “Yeah. You didn’t look too calm yourself out there.”

Rick reached out, fingertips brushing Negan’s hand — the one that wasn’t tangled in gauze or bruised.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Rick said. “Together.”

Negan nodded once, serious. “Together.”

For the first time in days, Rick let himself breathe.

Rick leaned back in the chair, letting the tension finally begin to unwind in his shoulders. The storm outside had passed, leaving behind only the ticking of a clock on the infirmary wall and the occasional creak of Alexandria settling into sleep.

Negan was still watching him — not with his usual smirk, but something gentler, quieter. Like he was trying to memorize Rick's face in this moment, just in case.

“So,” Negan said after a pause, “you gonna sit there all night making googly eyes at me, or are you planning to fall asleep drooling on the floor again?”

Rick huffed out a laugh. “That was once.”

“That was twice,” Negan corrected. “And I still got the mental scars.”

“You’re lucky I don’t count all the times you’ve passed out snoring like a damn freight train.”

Negan raised an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s a powerful war cry. You should be honored.”

Rick chuckled, then rested his elbow on the side of the bed, propping his head up with his hand. “If you start talking in your sleep tonight, I’m getting a pillow and putting it over your face.”

“Shit,” Negan muttered with a crooked grin, “romance is alive and well.”

They fell into a quiet lull again, this one comfortable. Familiar. Like something between them had settled into place, even if just for the night.

Rick glanced over at him, taking in the bruises under his eye, the faint color returning to his cheeks. And he thought really thought how much had changed between them.

“I was scared,” he said, quieter now. “Back out there, when I saw you go down.”

Negan didn’t make a joke this time. He just nodded slightly and said, “Yeah. I saw that look. I think it broke me more than the damn knife did.”

Rick smiled at that, the edges of his mouth curling with something real. He leaned back again in the chair, his body finally giving up the fight to stay upright. His eyelids drooped, and when he yawned, it was wide and sudden.

Negan gave him a look. “Alright, cowboy. That’s your cue. Go home. Get some sleep. I’m not dying tonight, I promise.”

Rick blinked slowly, rubbing at his eyes, but didn’t move right away. “You sure?”

“I’ll be right here,” Negan said, softer now. “Annoying the hell out of Siddiq in the morning and making Arat bring me terrible food I can complain about. I got a full schedule of being a pain in the ass.”

Rick smiled, finally rising to his feet. His hand brushed against Negan’s again, letting it linger for just a second longer than necessary.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Rick said.

Negan smirked. “Not really in the position to, Rick.”

Rick laughed under his breath and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Negan’s forehead. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

Negan watched him as he turned toward the door, voice low but full of something warm. “Sweet dreams, sheriff.”

Rick paused, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “Don’t let the walkers bite.”

And with that, he slipped out into the night.

-
-

The morning air was crisp, cooler than usual, and the sun was barely over the walls when Rick laced up his boots and started his usual loop around the perimeter. Since the attack, these runs had become routine in not just to check the fences, but to clear his head.

Sleep had been short and scattered, his mind always drifting back to Negan.

Rick paused halfway down the eastern wall, squinting through the slats, watching the tree line. Still no movement. He made a note to reinforce that section — the south wall had already taken a beating, and he wouldn’t let them get caught off guard again.

He made his way back across the compound, giving a nod to a few early risers. Most gave him a polite smile. Others newer residents or still wary ones just nodded stiffly and moved on. That was fine. Rick didn’t need the smiles. He needed them safe.

Before heading back, he cut through the infirmary. Siddiq was writing something down at his desk and looked up as Rick stepped inside.

“He’s doing okay,” Siddiq said before Rick could ask. “Fever’s down. Resting.”

Rick gave a small nod, stepping quietly to the curtain. Through the small opening, he caught a glimpse of Negan sleeping breath even, color better, his arm flopped out over the blanket in that ridiculous way he always did. Rick let himself linger for just a second longer before backing away.

He stepped back into the sunlight and headed toward the main wall with a hammer and nails, ready to patch a loose panel he’d noticed the night before.

But just as he lifted the first nail, shouts erupted from the front gates.

“Open it! We need through!”

Rick’s head snapped up.

The gate groaned open, and Aaron, Magna, and Yumiko pushed inside dirty, scraped, and dragging a girl between them.

Young. Maybe fourteen, fifteen. Long stringy hair, wide frightened eyes, and clothes filthy with dirt and what looked like... dried walker guts.

Rick’s stomach twisted.

The girl wasn’t fighting them she was crying.

“We found her near the river,” Aaron said quickly as Rick jogged up to them. “She didn’t attack. Just… froze. But Rick, she was wearing one of those masks.”

Magna held up the grim thing in her hand a mask, crudely sewn from rotting walker skin.

Rick’s eyes moved back to the girl, whose chin trembled as she looked up at him. She flinched when his gaze met hers.

“I–I’m not gonna hurt anyone,” she whispered. “Please. I was just trying to get away.”

Rick knelt down in front of her, eye level.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

“Lydia.”

“Where are you from, Lydia?”

Her eyes darted around the crowd forming behind them. She shook her head. “I–I can’t say. If they find me—”

“You’re safe here,” Rick said firmly. “But I need to know what you know. People are dying out there.”

“I didn’t want them to,” she said, voice cracking. “I don’t want this war.”

Rick’s throat felt dry.

“Magna, take her to the infirmary. Get her cleaned up. Not a cell.”

Magna hesitated, looking at Rick in disbelief.

“She’s a Whisperer, Rick.”

“She’s a kid.”

Magna and Yumiko exchanged a glance, but nodded. Lydia was led away, still shaking, her eyes locked on Rick until she disappeared into the crowd.

Aaron stepped beside him.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” he asked.

Rick stared ahead, heart pounding. “I don’t know. But if she is... we might have just found our chance to end this before it starts.”

Aaron exhaled. “And if she’s not?”

Rick's jaw tensed.

“Then we’ve got a bigger problem than we thought.”

Chapter Text

Negan was losing his goddamn mind.

He was propped up in bed, one arm bandaged to hell, the other resting behind his head. The cot creaked when he shifted, and every time he turned wrong, a hot knife of pain reminded him he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

The worst part wasn’t the wound. Wasn’t even the healing. It was the boredom.

“You know,” he drawled lazily, “if I lay here any longer, I might start naming the cracks in your damn ceiling, doc.”

Siddiq, to his credit, didn’t even look up from the tray of medical supplies he was organizing.

“Why don’t you name them in your head?” he replied without missing a beat. “Quietly.”

“Ouch,” Negan said with mock offense. “So much for bedside manner. Bet Rick gets treated better.”

“He doesn’t talk as much.”

Negan smirked. “Only because he’s always busy thinking about me.”

Siddiq sighed like he was debating whether sedation was justified.

The room was quiet again. Too quiet.

Negan stared at the far wall, eyes glazed. His thoughts drifted back to the night before Rick’s face soft and smiling in the moonlight, his hand warm, his mouth gentle. That damn yawn. That sleepy laugh. The way he promised to come back.

Shit, he thought, tipping his head back. I’m gone for this man.

He was so far in his own head that he barely noticed Enid slip in to check the storage cabinet, until she startled when he spoke.

“So what’s it like, working under Dr. Doom over there?” he asked, nodding toward Siddiq with a crooked grin.

Enid glanced over her shoulder, then smirked. “He’s not that bad. Better than you’d be.”

“Oh, ouch. Two in one day. I’m gonna need stitches for that one.”

“You already have stitches.”

“Yeah. And trauma. Emotional. You people are cruel.”

Enid rolled her eyes and went back to organizing.

That was when it started.

The sound of shouting outside the infirmary walls. Distant at first, then louder. Urgent. Footsteps pounding down the street. Doors slamming.

Negan sat up straighter, frowning. “The hell is that?”

Siddiq paused, halfway through writing a label, his head tilted. He stepped toward the door just as it burst open, and a flood of voices and movement spilled inside.

Enid rushed to help as Magna, Aaron, and Yumiko hauled someone in , a girl. Young. Pale. Dirty. Dried blood across her shirt. Hands cuffed in front of her as they moved her quickly to one of the beds across the room.

Negan leaned forward, squinting to get a better look just before someone probably Enid pulled the curtain shut between them.

“Seriously?” he called. “You’re not even gonna give me a peek?”

No one answered.

But in that split second before the curtain closed, he saw the girl’s face. Frightened. Bruised. But familiar in some twisted, distant way. And the mask hanging from Magna’s belt had been all the confirmation he needed.

Negan’s smirk faded.

“The hell are you people getting into out there?”

-
-

The infirmary had gone still again.

After the flood of boots and raised voices, the pounding adrenaline, the clatter of medical trays and quick orders now there was only the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the soft hum of something electric, probably the cooler unit keeping antibiotics alive.

Negan stared at the closed curtain across the room. It hadn’t moved in hours. Neither had he.

His side throbbed with a dull pulse, but he barely noticed it. His mind was running too hard. Too fast. Rick hadn’t shown up again. Siddiq had stepped out for supplies an hour ago. Enid had been gone just as long.

Hell of a time to be laid up and stuck on the bench.

Just as he was starting to debate whether dragging his ass across the room to look behind the curtain was worth the pain, the door creaked open.

Enid stepped in, hands full with clean bandages and a small water bottle.

“Finally,” Negan said, sitting up straighter. “Back to grace me with your lovely presence.”

“You're welcome,” she replied dryly, dropping the supplies off at the counter before heading toward his bed. “Still charming, I see.”

“Always. Keeps the blood pressure up.”

She glanced at the monitor. “Yeah, well, that’s not what your vitals say.”

Negan narrowed his eyes playfully, but the edge in his voice was real. “Alright, come on, doc junior. What the hell happened earlier? You’ve been dodging me.”

Enid hesitated, pulling his tray table closer to check the bandage on his side.

“That girl,” he said. “The one you all dragged in. Who is she?”

“She’s…” Enid dropped her voice as she pressed down lightly on his ribs, watching his reaction. “She’s one of them. A Whisperer.”

Negan's brow arched. “No shit?”

“She was found alone near one of the fences,” Enid continued quietly. “Said her name is Lydia. Young, scared. Didn’t try to run, didn’t attack anyone. Aaron said she was crying.”

Negan let out a low whistle. “And let me guess—Saint Rick decides to throw out the jail key and offer her warm soup and bedtime stories?”

Enid gave him a look but didn’t disagree. “He didn’t want to lock her up. Said we should try and get information from her another way. Be humane about it.”

“Humane,” Negan repeated, scoffing. “She’s part of the group that sent someone to gut me like a goddamn fish.”

“She’s also a kid,” Enid replied firmly, standing straighter. “And right now, that’s got half the council screaming and the other half getting ready to walk out. There’s a meeting tonight. I’ll hear more then.”

Negan grunted. “You better bring me the juicy details, sweetheart. I’m sick of staring at the walls and listening to Siddiq mutter about dosages.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said with a wry smile, already heading for the door.

He called after her, “Hey tell Rick if he wants a second opinion on Whisperer girl, I’m happy to offer one. Free of charge. No bat required.”

Enid didn’t stop walking. “Maybe don’t lead with that.”

The door clicked behind her, leaving Negan alone again—with nothing but the slow tick of time and the growing knot in his gut.

-

The walls were closing in.

Not literally, of course but it felt like they might. The longer he sat here, the more the shadows stretched and shrunk with the flickering infirmary lights, the more he could hear every creak of wood and tick of the clock and shuffle of boots outside. He'd counted the ceiling tiles twice already, hummed three different songs just to keep his thoughts from spiraling.

Now he was humming "Ain’t No Sunshine" under his breath. Not the cheeriest pick, but it fit the mood.

He had just started the second verse when he heard it.

Cough.

Soft. Light. Like someone trying not to be heard, but not quite making it.

He tensed. Eyes darted toward the closed curtain. That same curtain he hadn’t seen open since they’d dragged someone in hours ago.

“...Hello?”
A quiet voice. Female. Young.

Negan blinked. Sat up a little straighter.

"He smirked to himself. “Well, shit. She speaks.”

There was a pause on the other side. He could hear the hesitation in her breath.

“Let me guess,” he said, turning slightly to face the curtain. “You’re not the doc. And unless the guards started recruiting kids, you ain’t one of them either.”

Another pause. Then, “No.”

“Knew it.” He sat up more. “So who are you?”

“…Lydia.”

Negan tilted his head. “Alright, Lydia. Sounds like a book character. You got a last name or are we going full mystery tonight?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

He whistled low. “Oof. That’s dramatic. Let me guess again: you’re the reason for the commotion earlier. The kicking, the dragging, the very uncomfortable tension in the air?”

“…Yeah.”

He tapped his fingers lightly on the metal bedframe. “Well, welcome to Alexandria’s VIP wing. I’m Negan, in case no one gave you the pamphlet. Local reformed bad guy, unofficial patient mascot, and your roommate tonight—well, sort of.”

There was a silence, then the faintest breath of something like amusement.

So Lydia are you the kind of Whisperer that whispers or the kind that stabs people in the guts when they’re distracted?”

Her reply was quick, alarmed. “I didn’t stab anyone.”

Negan held up his hand, though she couldn’t see it. “Easy, easy. Just trying to figure out which brand of crazy I’m dealing with.”

“I’m not crazy,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to come here. But I didn’t want to stay with them either.”

That made him pause. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Well, Lydia, that puts you in a real interesting position.” He scratched at his jaw. “These people Alexandria they’re not exactly known for their trust. Hell, took ‘em years to stop looking at me like I might snap a baby in half.”

“Did you?” she asked quietly.

“Snap a baby?” Negan laughed, loud and sharp. “Jesus, no. I may be a dick, but I’m not a monster.”

Silence again.

Then—“What did you do?”

Negan whistled low. “That’s a long story. Involves barbed wire, a baseball bat, and some very questionable leadership choices. Let’s just say... I wasn’t on Santa’s nice list for a long time.”

“But they let you live.”

He sobered. “Rick did. And that’s a whole mess of complicated I won’t drop on you your first night here.”

Lydia didn’t reply right away.

“I don’t think they’ll let me stay,” she finally said. “Most of them don’t even want me here.”

Negan leaned his head back against the wall. “That’s how it starts. The looks. The whispers. People thinking you’re poison just ‘cause of where you came from.”

“Were you scared?”

He chuckled. “Terrified. But I didn’t show it. You don’t have to either. Just keep your eyes open. Say less. Let ‘em talk, and you prove ‘em wrong with actions.”

Another long beat.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Anytime, kid.”

He went quiet again after that, letting her settle. He didn’t hear another cough, another word. But the silence wasn’t quite as suffocating this time.

For the first time in hours, he wasn’t thinking about Rick.
He was thinking about a girl behind a curtain—and how the world didn’t stop throwing kids into wars they didn’t ask for.

“Thanks,” Lydia said softly.

He looked back toward the curtain, even though he couldn’t see her. “For what?”

“For… not being scary.”

That made him laugh again. Not as sharp this time. A real one.

“You give it time, kid. I’m terrifying with the right lighting.”

The light through the infirmary windows had turned a muddy gold, stretching long across the floor. Negan laid back on the cot, his side wrapped tight in fresh gauze that still tugged and stung every time he moved. His foot tapped absently, head angled toward the curtain beside him.

“You still alive over there?” he called.

There was a light snort. “Barely. You don’t stop talking, do you?”

Negan smirked. “Careful, kid. That’s starting to sound like affection.”

Lydia’s voice came quieter this time, but not unfriendly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I’m not. I’m still at least three conversations away from being your favorite person in this place.”

“You’re more like the only person I’ve talked to who isn’t walking on eggshells around me.”

Negan sat up slightly, wincing as the motion tugged at his healing wound. “That’s ‘cause I don’t do eggshells. I step on ‘em. On purpose. Loudly.”

“Yeah,” Lydia murmured. “I figured that out.”

They lapsed into a small silence. The kind that felt like it meant something.

“You ever get bored of being in here?” she asked after a beat.

Negan chuckled. “All the damn time. I’ve read the same book twice, named the ceiling stains, and nearly convinced myself Siddiq was sneaking in extra meds to shut me up.”

Lydia was quiet for a moment, then: “Sometimes I wish I could just… disappear. Be somewhere no one expects anything from me.”

Negan turned slightly, voice gentler. “That what you were hoping when you came here? That they’d see you as someone new?”

“I didn’t know what I was hoping,” Lydia admitted. “I just knew I didn’t want to go back.”

Negan nodded slowly. “Well, kid, I ain’t exactly a poster boy for second chances. But if they can give one to me, you’ve got a hell of a shot.”

Before she could respond, the door creaked open behind him. Negan turned his head and instantly recognized the footsteps. Steady. Tired. Purposeful.

“Speaking of redemption stories…” Negan muttered.

Rick entered the infirmary, his flannel rolled to the sleeves, eyes immediately scanning the room. They landed on Negan and then flicked briefly toward Lydia’s side of the curtain.

Negan sat up straighter, grinning. “Well, if it ain’t Alexandria’s favorite silver fox.”

Am I interrupting your slumber party?” Rick asked, voice dry but tinged with something gentler than his usual gruff.

Negan smirked. “Nah. Just charming the kid behind curtain number two.”

Rick’s eyes flicked to the curtain, then back to him. “That what you’re calling it now?”

“She started it,” Negan said, pointing a thumb toward the divider. “She talks first. I’m just being my usual charismatic self.”

A quiet voice from behind the curtain muttered, “You’re kind of weird.”

Rick blinked, surprised. He shook his head with the faintest ghost of a smile. “That tracks.”

Negan watched him for a second, something soft flickering beneath the surface. “What’s the word, Sheriff?”

“Just checking in.” Rick stepped closer to his bed, his voice dropping. “You need anything?”

Negan tilted his head. “You offering me bedside service now?”

Rick gave him a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Relax,” Negan murmured, lowering his voice a bit more. “I’m good. Been bothering Siddiq. Probably asked him about my spleen five times.”

Rick smiled at Negan. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Side effects of painkillers, boredom, and stimulating conversation with the local mystery girl,” Negan replied with a smirk. “She still hasn’t tried to stab me. I think that’s progress.”

Lydia muttered dryly from behind the curtain, “There’s still time.”

Rick’s lips twitched into something just shy of a smile. “Glad to see you two are getting along.”

Negan tilted his head. “You come to check on me or her?”

Rick met his eyes. “Both.”

Negan searched his face for a moment, then leaned back against the cot. “I’m fine. Little sore. Bored outta my mind.”

“Good,” Rick replied. “You’ll stay put a little longer, just to be sure.”

“Starting to think you like having me locked down,” Negan teased

.Rick looked toward the curtain again, thoughtfully. “She holding up?”

Negan shrugged. “Hard to say. She’s smart. Guarded. Scared, but not broken. Just… trying to figure out who she is outside of all that Whisperer crap.”

Rick nodded slowly. “We were suppose to be having a council meeting but everyone was yelling and pointing fingers. So we postponed until the morning.”

“Of course there was.”

There was a beat of quiet. Something warm and fragile settled between them.

“Thanks,” Rick said, his voice soft.

Negan blinked. “For what?”

“For talking to her. For not being… you know. You.”

Negan grinned, leaning back again. “Oh come on, I’m always me.”

Rick didn’t answer right away. Then, just as he turned to leave, he said, “She trusts you. Keep that going.”

Negan blinked, the weight of those words surprising him more than he let show.

Rick paused at the door, glanced back once more, and added, “Get some rest.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

Negan stared after him for a long moment. Then, to the curtain, “Is he always that cryptic or is it just with me?”

Lydia’s voice came soft, but amused. “Probably just you.”

Negan grinned to himself.

“So… do you like Rick?”

Negan smirked, leaning back against the pillow. “Like Rick? Well, depends on what you mean. Like ‘he’s my favorite guy to argue with every damn day,’ or like ‘I want to keep him around’ kind of like?”

Lydia grinned, nudging him gently with her elbow. “The second one, maybe. You don’t have to lie.”

He raised an eyebrow, mock offended. “Lie? Who said I’m lying? I’ll admit, the guy’s got guts. Stubborn as hell, and damn if he doesn’t keep me honest. I kinda like that.”

She laughed softly. “Sounds like you don’t hate the guy after all.”

Negan’s smile softened. “Nah. Hate’s a strong word. I guess I like the hell out of him.”

Lydia looked thoughtful. “Think he knows?”

Negan chuckled. “Doubt it. Stubborn buggers like us don’t say things like that out loud.”

“Guess that makes two of you.” Lydia smiled.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

After a moment, Lydia said, “You think things will get better?”

Negan’s eyes traced the ceiling. “I want to believe they will. If I’m honest… it’s a hell of a mess, but maybe we can figure it out. Together.”

She nodded, standing up. “Good. ‘Cause I want to see you both get through it.”

Negan gave a small laugh. “You’re an optimistic one, kid.”

Lydia grinned. “Someone’s gotta be.”

As she turned to leave, Negan called after her softly, “Hey… good night, Lydia.”

She glanced back, smiling. “Good night, Negan.”

-
-

RICKS POV

The sun had barely crested the treetops, casting a hazy golden light through the tall windows of the town hall. The room was quiet except for the creaking of old wood and the low murmurs of the early risers already moving through Alexandria. Rick sat at the long meeting table, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the wood as he waited.

Daryl entered first, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair before dropping into the seat across from Rick with a quiet grunt. A few moments later, Michonne came in with Aaron close behind, both of them carrying the weight of the morning on their shoulders.

“Still no word from the scouts,” Michonne said as she sat down, brushing a hand over her braid. “Hilltop’s holding. Kingdom’s checking in every few hours.”

“Good,” Rick said softly, nodding. “We’ll need that kind of unity.”

Aaron leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “We do have a problem, though.”

Rick looked at him, already knowing what name would come next.

“Lydia.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened.

“She’s barely spoken since we brought her in,” Aaron continued. “Not about the Whisperers. Not about her mother. Not even about how she ended up out there. It’s like... she’s here, but her mind’s still somewhere else.”

“Trauma,” Michonne said, her voice measured. “Or loyalty. Could be both.”

Rick exhaled through his nose and looked down for a second before he spoke. “She’s not talking to us, no. But she is talking to someone.”

All three of them looked up at once.

Rick met their gazes. “Negan.”

Aaron blinked. “Negan?”

“She talks to him,” Rick said, folding his arms across his chest. “Not in riddles. Not in silence. Real conversations. I’ve seen it. She even laughs sometimes. She trusts him, or... maybe she thinks he understands her.”

Daryl shook his head. “Of course she trusts him. He’s a killer, and so is she.”

Rick’s voice stayed calm, but there was a subtle edge to it. “He’s a survivor. So is she. That doesn’t mean she’s the enemy.”

“She still might be,” Michonne warned, leaning forward. “She hasn’t given us a single reason to believe she’s on our side.”

“I know,” Rick said quietly. “But I’ve looked her in the eyes. She’s not a soldier. Not yet. She’s a kid. Scared, lost... probably half-brainwashed by her mom. But if she trusts Negan, and he’s talking to her, we can use that.”

“You want him to spy on her?” Aaron asked.

“No,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to make her feel like a prisoner. She’s already terrified. But if Negan’s the only person she’ll open up to, then maybe we lean into that. Let him keep talking to her. See what she lets slip.”

Daryl looked away, jaw clenched. “Just don’t be surprised if he flips that trust back around on us.”

Rick turned to him. “I haven’t forgotten who he was. I haven’t forgotten what he did. But I’ve seen who he’s become.”

They sat in silence for a few beats, the tension between caution and hope thick in the air.

“Council meeting’s in twenty,” Michonne finally said, glancing at the door. “We’ll bring it up. See where everyone stands.”

Rick nodded slowly. “Alright. But we keep eyes on both of them. If this leads somewhere if she tells him anything we need to be ready.”

The others murmured their agreement. Rick leaned back in his chair and glanced out the window toward the infirmary, toward the two people who had once been enemies now bound by something unexpected.

Maybe trust didn’t always start clean. But sometimes it just needed space to grow.

Rick leaned forward on his elbows, eyes drifting over the map spread across the table. Daryl, Michonne, and Aaron were still gathered close, discussing possibilities in low voices.

“I still don’t like it,” Daryl muttered. “Using Negan like some kind of Whisperer whisperer.”

Rick smirked faintly at the term. “It’s not about using him. It’s about listening. Lydia’s not giving us anything through fear. Maybe she’ll give us something through familiarity.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair. “I hate to admit it, but if Negan’s our way in, it’s better than nothing.”

Before anyone could answer, the doors to the town hall creaked open and people began to file in, their voices rising in a soft buzz of speculation. Whispered conversations floated through the space questions, theories, fragments of the night’s chaos.

“Heard she’s just a kid…”

“Barely said a word since they brought her in.”

“…whispers in the dark, like they’re ghosts.”

“…Negan’s been talking to her? That can’t be good…”

Rick exchanged a look with Michonne, who simply pressed her lips into a firm line. Word always traveled faster than facts in Alexandria.

The seats began filling up. Council members shifted in their chairs, papers rustled, and tension hung heavy over everyone like a coming storm.

Just as Rick stood to begin the meeting, the back doors opened again this time more forcefully.

Carol stepped through.

Everything stopped.

Her face was pale and empty, her eyes shadowed and distant, like she had walked through a nightmare. Rick’s stomach dropped as he immediately crossed the room, the others following close behind.

“Carol?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her arm. “What happened?”

Her voice was low and numb. “The prisoner. The Whisperer we captured… he’s dead.”

Murmurs swept across the room. Daryl’s brows furrowed. “Dead? How?”

Carol didn’t blink. “He killed himself. Bit his own tongue until he choked on the blood. Said nothing would make him talk. He was loyal… all the way to the end.”

A shocked silence settled over the room like a blanket of ash.

“No name?” Michonne asked softly.

Carol shook her head.

“He’d rather die than give us anything,” Aaron muttered. “That’s what we’re dealing with.”

Daryl scoffed quietly. “Brainwashed.”

Rick swallowed hard and looked around the room, seeing wide eyes, worried faces, fear starting to coil again beneath the surface.

“This confirms what we’re up against,” he said, voice steady but low. “These people aren’t just hiding. They’re committed. And dangerous.”

Another beat of silence.

Rick stepped forward, raising his voice slightly. “But we’ve faced committed before. We’ve faced dangerous. What we do now is stay smart. Stay ready. And we work together.”

He turned toward the head of the table, nodding toward the others. “Let’s begin.”

The meeting began as the hall settled into uneasy quiet, but the echo of Carol’s words lingered like a ghost.

The town hall settled into a tense silence as Rick returned to his seat. The heavy creak of his chair echoed as he sat, glancing around the half-circle of council members and senior leaders: Michonne beside him, Daryl still standing off to the side, arms crossed, Aaron sitting stiffly with his hands folded. Gabriel, Rosita, Nabila, and Jerry filled out the rest of the council.

“I think we all know what this meeting is about,” Rick began, voice calm but firm. “We’ve got a girl in our care young, scared, and connected to the Whisperers. Her name’s Lydia. We don’t know what she knows. Hell, we don’t even know how much she’s seen. But she’s the only person we have that can give us anything.”

“And she hasn’t said much of anything to us,” Aaron added, nodding. “She’s been quiet. Closed off.”

“She’s been traumatized,” Gabriel said gently. “Who knows what she’s gone through?”

Rick took a breath and looked across the table. “She’s not talking to us but she’s been talking to someone.”

Heads turned.

“Negan,” Michonne clarified for him. “They’ve been stuck in the infirmary together. She seems to trust him.”

A round of immediate objections rose at once:

“That’s dangerous—”
“He’s manipulating her—”
“How can we trust him—?”

“Enough,” Rick said, raising a hand. “I’m not saying we let Negan walk her around town holding hands. I’m saying we let him talk to her. She talks to him. And right now? That’s the most we’ve gotten from her.”

“He’s not in a cell anymore, Rick,” Rosita said. “What’s to stop him from using that girl?”

“He’s still healing. Still watched,” Michonne added calmly. “And he’s not stupid enough to mess with us right now.”

“I’ve seen them talking,” Aaron offered. “It’s not creepy. It’s just... easy. Comfortable. The way he jokes with her, it actually seems to get her to smile. We haven’t even managed that.”

A quiet fell again as they all sat with the uncomfortable truth. Rick leaned forward.

“If this girl knows something anything about their camps, about what they’re planning, about their leader... we need that. And if we have to get that through Negan, then so be it. We’re not giving him power. We’re giving him a damn job.”

A few murmurs of agreement passed through the group. Gabriel looked around, then cleared his throat. “Let’s put it to a vote.”

Hands went up slowly at first, but one by one, they rose. Daryl was the last to lift his, begrudging but accepting.

Rick gave a firm nod. “Then it’s settled.”

Rosita leaned back, crossing her arms. “Let’s just hope we don’t regret this.”

Rick nodded. “We won’t. I’ll be watching him every step of the way.”

And as the meeting shifted to other matters the breach, patrol rotations, food stores Rick couldn’t help glancing toward the closed windows, mind drifting to the girl who barely spoke... and the man she had chosen to trust.

Whatever came next, this was only the beginning.

-
-

The infirmary smelled like alcohol, herbs, and the faint tang of blood. Rick stepped in quietly, boots soft against the tile as he made his way down the hall, following the sound of muttering and stumbling from behind a partially drawn curtain.

“…I swear, if this is your idea of helping, I’m filing a complaint with the damn nurse’s union,” Negan’s voice grumbled, thick with exaggerated suffering.

“I am the nurse right now,” Enid shot back flatly, her tone unimpressed. “Now stand up straight. You're limping like an eighty-year-old man.”

“Excuse me,” Negan huffed, “but this eighty-year-old man happens to have been stabbed twice, might I add and left for dead. The fact that I’m even attempting to walk should earn me a damn medal. Or at least a snack.”

Rick stopped just outside the curtain, hidden from view, listening with an amused tilt to his lips.

“You’ll get a snack when you can make it to the door and back without groaning like you're in labor,” Enid replied, adjusting the sling under Negan’s arm as he hobbled forward.

Negan took a few shaky steps, gripping Enid’s arm more tightly than he probably needed to. “Is this how it ends? My legacy? Not with a bat, not with a bang but with me faceplanting into a bedpan in Alexandria.”

Rick finally cleared his throat.

Both Enid and Negan froze. Enid turned first, relaxing when she saw him. Negan, with all the dignity he could muster in his lopsided stance, glanced over his shoulder.

“Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who’s here to witness my triumphant resurrection. You here to watch me take my first baby steps, Rick?”

Rick chuckled as he stepped in. “Seemed like a historic moment.”

Enid sighed, stepping back and folding her arms. “He’s dramatic, but he’s making progress. I was just about to give him a break.”

“Damn right you were,” Negan muttered, easing himself into the chair beside the bed with a groan.

Rick’s eyes lingered on him a moment tired, pale, but very much alive. “You look better than you did a few days ago.”

Negan arched a brow. “That’s a low bar. Pretty sure I looked like week-old roadkill.”

Rick let out a dry laugh, nodding toward Enid. “Thanks for helping.”

Enid gave him a nod and a knowing look before slipping past them. “Try not to fall while I’m gone.”

Negan waved her off with mock offense. “You see how they treat me, Rick?”

Rick pulled over a stool and sat, settling across from him. “You bring it on yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Negan said, leaning back. “So what brings you to the recovery ward, Sheriff?”

Rick studied him for a moment. “Council voted this morning. About Lydia.”

Negan’s expression flickered more serious now, a crease forming between his brows. “Yeah?”

“They’re going to let you keep talking to her. Officially.”

Negan blinked. “Huh. Well, color me flattered. And here I thought my charming bedside manner was being wasted.”

Rick smirked. “Don’t push it.”

“I’ll keep it PG,” Negan said, hand over his heart like he was making a vow. “Girl’s been through enough without my beautiful sarcasm scarring her further.”

Rick leaned back, arms crossed. “I just want to know if you think she’s telling the truth. If she even knows anything.”

“She’s holding back,” Negan admitted. “But not because she’s lying. She’s scared. Brainwashed, maybe. But she’s not like them. Not fully.”

Rick nodded, letting that sit for a beat before speaking. “Then see what you can get. Carefully.”

Negan’s smile softened a bit, and for once, there was no joke. “You got it.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, broken only by the soft creak of Negan adjusting his leg. Rick’s eyes flicked to the bandage beneath the shirt.

“You gonna be alright to walk soon?”

Negan grinned. “You worried about me, Rick?”

Rick raised a brow. “Worried you’ll start bossing people around before you can walk straight.”

Negan laughed, low and rough in his chest. “Goddamn, I missed you.”

Rick looked away quickly, lips twitching, but didn’t answer. Not out loud.

But something about that moment quiet, tired, honest said enough.

Rick pushed himself off the worn bench and stretched, cracking his stiff knees as he walked to the corner where the wheelchair sat, gathering dust. He glanced back at Negan, who was eyeing him with that mix of suspicion and grudging curiosity.

“What’re you up to, Grimes?” Negan drawled, voice rough but amused.

Rick smirked, grabbing the chair’s handles. “Getting you outta that room. Thought you might want some fresh air—maybe see the world beyond these four walls before you start tearing them down.”

Negan raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about my lungs?”

“Since I realized you ain’t as invincible as you like to pretend,” Rick said, rolling the chair forward. “Now stop complaining and let me help.”

Negan sat back, almost wary now. “This is either really thoughtful or a trap.”

Rick shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

“Now that’s terrifying,” Negan muttered, siding his body towards the end of the chair “Alright, but if I fall and reopen this stab wound, I’m hauntin’ you.”

They both chuckled as Rick reached out to steady him. Getting Negan into the chair was a bit of a dance—Negan grumbling about his pride, Rick huffing about dead weight but eventually, with a bit of cursing and a whole lot of leaning, they managed.

“You good?” Rick asked, hands still on the armrests.

Negan tilted his head back to look up at him. “I’m sittin’, not skydiving. Yeah, I’m good.”

Rick shook his head and pushed him out of the infirmary doors.

The sun was warm on their faces, the sounds of Alexandria in full swing all around them hammers clinking, kids laughing, voices carrying over from porches and gardens. It was ordinary… peaceful. And Negan, who hadn’t seen this part of life for what felt like forever, soaked it in with wide, cautious eyes.

“You ever think about how weird this all is?” Negan asked after a minute, his voice low.

“What?”

“You. Me. This little stroll like we’re two old guys in a retirement community.”

Rick chuckled, his hand steady on the chair handle. “Never pictured it. But I’m not hating it.”

Negan’s head tilted. “No?”

“No.”

As they made their way through the square, a group of townsfolk nearby fell silent, whispering among themselves. Carol caught Rick’s eye and gave a small nod, a quiet acknowledgment that didn’t carry judgment—more like wary hope.

Negan caught the looks too, following the whispers with a raised brow. “Heh, think I’m the talk of the town.”

Rick shrugged. “They’re always talkin’.”

Negan’s grin turned sly. “You think it’s the ‘Negan’s back’ chatter or the ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ kind?”

Rick chuckled. “Bit of both, I’d bet.”

They rounded the corner near the garden fence, the air still crisp and the sun warming their backs.

Negan hesitated, then asked quietly, “Rick... you think all this talk bothers you? The stares, the whispers?”

Rick glanced at him, then looked ahead. “I won’t lie—it does. But it’s part of the mess we’re in.”

Negan’s eyes softened. “If it gets too much, we can turn back.”

Rick shook his head, firm but gentle. “No. Let ‘em watch. They’re gonna have to get used to it. To us.”

Negan studied him for a beat, then nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face.

They continued their slow lap around the town square, the rhythm of footsteps and wheels mingling with distant voices.

When they came up on Rick’s porch, the familiar sight of flowers, weathered wood, and sunlight felt like a balm.

Rick eased the wheelchair toward the steps. “Thought you might like to sit here a while.”

Negan looked up at the house, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. “You’re not gonna make me do yard work, are you?”

Rick laughed. “No promises.”

Negan leaned back, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Well, if this is what ‘freedom’ looks like, I might get used to it.”

Rick opened the door and held it, letting the late afternoon light spill inside.

“Welcome home,” Rick said softly.

Negan caught his gaze and, for a moment, the noise of the world faded away.

“Thanks, Rick,” he said, voice low. “For everything.”

Rick carefully wheeled Negan inside the house, easing him down onto the couch with a soft cushion behind his back. He grabbed a blanket from the nearby chair and draped it over Negan’s legs, making sure he was comfortable.

“Alright, you stay put here,” Rick said with a small smile. “I’ll be right back with something to eat and drink. Michonne made some stew last night leftovers should still be good.”

Negan gave him a tired but genuine smile, the kind that made Rick’s chest tighten a bit. “You’re spoiling me, Grimes. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Rick chuckled as he turned toward the kitchen. As he grabbed the bowl of stew and a bottle of water, his thoughts softened. For a moment, things felt almost normal like maybe, just maybe, there could be peace beyond all the chaos.

Chapter Text

The warm scent of leftovers filled the kitchen as Rick rummaged through the fridge, digging out the container of stew Michonne had made a few nights ago. He set a pot on the stove, letting it warm slowly as he moved around with an unusual lightness in his chest. The house felt… normal. Calmer than it had in weeks. He poured two drinks—one water, one a small glass of wine he’d been saving—and grabbed a couple of bowls from the cabinet.

He was just about to ladle out the food when the front door creaked open.

“Dad?” came Carl’s voice.

Rick froze.

A beat later: “What the hell is he doing on our couch?”

Rick stayed hidden just around the corner, pausing with a hand on the ladle, not quite ready to interrupt.

“I know,” Negan said, his tone careful, unusually measured. “Weird, huh?”

Carl was silent.

“I didn’t plan it like this, kid. I’m just trying to... not screw up something that might actually matter for once.”

Rick heard the couch creak as Carl stepped closer. “Are you apologizing to me?”

Negan chuckled, dry and tired. “Yeah. I guess I am. For the crap I did. The crap I said. You didn’t deserve any of that. You were just a kid.”

Rick leaned slightly, just enough to glimpse the two of them. Carl stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” Carl finally said, then sighed. “But… thanks.”

Negan raised a brow. “So... that a ‘screw you’ in disguise, or an actual acceptance?”

Carl almost smiled. “Don’t push your luck.”

Then he turned and walked into the kitchen, stopping when he saw Rick. “You cooking for him?”

Rick handed him a bowl. “He’s not going anywhere. Figured I’d make sure he doesn’t starve.”

Carl took the bowl but paused, glancing back toward the living room. “He really different? Or is it just some act?”

Rick considered the question, then said, “He’s trying. That’s more than most.”

Carl nodded slowly. “I’m gonna head upstairs. Thanks.”

Rick watched his son retreat up the steps before turning back to the food, adding a generous scoop to each bowl and grabbing the drinks.

When he returned to the living room, Negan had leaned his head back, one hand resting lazily on his stomach.

“Hope you’re not picky,” Rick said, setting the tray down.

Negan sat up slowly with a groan. “Only picky about who’s serving me. But I gotta admit, I could get used to this.”

Rick handed him a bowl, sliding the wine his way. “Compliments to the chef.”

Negan sniffed it like it was fine dining. “You sure know how to treat a guy. Wine and everything? Damn, Rick. At this rate I’ll be moving in.”

Rick smirked and settled beside him on the other end of the couch. “Just eat before I change my mind.”

They both dug in, eating in comfortable silence. Every now and then, they shared a dry comment or a small laugh. One bowl became two, then the second bowls sat forgotten on the coffee table, empty but not cleared, like time had simply slipped through their fingers.

The house was quiet now, the world outside dim with nightfall. Negan stretched his legs out with a grunt, looking around the room like he still didn’t quite believe he was there.

Rick leaned back, glass in hand, eyes resting on him. “You good?”

Negan turned his head, the tired grin soft but real. “Weirdly… yeah. Kinda feels like I’m dreaming.”

Rick didn’t respond right away. He looked toward the window, the faint noise of Alexandria beyond the glass.

“Let’s just enjoy it while it lasts,” Rick finally murmured.

Negan nodded. “Yeah. That, I can do.”

The low hum of the night outside the house made everything inside feel cocooned safe, for now. The kind of quiet Rick hadn’t felt in months. Maybe years. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, close enough to feel Negan’s warmth, but still giving him space. They hadn’t said much in the last few minutes, both of them just… existing in the same room. Like it was something they’d done a thousand times.

Negan shifted, groaning softly as he tried to adjust his side. “Should’ve known domestic life would still hurt like hell.”

Rick huffed a small laugh, head tilting toward him. “You want more pain meds?”

“Nah. If I take any more I’ll start flirting with you for real.”

Rick raised a brow, lips twitching. “What makes you think you haven’t already been?”

Negan blinked. His mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then a low chuckle slipped from his throat. “Well shit, sheriff. I must be slippin’. Didn’t even realize I was gettin’ rusty.”

Rick’s eyes dropped for a second at the way Negan smiled, the faint lines around his eyes, the bruise still yellowing at his temple, the way his hands were loosely clasped on his lap. And something tugged in Rick’s chest. That ache. The one that’d been there since the first moment he realized he didn’t hate him anymore. That maybe he never really had.

“I’m not…” Rick started, voice rough, then cleared his throat. “I didn’t bring you here just to be nice.”

Negan tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly but not unkind. “No?”

Rick’s heart beat harder. It felt stupid and reckless and way too late for hesitation, so instead of speaking, he leaned forward. Slowly. Gave Negan the space to back away.

But Negan didn’t move.

Their foreheads nearly touched before Rick paused, the air between them thick with something fragile but electric.

Negan’s voice came low, hoarse. “You sure about this?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been sure.”

And then he closed the space.

The kiss was soft softer than either of them had expected. Rick’s hand lifted gently, resting on Negan’s jaw as their lips moved together with a hesitant kind of need. It wasn’t about hunger or fire it was comfort. A whisper of something real in a world that had stripped most things bare.

Negan let out a quiet breath against Rick’s lips, his hand finding Rick’s arm, not pulling him in, but grounding them both. There was no smirk, no jokes. Just the stillness of the moment and the quiet thud of Rick’s heart echoing in his ears.

When they finally parted, barely inches between them, Negan blinked slowly.

“Well… damn.”

Rick gave a faint smile. “That all you’ve got to say?”

“I got a hell of a lot more I could say,” Negan murmured, “but I kinda don’t wanna ruin it.”

Rick chuckled, thumb brushing along Negan’s jaw. “Then don’t.”

They sat in silence for a little while longer, just watching each other, the air between them feeling warmer somehow. Safer.

Negan was still watching him, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable in that way that used to unnerve Rick back when everything was still fire and barbed wire between them. But now… now it made Rick want to know him more. Peel back the layers. Learn what made that smirk fade into something real.

Rick leaned in again, slower this time, letting his lips brush over Negan’s once more softer, more sure. And when Negan didn’t hesitate, Rick’s hand slid from his jaw down to his neck, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath his palm. Negan let out a quiet sound, something caught between a sigh and a hum, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss just a little.

Rick pulled back a breath, then murmured against his mouth, “Still okay?”

Negan’s lips curved. “Don’t stop.”

That was all it took.

Rick leaned in again, and this time, the kiss lingered. His other hand came to rest on Negan’s waist carefully, mindful of the wound and he felt the twitch of a smirk against his mouth.

“Watch the goods, sheriff,” Negan teased, voice low and raspy.

Rick chuckled against his lips. “Pretty sure I’m doin’ just fine.”

Negan gripped the fabric of Rick’s shirt, pulling him a little closer with what strength he had, and suddenly the space between them vanished. Rick moved carefully, straddling the edge of the couch, one knee pressed beside Negan’s leg, hands cupping his face more firmly now.

Their kisses turned slower, deeper. Lips parting, breath mingling. The kind of closeness Rick had forgotten he craved skin, warmth, the smell of someone real, someone alive and right there with him.

He kissed the corner of Negan’s mouth, then lower, brushing along his jawline, the side of his neck. Negan’s fingers curled into Rick’s shirt, breathing growing shallow as he tilted his head back, letting Rick have him for a moment.

Rick paused at his collarbone, resting there, breathing him in. “I thought you were gonna die,” he whispered. “When I saw that knife…”

Negan didn’t say anything right away, just exhaled slow and heavy, like the weight of those words settled over both of them. Then one hand came up, brushing the back of Rick’s neck.

“But I didn’t,” he said softly. “I’m still here. With you.”

Rick pressed a kiss to the spot just above his heart, then slowly leaned up again, brushing their foreheads together.

“I don’t know what this is,” Rick murmured. “But I want it.”

Negan’s thumb traced a slow line along Rick’s jaw. “You always were a stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Still am.”

Their mouths met again, more familiar now. Softer. Negan’s hand slid under the hem of Rick’s shirt, just his palm against warm skin, grounding them both. Rick didn’t stop him. He welcomed it.

But eventually, Negan winced faintly, shifting too much. Rick pulled back, worried, but Negan gave him a weak smile.

“Body’s still broken, but heart’s alright.”

Rick laughed quietly. “Guess that’s enough for tonight.”

They sat back again, Rick’s arm draped around Negan’s shoulders now, pulling him close. The bowls of food were still on the coffee table, long forgotten. The lamp’s soft glow painted everything in honey and shadow.

Negan rested his head lightly against Rick’s chest. “Don’t let me fall asleep and drool on you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

And they stayed that way tangled up, content in the quiet for as long as the night would let them.

-
-

The first light of dawn spilled through the window in soft, golden streaks. It stretched across the floor, climbing slow and quiet over the couch where two men lay tangled together, the world outside just beginning to stir.

Rick blinked awake, lashes fluttering against the crown of Negan’s head.

They’d fallen asleep like that accidentally, but not regrettably. Rick hadn’t meant to close his eyes, just rest them for a minute, body still humming from the press of lips and quiet confessions. But the night had been long, and the peace had been warm, and somewhere between breath and heartbeat, sleep took him.

Negan was still out cold, his face slack with comfort, body pressed gently into Rick’s chest, one arm flopped across Rick’s waist. The rise and fall of his breathing was slow and even. No pain sounds. No tension. Just him alive, safe, warm.

Rick let his fingers ghost along the back of Negan’s arm, then slipped them beneath the blanket that had been tossed over them sometime in the night. He smiled to himself. He didn’t remember grabbing it. Maybe Carl had.

Carefully, Rick shifted, trying not to disturb him. Negan stirred faintly, grumbling under his breath in sleep, but didn’t wake as Rick eased out from underneath him, lowering Negan’s arm gently onto the couch cushion.

Rick stood up slowly, stretching, his back popping from the angle he’d been sleeping in. He rolled his neck, stifling a yawn as he looked down at Negan, still bundled beneath the blanket, stubble against his cheek, lips parted slightly, one hand curled loosely near his chest.

“Don’t drool on my couch,” Rick muttered softly with a smirk, even though it was technically his couch.

He turned away with quiet steps, grabbing a shirt from the back of a chair and pulling it over his head. Today would be busy. Council follow-up. A strategy meeting with Daryl. Checking on Lydia. Figuring out next steps.

But he allowed himself one last look over his shoulder Negan, peaceful and somehow impossibly endearing sprawled across Rick’s couch like he belonged there.

And damn it… maybe he did.

Rick exhaled through his nose, half a smile on his face, and padded into the kitchen to start the day.

The coffee had just finished brewing when Rick cracked the first egg into the skillet. The hiss of butter meeting hot metal filled the kitchen, the sun barely risen but already slipping through the window above the sink. He could hear Carl upstairs, doors creaking softly. Judith’s tiny squeals echoed down the hall probably trying to escape her morning clothes.

He smiled to himself and reached for a second egg.

The peaceful clatter of a new morning. The quiet before everything that came next.

Behind him, Negan was still asleep on the couch, the blanket half slipped off his shoulder, his mouth slightly open. Rick couldn’t help but glance back every now and then, catching the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were soft with it, the memory of last night lingering like something heavy and good in his chest.

He didn’t even notice Michonne’s footsteps until she stepped into the doorway, Judith balanced on her hip.

She stopped mid-step and stared.

At Negan.

Asleep on Rick’s couch.

A long beat passed, then she slowly turned her head toward Rick.

“I don’t even wanna know,” she said flatly.

Rick, still holding a spatula, grinned without turning.

“That’s fair,” he muttered, then glanced at her. “Think you can do me a favor later?”

She gave him a squint.

“Depends.”

“Roll him back to the infirmary when he’s done eating. He’s supposed to talk to Lydia today.”

Michonne sighed and set Judith gently in her high chair, ruffling the toddler’s curls before finally nodding.

“Fine. But I’m gonna need some of that breakfast first.”

Rick chuckled and flipped the eggs, adding a bit of salt as Judith started babbling happily to herself. The smell of toast drifted up from the toaster. He reached for another plate just as a low groan came from the couch.

Negan.

“Ugh… what smells so good? Is that bacon or did I die?”

Rick smirked and glanced over his shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Negan pushed himself up slowly on the couch, wincing but still grinning through it. His hair was a little wild, eyes half-lidded, sleep still clinging to his voice. The blanket slid down his lap.

Then he spotted Michonne.

And froze.

“…Oh. Uh. Morning.”

Michonne raised a brow but didn’t say anything. Just sat down beside Judith and grabbed a fork like this was the kind of thing that happened every day.

Rick tried not to laugh as he slid all the eggs onto a plate and carried it over.

“Come on. Let’s get you sitting up right.”

“Isn’t this technically upright?” Negan quipped but obediently swung his legs over. Rick helped him up carefully, hand at his elbow, guiding him across the living room toward the table.

There was just a flicker of awkwardness the closeness of last night, the newness of this morning, and the fact that Michonne was pretending to not be watching both of them.

Negan sat down stiffly at the table and gave Judith a sleepy grin. She blinked at him like he was an alien.

“Hey, peanut,” he said with a wink. “You still droolin’? Me too, kid.”

Michonne snorted softly and sipped her coffee.

Rick set the plate in front of him and handed over a fork.

“Eat up.”

Negan looked down at the pile of eggs and toast like it was a feast.

“I ever tell you you’re my favorite?” he said.

“You’ve told that to three different people this week,” Rick replied, taking a seat.

“Well, I lie. But this time I mean it.”

They ate in a quiet kind of harmony. Carl eventually came downstairs, grabbed a piece of toast, and vanished again with a mumbled good morning. The room felt oddly full and domestic — Negan chewing thoughtfully, Judith banging her spoon, Michonne sipping her coffee with a raised brow.

Then Michonne broke the silence.

“So,” she said, eyes flicking to Negan. “Thoughts on the girl?”

Negan paused mid-bite, chewing a bit slower.

Rick watched him closely, suddenly more curious than he expected.

Negan swallowed and set his fork down.

“You mean Lydia?”

Michonne nodded.

Negan leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing just a little, like he was considering how much to say.

“She’s a kid. Scared, quiet. Smart though. Cautious. I’d say she’s got eyes like someone who’s seen a little too much already.”

Rick glanced down at his plate, remembering the way she’d shrunk into herself when they brought her in. He’d seen that look before in Carl once. In himself, more than a few times.

“She talk to you?” Michonne asked, skeptical but not cold.

Negan nodded. “A little. She doesn’t trust anyone. But she doesn’t not trust me. Yet.”

“And why is that?” Michonne asked, arching a brow.

Negan smiled crookedly, pushing his eggs around with his fork.

“Maybe because I don’t talk to her like she’s broken. Or maybe because I look like someone who’s made some bad choices too.”

That answer pulled Rick’s eyes up. For a beat, he and Negan just looked at each other.

Not saying much.

Not needing to.

Michonne finally leaned back and muttered, “Huh.”

She didn’t look fully convinced. But she didn’t argue.

Judith banged her spoon again, and Negan reached over with a grin and wiggled his fingers at her. She grabbed them.

Rick chuckled and stood to pour another cup of coffee.

It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

-
-

Negan's POV

The mug in front of him had gone cold.

Negan sat slouched in the dining chair, half-heartedly swirling the handle back and forth, watching Rick and Michonne in the kitchen move around like they’d been doing it forever. They didn’t say much just soft comments, passing glances, a quiet rhythm as Michonne handed over the plates and Rick wiped them down. Like it was second nature. Like it was theirs.

Something knotted in his chest.

It was stupid. Pointless. But there it was jealousy curling low and mean like a sore tooth. A tightness behind his ribs that wouldn't quit.

This was how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? Mornings like this. Familiar hands. Quiet jokes over drying dishes. Kids in the other room. He shouldn’t be here. Not in this house. Not in this world. Especially not feeling anything close to that for someone like Rick Grimes.

Someone who belonged to routines and soft mornings and a life Negan had only ever pretended to understand.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to chase the heat of the jealousy down. Bury it where the rest of his mess stayed.

“Negan?”

His name came gentle but sharp a tug that pulled him out of the haze.

He blinked and looked up.

Rick stood at the end of the table, brows drawn with just the slightest crease of concern.

“You alright?”

Negan sat up straighter, wiping the expression off his face with a smirk. “Peachy,” he drawled. “Just admiring domestic bliss. Warms the heart.”

Rick didn’t smile. He gave that quiet, knowing look that was somehow worse.

“We’re heading out. Michonne’s gonna wheel you over to the infirmary. You can start talking to Lydia this morning. Thought you’d be more comfortable doing it there.”

Negan opened his mouth, maybe to say something that would get him out of it. Maybe to agree. He wasn’t sure.

But the door opened before he could decide.

Daryl walked in, and the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

His eyes landed on Negan immediately, and his face twisted in a way Negan was more than used to.

Negan lifted a hand with mock delight. “Hey, look at that It’s a goddamn family reunion. Someone get the camera.”

Daryl didn’t say a word. Just scowled and looked to Rick, ignoring him completely.

Rick let out a soft sigh and glanced back at Michonne.

“Thanks again.”

She nodded, brushing toast crumbs off her shirt.

Rick turned back, stepping around the table. He paused only briefly to press a kiss to Michonne’s forehead soft, automatic and then followed Daryl out the door with a quick glance back at Negan that said: don’t be a pain.

And just like that, the house was quiet again.

Negan shifted in his chair, feeling the weirdness settle thick.

Michonne picked up the empty plates without looking at him.

“Alright,” she said after a beat. “Let’s go.”

Negan muttered, “Guess I don’t get a kiss goodbye,” but she didn’t rise to it.

She wheeled over the chair they’d used yesterday, the one Rick had pushed him around in, and tapped the seat twice. He sighed and stood with effort, settling in with a wince as his ribs pulled.

They moved through the house in silence.

The kind of silence that had weight to it.

The kind that meant something was brewing.

He felt it before she even said anything. The way her grip on the chair handles tightened just slightly. The way her footsteps sounded more pointed.

They were halfway down the street when she finally spoke.

“Rick means a lot to me.”

Negan didn’t look back, but he felt the edge in her voice, saw the tension in her shadow as it stretched across the sidewalk beside his.

“He means a lot to a lot of people,” she went on, flat but firm. “He’s been through more than anyone should. We all have.”

Negan turned his head slightly, sensing where this was headed, but not sure if he wanted to deal with it now — or ever.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two. Don’t wanna know. But if you do anything to mess with him…”

Her voice dropped low.

“I swear to God, I will gut you myself.”

Negan stared ahead for a second, stunned.

His throat worked once before he muttered, “Damn. You always give this speech, or am I special?”

Michonne didn’t answer.

She just kept pushing him toward the infirmary.

By the time they reached the front doors, Negan had sobered up, the joke falling a little flat in the pit of his chest. Michonne opened the door and nodded to Enid behind the counter.

“Got a visitor,” she said, voice smooth again.

Negan locked eyes briefly with Enid, who gave him a tight smile and motioned toward the back room.

Michonne didn’t say another word.

She turned and left.

And Negan was left there in the quiet again, wondering just how far in he was this time.

Negan sat in the wheelchair in the front of the infirmary, hands folded in his lap, doing absolutely nothing.

And hating it.

He wasn’t used to this kind of silence. Not this kind where nothing needed fixing, no fires needed putting out — or starting. He shifted in the seat, huffed once, then leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

“Could always try looking less miserable,” Enid muttered without looking up from the clipboard at her station.

Negan turned his head slowly and raised a brow. “This is my cheerful face, sweetheart. You should see what miserable looks like.”

She snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Well, if you’re done brooding, Lydia’s in the back with Siddiq. Probably a better use of your time than glowering like someone ate your last Pop-Tart.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Far be it from me to deny anyone the pleasure of my sparkling personality.”

With a few awkward, jerky pushes of the wheels still getting used to the damn thing Negan rolled himself down the short hallway and toward the back room. The closer he got, the clearer the low murmur of voices became.

When he rolled in, he saw Siddiq crouched near Lydia’s cot, smiling gently as she quietly recounted something. She was different now less scared, more open. At least for the moment. Siddiq had that effect.

Negan cleared his throat.

They both looked up.

“Morning,” he said. “Just checking in on our guest.”

Siddiq stood. “She’s doing really well, actually. Honestly, doesn’t even need to be in here anymore. Physically, she’s totally fine.”

Negan nodded slowly. “That’s good. We’ll figure out where to put you when Rick gets back.”

Siddiq smiled at Lydia, then patted her arm and gave Negan a quick look. “She’s more comfortable with you than any of us, so… just be patient, alright?”

“I’m always patient,” Negan muttered.

Siddiq laughed under his breath on his way out.

Lydia had pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. She looked at Negan but didn’t say anything.

So he filled the space.

“Well, doc says you’re all patched up. Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”

She gave the smallest flicker of a smile. “You’re not that bad.”

Negan placed his hands on the wheels again, shifted slightly, trying to keep it light. “High praise. Must be my sparkling charm and extensive vocabulary.”

She shrugged. “You talk a lot.”

“Hey, in this world, silence is more suspicious than sarcasm.”

They shared a small, easy silence after that.

She leaned back, arms wrapped around her knees. He sat still, pretending his back didn’t ache and the bandage on his ribs wasn’t itching like hell.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lydia blinked. “Sure?”

Negan paused, choosing his words.

“It’s about your people.”

She stiffened immediately. Eyes sharp. Hands tightening on her arms. “Why?”

He held up both hands. “Easy, alright? I’m not here to interrogate you.”

“Then why?”

Negan took a deep breath. “Because if you wanna stay here if you really want that you’re gonna have to start talking. Not to me necessarily. But to someone.”

She dropped her eyes, lips pressing into a thin line.

He didn’t push. Just let it hang there.

Finally, her voice came small. “I’m not like them.”

“I know,” he said, gently. “But they’re gonna want to know about them. To keep everyone safe. That’s just how this place works.”

Another beat of silence passed before she finally exhaled, looking down at the sheets balled in her fists.

“My mom… she believes the world doesn’t belong to people anymore. Just the dead. She thinks pretending we can live like we used to is what gets people killed. That emotions… families… those are weaknesses.”

Negan stayed quiet, watching her.

Lydia shook her head, eyes starting to gloss. “I didn’t believe her at first. I wanted to. I tried. But she always made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Too soft. Too scared.”

“Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak,” Negan said softly.

She met his eyes, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t let herself be before.

“No,” she whispered, “but out there… it gets you killed.”

They sat in the stillness again.

Negan didn’t have anything smart to say this time.

He just nodded.

“Not here,” he said finally. “We look out for our own here. But to do that… we have to know what we’re up against.”

Lydia wiped under her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I can try.”

“That’s all anyone’s asking.”

And for once, Negan meant it.

Negan leaned back in the wheelchair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Lydia sat on the cot across from him, legs dangling, fingers absently tugging at a thread on her sleeve. The tension had settled a little since her last confession. She looked a little lighter not much, but enough that he noticed.

“So,” Negan said, voice casual, “your mom’s not the kind to send a Hallmark card, huh?”

Lydia snorted, caught off guard by the crack. “She’s more the type to send someone’s ear in a cloth bag.”

Negan gave a mock wince. “Yikes. Remind me not to get on her bad side.”

Lydia smiled faintly. “You already are.”

“Terrific.”

She took a breath and then, without prompting, started again. “They don’t stay in one place. We move every few nights. Sometimes we circle back if there's shelter that wasn’t totally ruined. But she never lets anyone get too comfortable. Says comfort makes you weak.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” Her voice had gone soft again. “She doesn’t even use names most of the time. Just ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ or something like that. Says names don’t matter. That we’re all just… passing through.”

Negan’s jaw flexed. That kind of talk hit a little too close to home.

“She has scouts. Not a lot, but enough to keep an eye out. And she’s got rules. Real strict ones. Anyone steps out of line…”

He tilted his head. “They get the ear-bag treatment?”

Lydia didn’t smile this time. Just looked at him. “Sometimes worse.”

Negan exhaled slowly, nodding.

“She’s dangerous, then.”

“She’s… smart. And she knows how to hide in plain sight. They wear the skins to blend in. Makes it easy to disappear.”

Negan’s brows lifted. “Like camouflage?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that’s disturbing as hell,” he muttered. “But useful.”

Lydia nodded and looked down at her hands. “I didn’t tell anyone else. I didn’t think they’d believe me.”

“Yeah, well… lucky for you, I have a soft spot for damaged kids with trust issues.” He gave her a smirk, and after a beat, she gave a real, if small, laugh.

They sat in the moment quietly again, until the sound of the infirmary door creaked open.

Negan turned as Aaron walked in holding a tray with two lunch containers. “Thought I’d bring you two something. Siddiq said you’d probably forget to eat.”

Negan rolled his eyes. “Please. I forget nothing. Especially when it comes to food.”

Aaron set the tray down on the small table near Lydia’s bed and passed her one of the containers. “You doing okay?” he asked her gently.

She nodded with a small smile. “Thanks.”

Aaron turned to Negan then. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m just living the dream, man. Fresh air, teenage trauma, and a daily dose of vague resentment. Can’t beat it.”

Aaron gave him a tired smile. “Figured I’d check in since Rick’s not around.”

Negan’s expression stiffened slightly. “Not around?”

“Yeah,” Aaron said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “He left this morning. Emergency at Hilltop. Took Daryl and Michonne with him. Didn’t get many details.”

That familiar burn lit behind Negan’s ribs again. He shifted in his seat, the plastic container of food now resting untouched in his lap.

“Took the whole damn trio, huh?” he asked, trying to sound bored, but his voice came out just a touch too sharp.

Aaron glanced at him, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it. “Yeah. Said it might take a day or two depending on what’s going on. Jesus called it in.”

Negan muttered something under his breath and stared at the far wall. Of course Rick didn’t tell him. Not that he owed him a personal itinerary, but still…

Aaron cleared his throat. “Oh, and Simon should be back today too. With updates on the Sanctuary. We’ll let you know if anything major comes up.”

Negan forced a nod, lips pressed into a tight line. “Appreciate it.”

Aaron gave him one last look, then turned to Lydia. “You need anything else, just let Enid know, alright?”

She nodded, and Aaron offered a quick smile before stepping back out.

The door clicked shut.

Negan didn’t speak. Just stared down at the container in his lap, picking at the edge of the cardboard with his thumb.

Rick was gone. With them. And hadn’t said a damn word before leaving.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what it looked like what it felt like, deep down in his gut. That thing from this morning was still there, gnawing at the base of his spine. He’d seen them, Rick and Michonne, moving around each other like they belonged like they’d built a life where he didn’t exist. And now he was gone, off to another community, while Negan was still here… on the sidelines.

In a goddamn wheelchair.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asked quietly, watching him with guarded curiosity.

Negan blinked like he’d forgotten she was there.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just peachy.”

She didn’t press.

He finally opened the lid of the container, stabbing a bite of the food with the plastic fork, chewing like it offended him.

Rick Grimes.

Always walking away when Negan wasn’t looking.

But sooner or later, he’d have to come back.

And Negan had no intention of being easy to ignore when he did.

Negan and Lydia sat side by side at the small infirmary table, quietly eating the lunch Aaron had brought. The sunlight filtered softly through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room, making the moment feel almost normal a strange little pocket of calm.

Lydia picked at her food, eyes flicking up now and then to Negan, who was lazily chewing with a crooked grin on his face.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Carl stepped in, eyes widening just slightly as he spotted Negan sitting there next to Lydia. He paused, running a hand through his hair, a mix of surprise and something else flickering across his face.

“Well, would you look at that. You’re still here with her,” Carl said, voice a bit rough but not unkind.

Negan raised an eyebrow, amusement sparking. “Still? Thought I was a ghost by now.”

Carl gave a small laugh, but then glanced at Lydia with a softer expression. “I was going to let her help out in the gardens today. Siddiq gave her a clear bill of health.”

Lydia shifted in her seat, cheeks flushing faintly. Carl smiled at her, a quiet encouragement, as if saying, You’re doing okay.

They both looked a little frazzled Lydia from everything she’d been through, and Carl from the weight of responsibility but there was an unspoken understanding between them. They shared a small smile.

Negan caught the look, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright, you two. Go on. Get out of here and enjoy some fresh air.”

Lydia stood, stretching her arms, and Carl helped her gather herself. They both nodded to Negan before quietly slipping out, closing the door behind them.

Negan stayed where he was for a moment longer, then rolled himself over to the door and out into the fresh air.

He parked himself just in front of the infirmary, the warm sunlight a comfort on his skin. He let his head fall back against the wheelchair’s headrest, eyes closed, hoping Simon would hurry back.

As if on cue, a low rumble echoed through the street. Simon’s familiar truck pulled up, Arat beside him. They climbed down, their faces serious.

Simon approached first, nodding a quick greeting. “Negan.”

Arat gave a small wave.

Simon’s voice was low but firm. “We’ve been watching the Sanctuary. Things are getting shaky. Folks are talking saying you’ve been gone too long. They’re starting to see it as weakness.”

Negan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I get it.”

Simon nodded. “You gotta get back. Protect your own. Keep the people together.”

Negan glanced toward the infirmary, then back at the men. Part of him felt relief the pull to return, to get away from the suffocating swirl of his own thoughts and emotions here.

He wanted to escape.

Away from the walls of Alexandria.

Away from Rick Grimes.

“I’ll be ready,” Negan said quietly, voice rough with something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

Simon clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Good. We need you.”

Simon and Arat exchanged a look, then Simon turned back to Negan. “We need to find Aaron. Let him know you’re coming back he’s gotta hear it from you.”

Negan nodded, wheeling himself up with purpose. The three of them moved quickly through the streets, finding Aaron near the gates, overseeing a small group unloading supplies.

Aaron looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he saw Negan rolling up with Simon and Arat. “Negan? What’s going on?”

Simon spoke first. “You need to get the word to Rick. Negan’s heading back to the Sanctuary.”

Aaron furrowed his brow but nodded slowly. “I get it. Just remember the terms of the peace we check in twice a day, share updates. We can’t afford to break that.”

Negan gave him a half-smile, voice lighter than before. “Yeah, I’m not about to forget that.”

He paused, then added with a grin, “Tell Ricky I said goodbye.”

Aaron smiled back, a warmth in his eyes despite the tension. “Will do.”

Negan turned and headed back to the infirmary, where Enid and Siddiq were waiting. “Thanks for everything,” he said quietly.

Siddiq gave him a nod, concern in his gaze. “Be careful. And remember to keep pressure on your wound don’t rush healing.”

Negan smirked, rolling his sleeve back to reveal the fading bruises and stitches. “Noted.”

Enid smiled softly, then stepped aside as Negan gathered a few belongings.

With one last look around, Negan wheeled himself toward the door. The weight of what was ahead pressed on him, but a strange sense of clarity settled in.

He was ready.

The ride back was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that gave you peace the kind that chewed at the edges of your thoughts until all the noise in your head was louder than the hum of the tires on cracked pavement.

Negan sat in the back of the truck, arms crossed over his chest, a small duffle by his side with just the essentials. The wind rushed in through the open window, ruffling his hair, cooling the feverish weight that had built up in his chest ever since Rick kissed him ever since he let it happen.

No. That wasn’t right.

Ever since he wanted it to happen.

He could still feel it. The heat of it, the softness. The way Rick’s hand had brushed the side of his face like he meant it not just lust, not just comfort, but like something deeper. And that was the problem. Negan had known a lot of things in his life power, blood, fire, fear but he’d never really known that. That quiet sort of ache that whispered: You love him.

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was how Rick looked at him like he was a man again. How he said Negan with something gentler than caution. How he pulled him into that house and fed him and made him feel, even for a moment, like he had a place.

And maybe that’s what stung the most now, on this ride away from Alexandria.

Because Negan loved Rick.

And not in some possessive, twisted way like the man he used to be. This wasn’t about control or conquering or power. He just… loved him. Loved the way he held it all together. The way he fought like hell to protect people who didn’t even like him. The way he laughed sometimes, real low and surprised, like it caught him off guard. The way he kissed. Like it meant something.

Negan scoffed under his breath and leaned his head against the metal wall of the truck bed, watching trees blur past.

Rick freaking Grimes.

That house, that kitchen, the easy routine Rick and Michonne fell into like it had always been theirs… It wasn’t just jealousy. It was clarity. That was Rick’s world. Order. Family. A kid at the table. A woman who knew his coffee habits. A house that smelled like eggs and safety.

And what the hell was Negan? A scarred-up ghost from another life. A reminder of how bad things had gotten. He didn’t belong in that world, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he ever had.

Still, he'd caught himself wanting it. Not the house. Not even the eggs. Just Rick. Sitting beside him. Looking at him like he mattered. Like he could be more.

He closed his eyes and let the sun heat his face through the bars. Maybe going back to the Sanctuary was the right move. No kids looking at him like a science experiment. No Michonne’s blade-sharp glares. No reminders of the life he’d never really had a shot at. Maybe out there, he could rebuild something for himself. Focus on his people. Keep his distance.

Keep his damn heart out of it.

But even as the Sanctuary’s silhouette began to rise out of the landscape, cold and familiar, Negan didn’t feel the relief he expected. Just a hollowness. A quiet question whispering at the back of his brain.

Was he walking away from trouble or from the only thing that had started to feel real again?

Simon knocked on the truck’s roof to signal they were close. Arat turned her head slightly, offering him a small nod from the front passenger seat. “Welcome home, boss.”

Negan didn’t say anything.

He just looked out at the Sanctuary and tried to convince himself it felt like home.

And deep down, behind all the bravado, all the barbs, all the steel… a part of him already missed Rick like hell.

Chapter Text

Hilltop, Late Morning

The summer heat hung low over the fields outside Hilltop’s walls, the kind that soaked into your bones and made your shirt cling to your back. Rick wiped the sweat from his brow with the inside of his wrist as he reached the top of the lookout platform. His eyes scanned the tree line to the east, just as he’d been doing every morning since they got here.

“You see anything?” came Daryl’s voice behind him, gruff and low.

Rick didn’t turn. “No. But it feels wrong. Like something’s just waitin’.”

Daryl climbed up beside him, followed closely by Jesus and Maggie, who had a set jaw and that tight, unreadable look she wore when her gut was talking louder than the facts.

“We had two people swear they saw shadows movin’ at night. Figures,” Jesus said quietly, voice heavy with unease. “Could’ve been animals. Could’ve been them.”

Rick finally looked at them all, and then back to the woods. “They’re watchin’ us. Or testin’ us. Whatever it is, it ain’t random.”

Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “We’re not gonna wait to be picked off one by one. Not again.”

Rick nodded, jaw tight. “We don’t have a name yet, but we know enough. They walk with the dead. They wear them. And they’re organized.”

Jesus added, “We can’t take that lightly. We need to be ready.”

A sudden crack of movement in the trees caught their attention branches swaying where the breeze didn’t touch. Rick’s hand shot up, signaling the nearby guards to still and aim. The four of them leaned over the wall, tension humming like wire.

But nothing emerged. No sound followed. The stillness returned.

“We need to call everyone in,” Maggie said, stepping back from the edge. “Alexandria, Oceanside… even Sanctuary. We meet here in a week.”

Rick looked at her. “You sure?”

She nodded. “They were on the fence before, but they need to understand this ain’t just a threat to one community. This is a new war.”

Daryl cracked his knuckles. “If they’re hidin’ in skins, then they don’t care ‘bout walls. We’re all exposed.”

Rick exhaled, feeling the heaviness of everything he’d left behind Negan, Carl, Judith. And Negan watching him leave with that unreadable expression Rick couldn’t get out of his mind.

He cleared his throat. “Alright then. Let’s get the message out. A week from now everyone meets right here.”

Jesus already had his radio out, contacting the perimeter teams. Maggie looked to Rick one last time. “And Rick… bring your best. If we’re goin’ up against this, we can’t afford any cracks.”

The midday sun had started to shift, casting long shadows across the fields of Hilltop. Rick stood near the eastern post, where the wall curved slightly with age, watching the treeline for too long without blinking. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

Michonne walked up beside him, brushing dust off her sleeve. “You good?”

He blinked, then nodded, distracted. “Yeah... yeah. Just thinkin’.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the house behind them. “We should check in with Alexandria. Let 'em know what’s goin’ on here and you might wanna talk to Negan. See about gettin’ Sanctuary ready like Maggie said.”

Rick’s jaw tensed. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

They walked back toward the house, quiet. Inside, the council room had been cleared out after the morning strategy meeting, leaving just the faint smell of coffee and old books. Michonne gave him a look You got this? and turned to go fetch the radio from the supply shelf.

Rick set his hands on the edge of the wooden table and exhaled slowly, steadying himself before the conversation. He didn’t know what he expected to say to Negan, maybe something half-casual, something like hey, I’ll be back in a couple days, we’ll pick up where we left off. But that unease in his chest wouldn’t let up.

Michonne returned with the radio and turned the dial, adjusting the frequency until the soft static cut into Aaron’s voice.

"—Yeah, we’re all still good over here. Judith’s fine, Carl’s been helping out with the gardens again. Nothing to report.”

Rick leaned in toward the mic. “Aaron? It’s Rick. We’re secure at Hilltop. We’ve seen some movement in the woods. We’re pullin’ all the communities together for a meeting here in a week. Can I talk to Negan? Want to get Sanctuary on the same page.”

There was a pause. Then Aaron’s voice, a little uncertain: “Oh he’s not here. He left. Couple hours ago.”

Rick’s brows pulled tight. “Left?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard it right.

"Yeah, Simon came with Arat, said Sanctuary needed him. Enid said he stopped in, got some stuff, thanked her and Sidiq, and that was it. Didn’t say much else. They radioed in after they got back on the road, said everything’s fine."

Rick stood there, staring at the radio like it had just grown teeth. “He didn’t radio us?”

Aaron hesitated. “No. I thought maybe he had already talked to you. Everything seemed... okay?”

Rick didn’t answer right away. He stared past the wall, past the trees, like if he looked hard enough, he could see the road that led back to Alexandria and what he’d left behind on it.

“…Yeah,” he said eventually. “Thanks, Aaron. Stay safe. We’ll see you soon.”

He clicked the radio off, the silence that followed buzzing louder than the static.

It didn’t sit right. After everything they’d fallen asleep on the damn couch together. They’d kissed, touched, talked about things they both hadn’t said out loud in years. Rick had thought maybe, just maybe, things had shifted between them into something real. Or starting to.

So why the hell would Negan just leave?

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the dull throb in his gut. Maybe it was about the Sanctuary. Maybe Simon had pressured him. Maybe Negan was afraid of being there when Rick got back.

Or maybe… maybe Rick had read too much into all of it.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

“You alright?” Michonne’s voice was soft, but direct.

Rick didn’t turn right away. “He left,” he muttered.

She stepped beside him. “Negan?”

He nodded once. “Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t radio. Just… left.”

Michonne was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “Maybe he needed to.”

Rick looked down at his hands. “Or maybe he didn’t want to stay.”

Michonne studied him, her gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary. “You sure that’s what you really think?”

Rick didn’t answer.

And that silence told her everything.

Michonne didn’t move, her expression calm but inquisitive as she watched Rick wrestle with silence. The wind outside picked up, brushing through the trees just beyond the Hilltop gates, but it didn’t reach them here. The quiet between them had its own weight one Rick wasn’t sure he was ready to break, but he had to.

“I thought everything was good,” she said finally, her voice careful. “Between you two.”

Rick let out a breath that was halfway to a laugh, but there was no humor in it. He leaned both hands on the table again, head bowing slightly. “Yeah. So did I.”

She waited.

Rick shook his head. “I know nobody else understands this. Hell, I barely understand it. But you, you’ve been good about it. About not askin’ too much. And I appreciate that.”

Michonne’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Rick. But if you want to talk, I’m here.”

He looked at her really looked and something unknotted in his chest. She wasn’t judging him. Wasn’t picking sides. Just… being there, like she always had.

He sat down slowly in one of the council chairs, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was preparing to confess something to a priest.

“I don’t know when it started,” he began quietly. “Maybe when I brought him back from the cell. Maybe before that. But things… changed. I didn’t mean for it to happen, Michonne. I never planned it. He just he wasn’t who I thought he was. Or maybe he is, but not in the way I feared. He’s… different now.”

Michonne didn’t interrupt. She watched him with a stillness that told him she was listening to every word.

Rick’s voice dropped. “When we were back home, he let me in. I mean really let me in. And I—” He paused, licking his lips, eyes unfocused. “I might be in love with him. Or startin’ to be. I don’t know. I just know it felt real.”

He let that sit there. Felt the weight of it settle between them like a stone in the grass.

“And now he’s gone,” Rick continued, voice rough. “Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t radio. Like none of it meant anything. Like I imagined the whole damn thing. And I don’t understand why. After everything why just leave?”

Michonne leaned against the table, folding her arms. “Rick… that man is a storm. You know that. And maybe he’s tryin’ to outrun what he’s feelin’.”

Rick scoffed. “Or maybe he was just lookin’ for a way out.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

He glanced at her, his eyes glassy but dry.

Michonne gave a faint smile. “You’re not crazy. And you sure as hell didn’t imagine it.”

Rick took a deep breath, rubbing the side of his face. “Then why does it feel like I lost him before I even had him?”

She was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Maybe you didn’t. Maybe he’s just scared. Doesn’t know how to stay when something’s real.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “Well, he’s gonna have to figure it out. Because this—” he gestured vaguely toward the room, toward the mess outside, toward everything, “—isn’t over. And I can’t chase him down if he won’t even look me in the eye.”

Michonne gave him a look full of quiet wisdom. “Then don’t chase him. Give him time to come back. And if he does then you’ll know it’s real.”

Rick looked away, nodding slowly. But his heart was still twisting in his chest.

Because the truth was…
He didn’t want Negan to come back someday.
He wanted him to come back now.

Rick stayed quiet after his last words, the echo of his confession still hanging between him and Michonne like smoke in the air. She didn’t push for more. She just stood there, watching him with that same steady calm that always made him feel like maybe everything would be okay even when he wasn’t sure it would.

“You know,” Michonne said finally, “you still need to let Sanctuary know. If this meeting’s happening, they need time. And Negan needs to hear it from you.”

Rick exhaled, like the idea itself brought weight to his chest. “Yeah. I know.”

“You want me to do it?” she offered, already turning toward the small, worn radio on the windowsill.

Rick shook his head. “No. I’ll do it.”

He walked over slowly, sitting in front of the radio and adjusting the frequency settings with muscle memory. It had always been a neutral line, same channel they used to keep the communities in contact but this time, it felt personal. Too personal.

He pressed the button, thumb hovering for a second before speaking.

“Sanctuary, this is Alexandria. Come in.”

Nothing.

More static.

He glanced over at Michonne, who just gave him a small nod. So he tried again.

“This is Rick Grimes. I’m at Hilltop. I need to speak with Negan.”

The line buzzed, crackled… and then cleared.

A familiar voice answered, curt and even. “This is Simon. Negan’s not available.”

Rick straightened a little. “Not available? Is he alright?”

“He’s busy,” Simon said shortly.

Rick hesitated. The tone was off. Too clipped.

Still, he forced his voice to stay calm. “We’ve got an emergency situation out here. Whisperers have been spotted around the perimeter. Maggie’s calling a gathering. Every community. A week from now at Hilltop. You’ll need to bring a representative.”

There was a pause. Rick could practically feel Simon’s disapproval through the static.

“I’ll let the boss know,” Simon replied. “We’ll be there in a week’s time.”

And just like that click. The line went dead.

Rick stared at the radio for a long moment, the quiet after the call louder than anything else in the room.

“You okay?” Michonne asked gently from behind.

He didn’t answer right away. His thoughts were spinning. Why the hell wouldn’t Negan answer? Why did Simon sound like the one in control? Why didn’t he say goodbye?

“I don’t get it,” Rick muttered finally. “I thought we were in this together. But he just… left. And now Simon’s talkin’ like he’s his handler again.”

Michonne stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You told him how you feel. Maybe that scared him more than anything else has.”

Rick nodded once, staring down at his hands. “Well, it sure scared the hell outta me.”

“Then you’re both halfway to being honest,” she said with a small, knowing smile.

He gave a faint huff of a laugh, but it died quickly. The ache in his chest returned in full. Not from heartbreak exactly just the not knowing. That unbearable in-between where nothing is clear.

He didn’t get long to wallow.

The door creaked open and in stepped Daryl, holding two bowls of hot stew and a small chunk of bread balanced on top.

“You forget to eat or somethin’?” Daryl asked, setting one down beside Rick without waiting for an answer.

Rick shook his head, sitting straighter. “Didn’t feel hungry.”

“Eat anyway.” Daryl sat beside him with a grunt. “You’re gonna need it if this goes the way I think it will.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The stew was warm, spiced with dried herbs. Something comforting about it, even if it didn’t settle the tightness in Rick’s gut.

“You think this plan’ll work?” Rick asked, finally breaking the silence.

Daryl shrugged. “Only way it will is if we’re all in. That means Hilltop, Oceanside, Kingdom… even Sanctuary. You trust them to show up?”

Rick looked away, jaw tense. “I did. Before today.”

Daryl didn’t press, but his eyes sharpened.

“You think Negan’s gone cold on us?” he asked.

Rick swallowed hard. “I don’t know. He left without a word. Didn't answer the radio. Let Simon speak for him.”

Daryl nodded slowly. “Well, we can’t do this without ‘em. But we sure as hell won’t wait around and beg.”

Rick looked out the window again, into the fading light stretching over Hilltop’s walls. The shadows in the woods beyond were lengthening.

“I’m not waiting,” he said quietly. “But I’m not giving up either.”

Daryl offered a piece of bread across the table. “Good. ‘Cause we’re gonna need you sharp when the real fight comes.”

Rick took it, nodding, still watching the horizon searching it like maybe, just maybe, someone might ride in from it.
Someone he didn’t want to admit he missed more than he ever expected to.

—
—

Rick had spent the last few days burying himself in work—anything to keep his mind from wandering. From drifting too far toward Sanctuary. Toward him.

So he worked.

He helped Jesus coordinate the watch rotations. Walked the perimeter twice a day with Maggie and Daryl. Rebuilt two sections of the wall with some of Hilltop’s younger fighters. Reinforced a crumbling watchtower.

The afternoon sun beat down on Hilltop, warm and steady, baking the fresh dirt under Rick’s boots as he crouched low in the garden rows. His hands were deep in the soil, pulling weeds and straightening a crooked irrigation line. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept him grounded and right now, he needed anything that helped him feel steady.

The wind shifted gently, rustling the leaves, when he heard a voice call across the yard.

“Rick!”

He stood up slowly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist as one of the Hilltop runners jogged toward him. “Radio call for you,” the young man said, breathing hard. “Tara’s on the line from Alexandria.”

Rick’s pulse jumped a little. He nodded, dusting off his hands as he headed toward the war room, the sun hot on his back. He hadn’t heard from home in almost a day not since that cryptic call from Simon.

The radio sat on a small table inside the war room. Rick stepped in, shut the door behind him, and clicked the receiver.

“This is Rick,” he said into the mouthpiece, voice steady. “Go ahead.”

Static buzzed faintly for a second before Tara’s voice broke through, a little strained but clear.

“Hey. Took a while to get a hold of you.”

“Everything alright?” Rick asked, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward slightly, knuckles brushing the table.

“Yeah… yeah, nothing urgent. Just had something I needed to tell you directly.”

Rick’s jaw tensed, waiting.

“We sent Carl and Lydia your way,” Tara said finally. “With Aaron and Rosita. They should be on the road already. Should get to Hilltop by tomorrow, maybe early morning.”

Rick blinked, taken aback. “You sent Carl?”

“I know,” Tara rushed out. “I should’ve radioed sooner, but it was a judgment call. Lydia’s been opening up, Rick. About the Whisperers. About their tactics, their movements, how they track us… it’s not good. She wanted to share it directly with you and the others. Carl wouldn’t let her come alone. He insisted.”

Rick was quiet for a moment, processing. His heart beat a little harder hearing Carl’s name, paired with Whisperers and tactics.

“Was she nervous about coming here?” Rick asked finally.

“She said she wanted to be honest. That she owed it to all of us. And Carl trusts her,” Tara replied, softer now. “He believes in her. You should hear some of the things she’s said… I think we’d be stupid not to listen.”

Rick exhaled through his nose, nodding to himself. “Alright. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Keep an eye out for ‘em, yeah?” Tara added, her voice warming. “And… keep us posted. Alexandria’s holding up okay, but we all feel that tension. Something’s coming, Rick. We can all feel it.”

Rick’s throat tightened. “Yeah. I feel it too. I’ll radio when they get here.”

The line clicked as the transmission ended, and Rick stood there for a moment, staring at the radio, lost in thought. That feeling in his gut the one he’d tried to bury under gardening and wall repair was back. Loud and restless.

He turned, stepping outside again into the wide, bright day. His boots thudded quietly as he made his way toward the nearest watchtower.

Daryl was up there, crossbow at his side, eyes fixed on the treeline like always.

“Carl and Lydia are on their way here,” Rick called up as he climbed the ladder. “With Aaron and Rosita.”

Daryl glanced down, squinting slightly. “You okay with that?”

Rick reached the top, leaning on the wooden railing beside him. “Not sure yet. Tara said Lydia’s been talkin’. About the Whisperers. Thought it’d be better if she told us herself.”

“You trust her?” Daryl asked.

“I trust Carl,” Rick replied, his voice firm. “And if Lydia’s really trying to help, then we need to listen. But I don’t like not knowing they were on the road until now.”

Daryl grunted quietly. “World’s moving fast.”

Rick nodded, staring out at the woods just beyond Hilltop’s gates. “Too fast.”

There was more to think about Negan, Sanctuary, the meeting in a few days but for now, Rick focused on one thing: getting ready. Protecting Hilltop. Protecting his kids.

The rest could wait… for now.

-

The early evening breeze was soft, a cool relief from the day’s sun, and Rick sat perched in the watchtower beside Michonne. The sky was beginning to turn that warm golden hue, and the trees rustled like they were whispering secrets. From this high up, the entire front stretch of Hilltop rolled out in front of them like a painting fences, fields, the curve of the path leading to the gates.

They'd been waiting all afternoon.

“You think they stopped somewhere?” Michonne asked, sipping from her canteen.

Rick exhaled, his eyes never leaving the tree line. “Maybe. Or maybe I just forgot how long the road feels when you're waiting.”

She smiled gently. “They’ll show.”

As if summoned by her calm certainty, movement stirred at the edge of the woods. Rick leaned forward, heart catching in his throat. Dust kicked up, followed by the glint of weapons, the bob of heads. Four silhouettes.

He stood quickly, a rush of relief washing over him as the gates creaked open below.

“There,” he breathed. “It’s them.”

Rick was down the ladder before Michonne could call after him, boots pounding as he crossed the yard. The closer they got, the clearer their faces became Aaron with his ever-present calm, Rosita’s sharp eyes sweeping the grounds protectively, Lydia walking close but a little behind, and—

“Carl!” Rick’s voice cracked, the name coming out stronger than he expected.

Carl lit up at the sound, and before either of them could think, Rick pulled his son into a tight hug, one hand gripping the back of his neck like he was afraid to let go.

“You alright?” Rick asked quietly.

Carl laughed, a little breathless. “Yeah, Dad. I’m good.”

Rick pulled back, hand still on his shoulder, eyes flicking over him like he needed to make sure. Satisfied, he turned to the others.

“Aaron,” he said, shaking his hand firmly. “Thanks for bringing them.”

“Of course,” Aaron replied, smiling. “They were good company.”

“Rosita,” Rick added with a small grin, pulling her into a quick, one-armed hug. “Glad you’re here.”

Rosita raised a brow but returned the embrace. “We survived the road. Barely. Carl talks more than he used to.”

Carl scoffed behind them. “Lies.”

Rick finally turned to Lydia, his expression softening. She stood nervously, her fingers fidgeting at her sides, eyes flicking between them all.

“Lydia,” Rick said, giving her a small but genuine nod. “Glad to see you safe. I’m glad you came.”

Her eyes widened a little, like she hadn’t expected kindness, and she nodded back silently.

“Come on,” Rick said, waving them forward. “Let’s get you all set up. Long ride deserves a roof and a hot plate.”

That night, the main house buzzed with warmth and life. Dinner was spread across two long tables fresh vegetables, roasted squash, even a little smoked meat. People laughed, passed bowls, poured water and cider into mismatched mugs. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting golden light over the room.
Rick sat near one end, Carl on his left, Michonne beside him. Maggie and Daryl occupied the other table with Jesus and Rosita. Aaron and Lydia shared the bench closest to the door.

It was peaceful. Familiar. A rare moment of normal.

Rick caught Carl watching Lydia more than once, and each time their eyes met, they smiled shy, but sincere. It made Rick’s chest ache a little with something he couldn’t quite name.

They were just passing around the last of the bread when Lydia cleared her throat and slowly stood.

The room quieted.

“I think… it’s time to talk,” she said, voice soft but steady. Her eyes flicked to Rick first, then Maggie, then Daryl. “About them.”

The Whisperers.

Rick sat up straighter.

Lydia looked down for a second, drawing in a breath before she began.

“They move like ghosts. You don’t always see them. They don’t leave tracks. But they’re there watching, listening. Waiting.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she steadied herself. “They have scouts that blend in with herds. They wear the skins so well… sometimes even I couldn’t tell at first.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched.

“They don’t use names. Don’t talk unless they have to. They live by rules Alpha’s rules. You break them, you’re punished. If you leave…” Her voice cracked for a second, but she powered through. “You’re hunted.”

Everyone listened, motionless.

“They’re not just a group. They’re a belief. They think this world belongs to the dead now. They don’t build walls or homes. They move. They hide in plain sight. And they think we’re weak because we don’t live like them.”

Rick leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice low. “Have they said anything about Hilltop? Or Alexandria?”

“They think you’re… pushing into their land. Too loud. Too visible.” Lydia looked at him then, eyes full of something that looked like guilt. “They see you as a threat. They think war is survival.”

Silence fell over the room like a dropped curtain.

It was Maggie who finally spoke. “And you’re sure they’ll come?”

Lydia hesitated… then nodded.

“They already have. You just didn’t see them.”

Rick exhaled, looking to Michonne, then Daryl. The room had changed just like that. No longer a peaceful dinner. Now it was a war council.

Rick’s voice was calm but grave.

“Then we better be ready.”

-
-

The week passed in a blur of labor, strategy, and tension that hung in the air like smoke. Hilltop had always been a place of resilience, of rebuilding but this time, there was a pulse of urgency in everything they did. Rick felt it in his bones, in the ache in his back from lifting beams to reinforce the watchtower, in the dirt under his nails from helping in the gardens, in the way his jaw tightened each time he thought of the Sanctuary and Negan… gone without a word.

But there was no time to dwell. Not with what was coming.

Every morning started early. Rick would rise with the sun, pulled on his boots , and head to the eastern wall to help the Hilltop builders reinforce the gates with extra spikes and iron plating. The watchtower had been refitted with a new pulley system Daryl designed himself strong enough to lift heavier supplies, faster for evacuation if needed. Rick helped test it twice, hauling crates to the second level and lowering them down again while sweat rolled down his neck.

Midday was when the meetings began. Maggie called them into the war room once a classroom now cleared of desks, replaced with a large table covered in maps, lists, and sketches. Daryl, Michonne, Jesus, Rosita, and a few of Hilltop’s trusted advisors were always present. Rick, too, always took his place by the window where he could see the fields stretch out.

And now, so did Lydia.

She usually sat beside Carl, quiet at first, her arms tucked close to her sides. But the more they talked about the Whisperers, the more she opened up. Carl would nudge her gently or lean in to whisper encouragement in her ear when she hesitated. Rick watched her grow from a shadow in the corner into someone who held their attention.

“Alpha doesn’t fight unless she’s sure she can win,” Lydia said on the fourth day of meetings, pointing to a map laid out across the table. “She doesn’t send scouts just to watch. She’s looking for weakness.”

“She’ll find none here,” Maggie said firmly, arms crossed over her chest.

“She’ll try to bait us,” Lydia added, glancing at Daryl. “She’s used herds before. Sent them into camps at night while her people waited to pick off the survivors.”

Daryl nodded grimly. “That tracks with what we’ve seen. That first herd that hit Alexandria came outta nowhere.”

“We’ve started placing bonfire pits along the field edge,” Jesus said. “If we light ‘em fast enough, we can disorient a herd before they breach the outer fence.”

“Won’t work if they send whisperers in with the dead,” Lydia said quietly. “They can guide a herd around fire if they’re close enough.”

“They’re always close,” Michonne muttered, sharpening a pencil to make new notes on the margin of the map. “Then what do you suggest, Lydia?”

Lydia hesitated, eyes flicking to Carl.

“You can say it,” he said gently. “They’re listening.”

Rick gave her a small nod of encouragement, watching her inhale slow and deep.

“You’ll need patrols inside and outside the walls. Not just guards on towers. Moving people. Silent ones. Whisperers don’t expect to be hunted. If you make them feel watched, they get sloppy.”

“Alright,” Rick said, reaching for the list of names. “We can pull together a rotating patrol. Maybe one of Hilltop’s and one of Alexandria’s per team. Keep it mixed. And quiet.”

“Dogs too,” Daryl added. “Trackers. If they leave anything behind, we’ll sniff it out.”

“Alright,” Maggie said, scanning the wall map. “We’ve got a week before the meeting. We use every damn hour of it. Rick, Michonne, Jesus you focus on patrol and towers. Daryl, get with my weapons crew. Lydia…”

The room looked to her.

“You keep helping us understand them. If we’re gonna beat this enemy, we have to think like them.”

Lydia blinked, startled by the recognition. Carl beamed beside her.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Told you.”

Outside of the meetings, Rick stayed busy. He patrolled at night with Daryl, taking quiet loops around the perimeter, occasionally climbing a tower just to scan the tree line. During the day, he worked in the gardens with Carl and some of the younger kids from Hilltop, trying to keep their morale up. There was something about putting hands in the soil that calmed the nerves even if the crops wouldn’t be ready in time to matter.
He’d often spot Carl and Lydia together in quiet corners. Talking. Sometimes laughing. Sometimes just sitting. It didn’t bother him it almost made him proud. Carl had been through too much to not understand the complexity of someone like Lydia. And Lydia… well, she was trying.

Rick kept himself moving. It was easier than thinking. Easier than wondering what was going on back at the Sanctuary. Easier than wondering why the last time he heard Negan’s voice, it had been cut off with “He’s busy.”

But he knew the time was coming. Soon, every community would arrive at Hilltop, and with them… answers. Whether he liked them or not.

-
-

The morning air was heavy with anticipation—too still, too quiet, like the sky itself was holding its breath.

Today was the day.

The final pieces of their fragile alliance were rolling in: Oceanside, Alexandria, and Sanctuary all gathering in one place. Rick had barely slept the night before, mind racing with strategy, faces, questions, and one name that haunted him like a storm on the horizon.

Negan.

He paced the path between the main house and the eastern field, boots scraping dry dirt, hands fidgeting in his pockets. Everything was ready. They’d spent days preparing bunk space, clearing trailers, assigning watch posts. But no amount of planning could steady the knot in Rick’s chest.

Michonne caught up to him mid-stride, her eyes following his restless movement before she gently reached out and stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“Rick,” she said, voice calm. “You’ve been jumpy all morning.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but didn’t pull away.

“You’re not,” she countered softly, drawing him away from the busy courtyard to a quiet patch near the stable.

They stood under the shade of the tall wooden beams, the sound of horses shifting in the background. Rick finally looked at her, his jaw tight.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’, ‘Chonne,” he admitted. “I thought we were in a good place, me and him. But he just left. No goodbye. No word. Like none of it mattered.”

Michonne nodded slowly. “You’ve spent months walking this tightrope between duty and feeling. You let someone in you never thought you would. And now you're stuck in a space where you're not sure what’s real and what was... just circumstance.”

Rick swallowed hard. “It wasn’t just circumstance.”

“I believe you,” she said. “But even love especially love doesn’t always make sense. Not in a world like this. Not with someone like Negan.”

Her voice didn’t carry judgment, just truth. And that’s what Rick needed most.

“You gave him something most wouldn’t: trust. And maybe you’re scared because you don’t know what he’s going to do with it now.”

Rick looked down at his boots, thinking. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’ve been leading people so long, you’ve forgotten you’re allowed to feel lost too. Doesn’t make you weak. Doesn’t make you wrong.”

He looked up at her, eyes glassy. “Thank you.”

Michonne gave him a small smile. “Get through today. Then figure out what you really want.”

Rick exhaled, a slow release of pressure from his chest. “Alright.”

—

By the time the sun hit its peak, the dust kicked up from two incoming convoys. Trucks from Oceanside rumbled in from the southeast, their beds loaded with crates of preserved food, hunting gear, and their armed escorts. At the same time, Alexandria’s smaller caravan appeared along the western road horses, carts, and a few walkers they’d picked off on the way hanging behind them like a second shadow.

Rick met them in the center clearing, shaking hands, helping unload what he could.

“Be careful with that,” he called as two of the Oceanside women balanced a box marked Glass - Seeds.

He greeted each of the arrivals with warmth and steady hands, his back straight, trying not to glance every few seconds toward the main road. He caught up with Rosita quickly, and clapped Aaron on the shoulder with a brief wordless thanks.

They were halfway through unloading when Rick stepped back out of the big house, wiping sweat off his brow after helping stash bedding for the Oceanside crew and that’s when he saw it.

A beat-up black truck pulling into the lot just beyond the barns. Covered in dust, but running clean. The Sanctuary.

And Negan.

Rick’s breath caught.

Negan hopped out of the passenger side of the truck slowly, flanked by Simon and Arat. He looked… better. Cleaner. Beard trimmed, eyes alert, posture proud. A far cry from the man Rick had left bruised and bandaged in Alexandria.

They locked eyes.

Rick felt heat rush to his face, blood pounding in his ears. The ache of confusion and want twisting in his gut like a thorned vine.

But before he could move before he could even start walking another figure stepped out of the backseat and walked casually toward Negan.

One of his wives. Blonde, smiling. She slid up next to him, brushing her arm gently against his as she spoke.

Rick's heart dropped.

Jealousy roared to life like wildfire through dry brush. He forced it down, swallowing hard. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself here not with the entire future of their communities hanging in the balance.

He squared his shoulders, ignored the burning in his chest, and walked straight toward the Saviors.

Simon noticed him first.

“Rick,” he greeted, a bit gruff but not unfriendly.

Rick extended his hand. “Simon. Appreciate you answering radio calls this week. Kept things smooth.”

Simon shook his hand firmly. “Well, someone had to hold down the fort.”

Rick gave him a short nod before turning to Negan. He didn’t offer a handshake.

“Negan,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “Hope all’s well.”

Negan’s eyes scanned Rick slowly, once, then again. Something unreadable passed across his face.

“Peachy,” was all he said.

Rick’s jaw ticked. So much unsaid. So much boiling just under the surface.

Before the tension could get any thicker, Maggie arrived at Rick’s side, cutting through it like a blade.

“We’ve got room out back near the trailers,” she said briskly, glancing at Negan, then Simon. “You’ll be bunking there. We’ve got some of the Hilltop crew ready to help you unload.”

“Appreciate it,” Simon said.

A few Hilltop teens moved toward the truck, already grabbing crates as Simon gestured toward them. Arat gave Rick a curt nod before following them.

Negan lingered.

Rick tried not to look, but caught the flicker of his movement from the corner of his eye. Even without words, he felt him. Felt the quiet charge in the air between them. Felt his heartbeat in his throat.

Rick turned away first.

Back to the crowd. Back to his duties. He had a long day ahead, and one very long night. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, one truth lingered heavy in his bones:

Rick stepped aside as the Saviors filed toward their temporary housing. He didn’t look back at Negan, not when Arat brushed past him, not even when Simon glanced over his shoulder to mutter something to the man in question. He could feel him, though, like a heat pressed against his spine.

The tension that pulsed in his gut hadn’t let up. If anything, it twisted tighter.

“You alright?” Daryl asked quietly as they started walking toward the main house.

“Fine,” Rick answered, too fast.

Michonne gave him a look that said you’re full of it, but didn’t push. Not yet.

The three of them moved into the large meeting room at the back of Hilltop’s main house one of the few spaces wide enough to host everyone. Long tables had been set up in a U-shape, maps and patrol schedules pinned to the walls. Rick walked to the head of the table instinctively, placing a palm on the edge and looking over the layout they’d planned.

Daryl pointed to the west perimeter. “I say we rotate Oceanside here. They’ve got good long-range weapons.”

Michonne nodded. “Alexandria can take the north line. It’s exposed, but we’re used to open-field threats.”

Rick tapped the center. “Sanctuary’s used to tight defense. We put them near the trailers. And keep rotating night shifts evenly.”

They nodded in agreement, still half-focused on placement, when Michonne’s voice softened and shifted.

“Rick.”

He glanced up, distracted. “Yeah?”

She looked at him, more carefully this time. “I saw her.”

His eyes blinked slowly. “Who?”

“That woman standing next to Negan when he showed up.”

Rick didn’t answer at first. He just stared at the map, fingers resting stiff on the table edge.

Michonne tilted her head. “You good?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he said lightly. A little too light.

Michonne gave a dry laugh. “You’ve got a thousand-yard stare like you’re watching your house burn down from the inside.”

Rick tried to smirk, but it didn’t land. “I ain’t mad. I mean… he didn’t owe me anything. I knew he had wives. Whatever they were.”

“Yeah, but you thought you mattered more than one of them,” she said quietly.

He didn’t respond. Just inhaled slowly through his nose, trying to keep his expression flat. But Michonne could see it. The storm under the surface.

“I don’t know what we were,” Rick muttered finally. “I just he looked good. Looked like none of it touched him. Not even the goodbye he didn’t say.”

Michonne stepped forward and pulled him into a side hug, resting her chin briefly on his shoulder.

“I see you,” she said quietly. “Even if he won’t show that he does right now.”

Rick exhaled slowly, eyes closed for a second.

Just then, the door opened.

Rick turned his head toward the sound and there he was.

Negan walked in, flanked by Simon and Arat, a few other Sanctuary faces trailing behind. The way he moved was calm, loose. Confident. But when his eyes landed on Rick when they locked across the room the expression shifted.

His brows pulled slightly together. A frown etched across his face, almost like confusion, maybe even something close to guilt. He didn’t say anything yet, just moved to the far end of the table and took a seat, arms spreading casually along the chair’s back.

But a second later, his voice rang out.

“Hope we’re not startin’ without a warm welcome. Wouldn’t want anyone feelin’ neglected.”

Rick’s hands clenched the edge of the table before he could stop them.

Daryl gave a low grunt. “Here we go.”

Rick opened his mouth maybe to bite back, maybe to demand something but the door swung open again before he could speak.

Maggie walked in, Jesus close beside her, followed by a few representatives from Oceanside. Moments later, Ezekiel entered, deep in conversation with Carol, their presence immediately brightening the room with focus and a sense of command.

“Good,” Maggie said, raising her voice over the shuffle of bodies. “We’re all here.”

Everyone quieted and found their places. Rick took a seat beside Daryl and Michonne, stealing one glance across the table where Negan sat. He was silent now, fingers tapping against the edge of his chair.

“Let’s begin,” Maggie said, her voice steady but sharp. “We’ve had several sightings around the woods—walkers that don’t act like walkers. Lydia called them Whisperers. We’ve seen them at Hilltop. Alexandria. And even near Sanctuary’s borders, from what Simon told us.”

Simon gave a short nod. “Two men disappeared last week near our northeast crops. No sign of ‘em.”

“We think they’re scouts,” Maggie continued. “Moving with the herd, wearing skin, staying just far enough away. And we think they’re planning something.”

“They already did,” Aaron added. “Jesus nearly died. We lost a few of our own.”

The tension in the room thickened.

“We need to act,” Maggie said. “Not wait. Strike preemptively.”

One of the Oceanside women Beatrice spoke up. “You sure that’s wise? If we attack and they’ve got numbers, we’ll be inviting war.”

“I think war’s already on our doorstep,” said Carol quietly.

There was a murmur of agreement around the room. Still, Negan hadn’t said a word. His eyes flicked between speakers, watching. Waiting.

After a moment, Maggie stood and glanced to the door. “Carl, Lydia.”

The two teens stepped inside. Carl kept close to Lydia, hand brushing hers briefly for support. She moved to the center of the room, scanning the crowd, then cleared her throat.

“My name’s Lydia,” she said. “I was raised by Alpha. She leads the Whisperers. I escaped. I’m not loyal to them anymore.”

Murmurs again.

“I’ve seen what they do. They don’t negotiate. They don’t build. They move, they take, and they leave destruction behind. The fact that they’ve been watching this long? That means they’re planning to hit hard.”

Carl stepped up beside her, nodding encouragingly.

“Lydia’s helped us understand how they think,” Maggie said. “And she believes our plan can work.”

“It can,” Lydia added, eyes steady. “You don’t wait for Alpha to come to you. You control the battlefield. You strike first fast, before she has time to flood this place with a horde.”

The room fell into thoughtful silence.

Negan still didn’t speak. Just leaned back, face unreadable, eyes flicking once more to Rick.

Rick didn’t look away this time.

The meeting dissolved slowly. People stood in clusters, some moving to their new quarters, others lingering in quiet conversation talking strategy, logistics, catching up. The air was thick with a mix of nerves and resolve. War loomed like a thundercloud, but there was a rare unity in the room that hadn’t been there in years.

Rick stayed behind in the meeting room with Michonne, both of them standing near the head of the table, fielding questions and talking through what came next.

Daryl had gone off to help Ezekiel coordinate the night patrol shifts. Carol walked out with a few from Oceanside, already discussing their sector. Carl and Lydia sat off to the side with Jesus and Aaron, going over details Lydia had sketched out on a notepad. Her voice had grown stronger since she first arrived. Carl’s steady encouragement hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Rick glanced over the map again, brushing his fingers across the inked paths and marked watchpoints.

“You’re quiet,” Michonne said, folding her arms as she watched him.

“Just thinking,” he muttered.

She smiled slightly. “That’s always dangerous.”

Before he could respond, movement to the left caught their attention. Heavy boots. Confident steps.

Negan.

He finally rose from his chair and strolled across the room toward them, hands in his pockets, mouth already twisting into a familiar grin.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the dream team,” he said, voice oozing sarcasm.

Rick frowned immediately.

Michonne didn’t flinch. “You understand the plan, Negan?” she asked flatly.

Negan tilted his head, eyes shifting between them though they landed squarely on Rick, lingering a little too long. “Oh, I get it, sweetheart. I listen real good. Just sittin’ back, letting the pros do their thing. Don’t wanna interrupt genius in motion.”

Rick clenched his jaw, but before he could say anything, Negan gave a short shrug.

“Well, y’all seem to have it covered. I’ll just go play nice in my trailer, try not to break anything.” He gave a mock salute and turned, already walking off.

Michonne scoffed and muttered, “Jackass.”

Rick stared after him, his fists curling.

“You gonna let that go?” she asked.

But he was already storming off.

—

He found Negan a few minutes later outside the storage barn near the garden plots, walking alone in the twilight.

“Negan!”

The man stopped and turned, but not quickly enough.

Rick caught up, grabbed his arm, and shoved him back hard against the weathered wood siding. The slap of Negan’s back hitting the boards echoed through the cooling air.

“What the hell is your problem?” Rick barked. “Every time you walk into a room you act like you’re above it. You think this is some game? Some goddamn performance?”

Negan stared at him, caught off guard, one brow twitching as if he wasn’t sure whether to push back or play it cool.

“I’ve done nothing but treat you with respect,” Rick growled, his voice low and harsh. “I’ve tried to talk to you, tried to work with you even after everything. And you show up acting smug, throwing jabs, making this harder than it needs to be.”

Negan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t raise his voice. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know. That wasn’t, what I meant to do.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looked like you were trying real damn hard to piss me off.”

Negan exhaled, dropping his eyes for a second. “I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect it to hit like that. Seeing you again. You and Michonne. You back in charge.”

Rick stepped back slightly but didn’t let go of his anger.

“I just didn’t know where to stand anymore,” Negan said. “I’m not used to being the outsider.”

Rick scoffed. “Then maybe act like someone who wants in.”

Negan looked up, searching his face. “I’ll go back. Apologize.”

Rick shook his head and stepped away. “Don’t bother. We see how you are.”

And he walked off never turning around.

—

By the time Rick returned to the main house, the sun had dipped low, orange light brushing the fields. The day was fading, but tension still burned behind his eyes.

He stepped into the common area to find Michonne sitting with Maggie, heads bowed in quiet discussion. They looked up when he entered, and Michonne raised a brow at the slight sweat on his temple, but said nothing.

Rick gave a small, sheepish smile. “Hope I didn’t miss much.”

Maggie waved him over. “We were just talking about Lydia’s idea for a false border make it look like we’ve pulled back when really, we’re circling them.”

“She’s got Alpha pegged,” Michonne added. “Knows she underestimates anything that looks weak.”

Rick nodded, letting himself settle into the moment. “That could work.”

He stayed with them for a while, joining in their quiet strategy and comfortable banter, trying to shake off what had just happened. But his chest still felt tight.

—

That night, after dinner, after everyone had tucked themselves into quiet corners of Hilltop, Rick finally stepped out of the shower and into his room, towel drying the ends of his hair, bare feet padding across the old wood floor.

His body was clean, but his head was anything but.

He stood in front of the mirror, water still clinging to his collarbone, eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and thought. He dropped the towel onto the bed and sat down hard on the edge, elbows resting on his knees.

And then he let himself think.

About Negan.

About the look they’d shared in the meeting room. The look that used to mean something. That used to say I see you. I want you.

But now, Negan had shown up with one of his old wives by his side. Like Rick never happened. Like none of those quiet moments, those angry kisses, those breathless nights in the shadows ever mattered.

Rick felt the jealousy burn again, sharper now that he was alone.

Why did he care? He’d told himself he was over it. That it had been about survival. Politics. War.

But deep down, he knew better.

Negan had mattered. More than Rick was ever ready to admit out loud.

He pressed his fingers into his temple, trying to scrub the thoughts away.

But they stayed.

Jealousy. Confusion. Longing. Regret.

They all haunted the quiet corners of the room, creeping in through the cracks.

Rick lay back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling, breath slow and measured. The war was coming but another storm was already raging inside him.

And he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it hidden.

The room was quiet except for the slow, rhythmic whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of old wood settling beneath Hilltop’s bones. Rick lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other stretched across the bed like he was reaching for something or someone, no longer there.

Sleep didn’t come easy. It hadn’t in a while.
His thoughts kept folding back to the meeting, to Negan, to the flash of sharp hurt he hadn’t let anyone see.

That damn smirk. That careless tone.

The echo of it lingered like smoke under his skin.

He exhaled slowly, trying to force himself still, but his muscles stayed tight, like his body knew something his mind hadn’t caught up with yet.

Then—
A sound. Muffled at first. Then louder.

Raised voices outside.

He turned his head, listening. Probably nothing. People still settling in. Tensions were high.

He closed his eyes again.

But then shouting. A sharp bark of orders from beyond the house. Boots pounding the dirt. The creak of the watchtower’s stairs, hurried voices shouting down.

“Movement in the woods!”

Rick sat up.

Another voice yelled, “South side just beyond the tree line!”

He was already off the bed before he even realized it, heart pounding with something like dread. He grabbed a shirt from the chair, threw it on, buttoning it crooked in his rush. He yanked his boots on and shouldered his revolver and machete in his holster as he stepped outside.

The air was thick humid, sharp with tension and the metallic edge of lantern light. People were running, guards moving toward the fences, eyes scanning the darkness. The spotlight from the south tower carved through the trees, illuminating nothing but brush and the faint sway of branches.

Rick jogged to the base of the tower and looked up.

“What do you see!?” he yelled.

“Something’s out there,” a woman called down. “We saw shapes movement but it’s too fast. Could be walkers, could be people!”

Rick climbed the ladder halfway, trying to get a better view. Nothing but shifting leaves, wind rustling through the trees like whispers.

That’s when he heard running footsteps behind him, fast, panicked.

“Dad!”

He turned just in time to see Carl sprinting through the courtyard, his chest heaving, face pale.

“They took her!” he gasped. “It was a distraction they grabbed Lydia from the east side. I saw them three, maybe four of ‘em, dragging her off behind the crops. I tried to stop them but—”

Rick didn’t wait for the rest.

He was already climbing down, heart thudding. “Show me where!”

Carl led the way, cutting behind the stables toward the fields.

Daryl was already there, crouched near a broken fence post, his crossbow in hand, eyes scanning the dark earth.

“They went through here,” he said before Rick could ask. “Tracks head southeast fast. Whisperers.”

Rick’s blood went cold. “We need to go. Now.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate. “I’ll get my gear.”

They both turned back toward the house. Rick shouted orders as they moved, calling for weapons, supplies just enough to move quick, quiet, armed. They stormed into the main house, throwing open the storage room where bags were already half-packed for emergencies.

Michonne was already awake, strapping on her katana. “What the hell is going on?”

“They took Lydia,” Rick said, loading a rifle.

Maggie emerged from her room, tying her jacket tight, eyes sharp. “Where?”

“East side, past the crops,” Daryl answered. “Could’ve been four of them. Carl saw them go.”

Michonne stepped in front of Rick, her hand on his arm. “You can’t just run out there. We don’t know how many of them are hiding this could be a trap.”

“I know,” Rick said, pulling away gently but firmly. “But I’m not leaving her out there. Not again.”

Michonne’s eyes softened but didn’t lose their edge. “Rick…”

“We’ve got it,” Daryl interrupted, checking his bolts. “Fast and quiet. Just need time.”

The front door creaked open.

Rick turned and froze.

Negan stood in the doorway, lit by the flickering lantern behind him, Lucille slung over one shoulder and a long machete strapped at his side. His eyes were dark, focused.

“I’m going,” he said simply.

Rick blinked. “No, you’re not.”

Negan stepped closer. “You need fighters. I’m a fighter.”

“You’re not someone I trust at my back.”

“I don’t need your trust. I need a target.”

Rick’s jaw flexed. He opened his mouth, about to snap something else, but Daryl cut in.

“Fine,” he grunted. “But don’t slow us down.”

Negan smirked, adjusting Lucille. “Wasn’t planning to, crossbow.”

Michonne groaned quietly. “This is insane.”

But Rick had already thrown on his pack, checking his ammo again.

He turned to Maggie and Michonne. “You keep things tight here. Watch the woods. If this is bigger than we think, they could come back.”

“You better come back,” Michonne said, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on his chest. “You come back alive, Rick Grimes.”

He nodded, eyes holding hers. “I promise.”

Then the three of them, Rick, Daryl, and Negan moved to the back gate where the fence had been unlatched and slipped out, disappearing into the tall grass beyond the treeline.

The night swallowed them whole.

The only thing Rick could hear was his breath. The soft crunch of boots. The sound of his heart pounding like war drums in his ears.

And in the distance, somewhere in that dark tangle of trees—

Lydia was waiting.

Chapter Text

Negans POV
-

There was a time not long ago when he could wake up in the morning, look around the Sanctuary, and know exactly who he was. Who everyone else saw when they looked at him.

The man with the bat.
The man with the rules.
The man with wives.
The man who didn’t flinch.

But now—
Now he sometimes flinched at his own damn reflection.

Negan leaned against the rough wood of the barn’s back wall, watching Rick and Daryl move ahead, slicing through brush like bloodhounds on a scent. His boots were already dirty, his jeans damp from the wet grass, Lucille resting across his back like a memory he couldn’t put down. Every sound in the woods pulled him between now and then between this moonlit hunt and the shadows of the Sanctuary where he'd been stuck, half-healed, half-hollow.

Three Weeks Earlier
The bandages itched worse than the pain ever had. The kind of itch that crawled beneath the skin like it knew you couldn’t scratch it without bleeding.

Negan sat on the edge of his bed, shirt off, a glass of water in his hand that tasted too clean. Across from him, Tanya one of his wives, once- moved gently, unwrapping the gauze around his ribs.

She used to wear silk and red lipstick. Now, she wore scrubs she stitched herself and smelled like antiseptic and worn leather. The shine in her eyes had dulled, not bitter but tired. Tired in the way women got when they'd seen too much of men like him.

"You should still be resting," she muttered, brushing ointment over the fading bruises. "You're not ready to be out there."

He didn’t respond. Just drank his water and stared at the floor like it had answers.

She finished taping him up and stood. "I’ll check back tonight. Don’t rip those stitches again, Negan."

He nodded once, not looking up. “Thanks, Nurse Tanya.”

She gave him a weak smile and left without another word.

The moment the door shut behind her, he stood and went to the window. Outside, the guards were herding walkers away from the northern fence line. Walkers kept slipping through testing them. Testing him.

He grabbed the walkie on the desk, flicking it on to listen to patrol chatter. But instead of static and mumbled reports—

Rick’s voice came through.

“Sanctuary, this is Alexandria. Come in.”

Negan froze.

His heart dropped somewhere between his knees.

“This is Rick Grimes. I’m at Hilltop. I need to speak with Negan.”

He hadn’t heard that voice in days and god did he miss it.
Negan’s fingers twitched around the radio, tempted to answer. So damn tempted.

He wanted to say:
I’ve been thinking about you.
I didn’t mean to leave without saying goodbye
I don’t belong anywhere and maybe I never did, but I—

But all he did was turn around, shove the walkie into Simon’s chest, and say gruffly, “Tell him I’m busy.”

Simon raised a brow. “You sure?”

“I said what I said.”

He turned away before he could change his mind.

From that moment on, Negan stopped answering the radio. Let Simon handle the talks. Let Arat organize the runs. He stayed in the shadows, patrolled the fences, kept his head down and his jaw clenched tight. He counted the days until the Hilltop gathering like he was walking the steps to a gallows.

-
-

Now – Hilltop

When the truck pulled through the gates and he climbed out, Negan spotted Rick instantly.
His back was to him at first helping the Oceanside crew unload their gear, but then he turned. Their eyes locked.

Negan swore the air left his chest for just a second.

Rick looked different. Tired. Lighter. Leaner. Wound up tight.
And that tension spiked the moment he saw Negan.

Negan didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. But he felt Rick’s anxiety like a punch to the gut. He knew that look.
And he knew he caused it.

And then Rick’s expression shifted.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes. Something Negan couldn’t name until—

Until he heard Tanya quiet voice beside him.

She stood there, arms crossed, watching Rick with her usual wary gaze. He didn’t even realize she’d followed him from the truck. When she stepped closer just slightly Negan caught the look in Rick’s eyes change again.

Jealousy. Burning and hot and quickly buried.

Negan’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t want that reaction. Not from Rick. Not for the wrong reasons. Tanya was just…convenient history. Something left over from a time he was trying to forget. Rick didn’t know that. Wouldn’t believe it even if he did.

The meetings were worse.

Watching Rick and Michonne move together, so fluidly, iso easy it made his throat tighten. There was something in the way they looked at each other. A shared language in their glances. No performance. No pressure. Just... understanding.

Negan hated how much he wanted that. Hated how he didn’t know how to have that. With anyone.

And so, yeah maybe he got too sharp with a comment. Maybe he didn’t think before that dig in the meeting room.

And when Rick shoved him against the barn wall hours later, eyes blazing, hands trembling, Negan almost welcomed it.

Because it meant Rick still cared.

Because maybe he deserved it.

“Disrespectful?” he’d repeated, voice low after Rick’s outburst. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I was.”

For once, he didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. He’d looked Rick dead in the eye and said, “I’ll go back and apologize.”

Rick had shaken his head. “Don’t bother. We see who you are.”

Negan hadn’t followed him back.

But he’d watched him go.

And now, standing at the edge of the woods, machete at his hip and Lucille on his back, watching Rick Grimes strap on his revolver and prepare to run headfirst into another fight, Negan knew he had no business going with them.

But he stepped forward anyway.

"I'm going," he said.

Rick frowned instantly. “You’re not.”

But Daryl, bless his growling, annoyed soul, just muttered, “Fine. Just don’t slow us down.”

Negan didn’t grin. He just nodded once.

Because it wasn’t about being part of the team.
It wasn’t even about redemption.

It was about Rick.

And making sure he came back.

The woods were too damn quiet.

Branches creaked overhead, heavy with dew and shadows. Their boots sunk deep into the soft ground, each step muffled but tense, like the forest itself was holding its breath. Even the birds had shut the hell up. That was never a good sign.

Negan walked behind them Daryl up front, crouching every few yards to check for prints or bent twigs, and Rick just a few paces ahead of him, tense as a tripwire.

Rick hadn’t spoken a single word to him since they left Hilltop. Not a damn word.

Fine. Negan could play that game.

But the silence had weight to it thick and personal and it was driving him insane. The way Rick moved, sharp and deliberate, like he was trying not to be noticed by him but couldn't stop making noise anyway. Like his whole body was shouting what his mouth wouldn’t say.

Negan clenched his jaw, eyes flicking up to the back of Rick’s neck.

He remembered touching that neck once.
Pressing his palm there.
Hearing the little sound Rick made when he did.

Rick shifted suddenly, stepping over a root without a glance behind. Didn’t even acknowledge him. Like Negan was part of the scenery.

Like he hadn’t nearly kissed him the last time they were alone together.

That did something ugly inside Negan.

“You always this quiet, Grimes?” Negan asked, voice low but deliberate, just loud enough to carry between the trees. “Or is it just me?”

Rick didn’t answer.

Didn’t turn around.

Just kept walking.

Negan scoffed under his breath. “Right. Pretend I don’t exist. That always works out well for you.”

Daryl grunted from ahead, crouching at a set of boot prints near a shallow ridge. “They’re still dragging her. Footprints are messy, but she’s fighting.”

That snapped Rick out of his ghost routine. He stepped closer to Daryl, scanning the path. “We’re getting close?”

Daryl nodded once. “If we move fast, we might catch up before sunrise.”

“Then we keep going,” Rick muttered, already moving.

Negan moved to follow, but his voice rose again, sharper this time. “Maybe we’d be moving faster if someone wasn’t walking like they’ve got a stick up their ass.”

Rick stopped cold.

For a second, the woods fell still. Even the wind seemed to stall.

Slowly, Rick turned to face him expression unreadable, jaw tight, eyes dark in the shadows.

“You’re here to help or to be a problem?” Rick asked, low and level.

Negan shrugged, but there was an edge behind the grin. “Can’t help if I’m being ignored the whole damn time.”

Rick didn’t answer. Just looked at him, gaze cutting like glass.

It hit Negan all at once the jealousy, the tension, the way Rick’s fists kept clenching like he was holding something back. Something heavy. Something personal.

Negan stepped forward once, voice low. “You got something to say to me, Rick? Or are we just gonna keep pretending this is all about Lydia?”

Daryl stood halfway between them now, glancing from one to the other. “Not the time,” he muttered. “We’re here to get the girl. Save the drama for when she’s safe.”

Rick stared a second longer, then turned and walked off without a word.

Negan followed, slower now. Everything in him buzzed with frustration and something worse. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.

The space between them wasn’t just physical.

It was full of everything unsaid.

And the deeper they went into the trees, the more it threatened to crack.

-
-

The silence was unbearable. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Negan had never been a man who knew how to shut up. Not when things were tense. Not when emotions were thick and itching under his skin like poison ivy. And especially not when Rick Grimes was walking three feet in front of him, all clenched jaw and brooding energy like he was about to snap a tree in half just from walking past it.

Negan let out a breath through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always this talkative on rescue missions, or is this a special treat?”

No response.

“C’mon, Grimes, throw me a bone. I get it I’ve got one of those faces that makes people wanna punch somethin’. But you’re actin’ like I personally stole your dog.”

Still nothing.

Rick moved like he hadn’t even heard him, like he was part of the damn wilderness.

Negan smirked, shaking his head. “What’s the matter? Michonne not tuck you in last night?

That did it.

Rick stopped abruptly and turned around, his eyes dark and locked with Negan’s. But when he spoke, his voice wasn’t loud it was quiet. Dangerously quiet.

“You think this is a joke?” Rick asked, voice low, controlled. “You think we’re out here to play your game again?”

Negan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. He opened his mouth, but Rick kept talking.

“You’re not here for Lydia. You’re not here for Hilltop. You’re here to chase a moment that’s already passed.”

That stung more than Negan expected. Rick stepped closer.

“I don’t care how many jokes you make. You push me again once and I swear to God, I’ll tie your ass to a tree and leave you here.”

Negan was frozen. And then because he couldn’t help himself he tilted his head and gave a crooked smirk.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Not sure if I should be offended or turned on.”

Rick scoffed, loud and bitter, and turned away without another word.

But Negan... he got the message.

He shut up.

The rest of the walk was filled with the rustle of leaves and the occasional whisper of Daryl pointing out a fresh track, but nothing else. The air hung heavy between them, but Negan didn’t speak again. Not one damn word.

After what felt like miles, Daryl suddenly slowed and crouched low behind a thick patch of brush. He lifted one hand, motioning for them to freeze, then beckoned them closer.

Negan crept forward, crouching beside him. Rick was on the other side, already scanning through the foliage.

Just beyond the clearing was a rough makeshift camp.

A ring of Whisperers eight, maybe ten of them sat in a circle around a low fire. They weren’t laughing or celebrating. Just... murmuring to one another, low and deliberate, like this was some kind of twisted community meeting.

And then Negan saw them.

Two figures standing apart from the rest.

One was tall and monstrous shoulders broad, face hidden behind a massive mask of skin. The Beta, no doubt.

Beside him stood a woman with a long coat of filth and a shaved head that caught the flickering light.

Alpha.

Negan narrowed his eyes.

She turned away from the group and walked into the shadows alone, disappearing behind a low line of trees. No one followed her.

That was when another Whisperer dragged someone into the firelight.

Negan leaned forward instinctively.

The girl was fighting hands bound, but kicking wildly, until they forced her to her knees. One of them pulled the hood off her head.

Lydia.

Negan didn’t even have time to react because Rick twitched, hand going to his belt like he was ready to charge.

But Daryl’s hand shot out fast and firm, grabbing Rick’s shoulder and yanking him back.

“Not now,” Daryl hissed.

Rick gritted his teeth, eyes locked on Lydia.

Daryl nodded toward a tree line behind them. “We need to talk. Now.”

They backed away slowly, leaving the firelight behind, hearts pounding, jaws tight.

Negan lingered a second longer, watching Lydia’s face as she looked around not crying, not begging. Just... scared and still.

And then he turned, following Rick and Daryl into the shadows.

They crouched in a tight circle, hunched beneath the swaying branches of pine and oak. The firelight from the Whisperer camp flickered faintly in the distance, casting ominous shadows that danced like ghosts across the tree trunks.

The tension was thick coiled tight, like a bowstring pulled too far.

Negan was still processing what he’d seen Lydia kneeling in the dirt, her shoulders hunched, her face too calm for the situation. But it was the silence between Rick and Daryl that gripped at his chest the most.

Rick finally broke it, his voice low and sharp, slicing through the night like a blade.

“We need to make a plan. Get her out, undetected.”

Daryl nodded. “They’re all sittin’ out in the open now, but they’re gonna break up when night comes. Probably take shifts. We wait until they’re passed out or separated. Slide in quiet.”

Negan’s eyes stayed on the camp, mind racing. Then he spoke, quietly but firm.

“There’s a blind spot. Northwest side. Alpha walked that way must be where she sleeps. The rest are crowding the fire. We circle wide through the trees, hit that side. Less traffic. One of us takes the guard, two grab the girl.”

Rick and Daryl looked at him.

Daryl scratched his chin, thinking. “That... could work.”

Rick didn’t say anything, but his silence wasn’t dismissal. It was consideration.

They talked more short words, direct, efficient. Wait until full nightfall. Move under the cover of dark. Don’t fight unless necessary.

By the time they’d agreed on everything, the sky was deep blue almost black and the first stars were peeking through the treetops. The fire at the Whisperer camp had dimmed, their voices quieter now. It was almost time.

But Negan couldn’t focus.

His chest was tight, lungs unable to draw in a full breath. He kept watching Rick’s face in the shadows, every line of it lit up in fractured silver moonlight. Focused. Determined. Brave as hell. And completely unreachable.

And Negan fuck he couldn't shake the weight pressing on him.

What if they didn’t make it out?

What if this was it?

What if Rick never knew?

Negan moved.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed Rick’s arm.

Rick jerked back instinctively, but Negan held on not rough, just firm.

“What are you—” Rick began, already frustrated.

“Just come here,” Negan said. His voice was quiet. Too quiet for his usual bravado.

Rick gave a hard glare, tried to pull free, but Negan tugged him a few steps away. Into the trees, just out of earshot of Daryl, out of view of the camp.

Rick shook off his grip the second they stopped. “What the hell is wrong with you? We don’t have time for this—”

“Just stop,” Negan said, sharper now. “Stop talking. For one damn second.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed, chest rising and falling faster. “Make it quick.”

Negan opened his mouth and for once, words failed him.

Because he wasn’t ready.

But he also had to be.

“I don’t know what the hell happens tonight,” he started, voice low, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if we make it out, if Lydia makes it out. But if shit goes sideways, I need to say this. I need you to hear it.”

Rick frowned, already starting to turn away.

“Rick,” Negan stepped closer. “I ain’t good at this. Never was. But when I got that radio and heard your voice for the first time again… it—fuck, it broke me.”

Rick stiffened, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed.

“I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I was scared of what I’d say. Of what you’d say. I thought I didn’t belong in your world. Still don’t. But I kept thinking about you. About how you looked at me like I was more than I ever was. And maybe I never said it, but… I felt something.”

Silence.

Negan looked down. “I still do.”

Rick raised a hand between them, cutting him off like a blade.

“Don’t,” Rick said flatly.

Negan’s eyes lifted.

“I don’t want to hear this.” Rick’s voice was quiet, hard. “Not now. Not in the damn woods, not before a rescue. And definitely not from you.”

Negan blinked. “Rick—”

“You think showing up with Lucille and a few jokes makes this okay?” Rick went on, voice rising just slightly. “You ghosted me. Then you show up with some woman on your arm like I meant nothing. You don’t get to do this now. Not tonight.”

Negan felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He tried to speak, but no words came.

Rick stepped back, eyes cold. “Save your confessions. We’ve got a kid to rescue.”

And then he turned.

He walked away, his boots quiet on the leaves, disappearing back into the dark like he hadn’t just gutted someone.

Negan stood still, alone among the trees, the sound of the forest filling the silence he couldn’t.

And for the first time in a long time…
He had nothing left to say.

-
-

The ache in Negan’s chest from Rick’s rejection still sat heavy, but he pushed it down. There wasn’t time for emotions not when a kid’s life was on the line. This was about Lydia. Not him. Not Rick. Not the damn ghosts of their past.

A low whistle from Daryl snapped him back.

“It’s time,” Daryl said, checking his crossbow. “We stick to the plan. Me and you take the guards. Rick gets the girl. We don’t stop runnin’ until we’re clear.”

Negan gave a nod, gripping Lucille tight in his hand, the barbed wire glinting in the faint moonlight. He could feel the tension humming through the air. Leaves rustled in the night breeze, and the faint crackle of the Whisperer campfire flickered through the trees.

Daryl motioned forward, and they slipped through the woods like shadows.

The first Whisperer stood watch near the northern edge of the camp lean, distracted, eyes darting elsewhere. Daryl crept forward, silent, slipping behind the man in seconds. With one quick motion, he yanked him down and drove a blade into his throat. The man gurgled once and crumpled into the leaves.

Negan moved in sync, circling to the second guard. But this one was alert, twitchy.

As Negan crept up, a twig snapped under his boot.

Shit.

The Whisperer spun around, eyes widening.

“Hey—!” the man started, but Negan lunged, slamming Lucille into his chest. The guard went down, but not before clawing at Negan, his blade scraping along Negan’s side. Negan hissed but didn’t let go, pressing harder until the body went limp.

He looked up, breath ragged.

Rick was already in motion, slipping into the edge of the camp, crouched low behind tents and logs. Lydia sat bound in the middle, a Whisperer standing watch nearby. Rick crept forward like a ghost, waiting until the guard turned his back before sliding behind him and choking him out in seconds.

Negan paused, watching the silhouette of Rick cutting Lydia’s bonds. It was working. The plan was working.

Until it wasn’t.

A whisper of fabric. A flash of movement.

A Whisperer stumbled out of the trees behind Rick, eyes going wide as he caught sight of him and Lydia.

“HEY—!”

The shout pierced the quiet like a gunshot.

“Run!” Rick ordered, pushing Lydia forward. “Don’t stop until you get back!”

She hesitated, eyes wide with fear, then bolted into the woods just as more Whisperers began shouting and scrambling in the camp.

Negan finished off his attacker and looked back Rick was on his feet, grabbing his machete but another Whisperer tackled him from the side, knocking the blade from his hand and sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Shit!” Negan growled, starting forward only to be blindsided by another Whisperer lunging at him. He shoved Lucille into the attacker’s ribs, snarling, but it cost him precious seconds.

By the time he looked back, Rick was rolling, struggling to get up. Another Whisperer had joined in, kicking Rick in the ribs. The first one held him down.

Rick fought back fiercely elbowing one attacker, twisting his body but it wasn’t enough.

CRACK.

A sickening thud echoed through the trees as one of them brought down a log onto Rick’s head.

Rick slumped.

Negan’s breath caught in his throat.

“RICK!”

He roared and slammed Lucille into his attacker’s face with a sickening crunch, sending the body flailing backward. He took off running.

An arrow whizzed past his shoulder, sinking into a Whisperer who’d been about to stab Rick. Daryl silent, deadly loaded another.

Blood was everywhere.

It was in Rick’s hair, dripping down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt. The moonlight caught on it, turning it into something almost artistic. Violent. Gorgeous.

Negan had just finished caving in a Whisperer's skull with Lucille when he looked up and saw it the blur of movement, the knife raised, Rick helpless beneath him.

One Whisperer straddled Rick’s limp body, raising a knife

No, no, no—

He took off running, his chest burning, panic pounding in his ears like gunfire. He couldn’t get there fast enough.

Then Rick’s hand shot out like goddamn lightning grabbing his machete from the dirt and slicing the Whisperer’s throat wide open in one perfect, clean arc.

The sound was wet, ugly. Blood sprayed like a fountain, painting Rick's already ruined shirt crimson.

Negan skidded to a halt, mouth falling open.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “You just made murder look hot, Grimes.”

He kicked the twitching body off and dropped to his knees beside Rick, who was groaning, dazed, barely conscious.

“Hey, hey, come on now don’t go dying on me after that performance,” Negan said, cradling Rick’s head, trying to wipe some of the blood away with his sleeve and only smearing it more. “Jesus, you look like a horror show. But like… a weirdly attractive horror show.”

Rick’s eyes fluttered, unfocused. He blinked slowly, brows twitching.

“Th’fuck…” Rick murmured, trying to sit up.

“Nope, don’t move,” Negan ordered, sliding an arm around his back. “You took a log to the dome, Rambo. I’m pretty sure I heard your skull crack. Not exactly the sound I wanna hear from my favorite head.”

Rick groaned again, sagging into him.

Negan held him tighter.

Daryl’s voice cut through the chaos behind them. “Let’s go, now!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Negan muttered, hauling Rick up. “One damn crisis at a time.”

He got Rick to his feet, Rick stumbling like a baby deer. Negan slung one of his arms over his shoulders and wrapped an arm tight around his waist.

“Alright, come on, Pretty Boy. Let’s walk it off. You still owe me a real conversation, remember?”

Rick made a noise that sounded halfway between a grunt and a laugh, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes were glassy, his head hanging forward as they moved through the woods.

“Y’know,” Negan kept talking, voice low, “I do appreciate the dramatic flair. Letting me think you were about to die, then pulling off that sexy-ass kill? You always knew how to keep a guy on his toes.”

Rick coughed wet and painful, but it almost sounded like a laugh.

“That’s right,” Negan encouraged. “Laugh it up. You can’t bleed out if you’re busy basking in my irresistible charm.”

Branches whipped across their faces as they pushed through the trees. Every step was brutal Rick’s boots dragging, his body limp. Negan adjusted his grip.

“God, you’re heavier than you look,” he huffed. “All that self-righteousness probably adds ten pounds.”

Behind them, Daryl caught up, eyes darting between the woods and Rick.

“He good?”

“No, he’s bleeding out of his damn ears, but thanks for asking,” Negan snapped. “Keep an eye on our six, will ya? If another freak in a skin mask comes at us, I’m gonna need both hands.”

Rick stirred in his grasp, mumbling.

“What’s that, sweetheart? You’re gonna be fine? Yeah, tell that to the gallon of blood you just left on my shirt.”

Rick tried to push away, stumbling a few steps on his own before crumpling again. Negan grabbed him before he hit the ground.

“Alright, that’s enough cowboy shit,” Negan growled. “Next time I say ‘let me carry you,’ you say, ‘Yes Daddy.’”

“Asshole…” Rick mumbled, barely coherent.

“See? He is alive,” Negan smirked, eyes flicking toward Daryl. “Still got his bite.”

Daryl doubled back, grabbing Rick’s other side, and together they moved through the woods fast but cautious.

The forest around them seemed alive with movement, shouts fading behind them as they got farther and farther from the camp. Every breath felt like dragging lead through their lungs.

Eventually, Lydia reappeared on the trail, wide-eyed and shaking.

“I—I didn’t stop,” she panted. “I ran. I kept running…”

“You did good, kid,” Daryl said, not missing a beat.

They kept moving, winding down deer trails, ducking under branches, pushing past overgrowth until the trees began to thin and the torchlights of hilltops flickered in the distance like beacons of salvation.

Rick was barely holding on, staggering, his skin pale, lips split.

Rick’s weight sagged harder.

“Come on, Rick. Stay with me, baby,” Negan whispered. “You’ve made it this far don’t you dare pull a dramatic exit now.”

The gates opened before they even reached them someone must’ve seen them coming. Voices shouted, footsteps pounded. Carol and a few others rushed forward.

Then, just as the adrenaline began to fade from Negan’s limbs—

Rick collapsed in his arms.

“RICK!”

Negan hit the ground with him, catching his head before it smacked the dirt.

“He’s out cold!” Daryl shouted.

“He’s got a head wound,” Negan added, heart hammering. “Took a log to the skull get the damn doc, NOW!”

Hands rushed in, pulling Rick from his arms, lifting him carefully onto a stretcher. Negan knelt there, soaked in blood, heart thundering in his chest as they carried Rick toward the infirmary.

And for a second, all he could hear was the sound of Rick’s machete slicing that Whisperer’s throat, and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

He didn’t even realize he was whispering until he heard himself say it:

“You better wake up, Grimes. You still haven’t heard how I really feel.”

Chapter Text

They dragged Rick inside, but Negan wasn’t allowed to follow.

Blood still stained his hands, dried and crusted under his nails. It was all Rick’s. And now that Negan wasn’t holding him up, wasn’t fighting off Whisperers, wasn’t running
He could feel the terror.

His legs shook beneath him, chest tight like he was being crushed from the inside out. His heart hadn’t stopped racing. And the fucking silence of waiting… made everything worse.

He barely noticed Tanya until she stepped up beside him.

“You need to sit,” she said gently. “You’re covered in blood.”

“I know whose blood it is,” Negan snapped too harshly. He closed his eyes, sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry. I just.. fuck.”

Tanya didn’t flinch. She’d seen worse, dealt with worse. “Come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up.”

He followed her in a daze, hands trembling as she helped wipe away the blood and grime from his arms and face. He caught a glimpse of himself in a cracked mirror. Eyes wild. Blood in his beard. He looked like a man who had barely survived.

Because he was.

Because Rick had barely survived.

Before Tanya could say anything else, the doors slammed open.

“Where is he?!” Michonne’s voice rang through the hall like a blade unsheathed. “Where’s Rick?!”

Negan turned just as she rushed up to him. Her face was pale, panicked. “What the hell happened?! I got a message you were back, that Rick was hurt what the fuck happened out there?!”

Negan swallowed, voice cracking. “We got Lydia out. Whisperers were everywhere. It was goin’ fine… until it wasn’t.”

Her eyes scanned him like she was trying to see through him. “Is he—”

“He’s alive. He he got hit pretty hard. Lost a lot of blood.”

“Jesus Christ.” She looked like she might collapse, but she kept herself together. “You brought him back?”

Negan nodded. “Carried him half the way. Daryl helped.”

Before she could ask more, the door to the infirmary opened.

The Hilltop doctor stepped out, peeling off his gloves.

“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “Concussion. Took a pretty bad hit to the head, needed stitches. But his vitals are solid. All he needs is a few days’ rest. He’ll be okay.”

Negan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Michonne swayed beside him and let her own relief show, head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut for half a second.

“Can we see him?” she asked.

The doctor shook his head. “Give him a bit. He’s awake but groggy. Give him some time to rest.”

So they waited.

Negan sat on the bench outside the infirmary, hands braced on his knees, boots tapping against the floor. Michonne beside him, silent at first.

Then she turned.

“You really hurt him, y’know.”

Negan froze.

She continued, quiet but firm. “When you left. Without saying goodbye. Then showing up with one of your wives.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the floor, the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing but never quite steady.

Then he inhaled deep. Sat back against the wall.

“I know,” he muttered. “That’s the thing I know.” He looked at her, eyes dark and raw. “You and Rick… you just work. Easy. You don’t have to say shit, you just know each other. I saw it, and it made me realize…”

He shook his head.

“I don’t belong here. That’s what I thought. That no matter how much I wanted him, wanted this, there was no place for me in it. So I went home.”

Michonne listened, her face unreadable.

“And Tanya?” he continued. “Not a wife. Not anymore. I haven’t had wives for months. I let them all go. She’s a nurse. She came to keep an eye on the wounded. That’s it.”

Michonne’s shoulders relaxed, just slightly. “Rick was never mad about Tanya. He was hurt because you didn’t say goodbye.”

Negan looked away, jaw clenched.

“You should talk to him,” she said after a beat. “When he’s better.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Last time I tried that, he almost died.”

Michonne gave him a pointed look. “Maybe next time, don’t wait until you’re both in the middle of a Whisperer ambush to share your feelings, huh?”

Despite everything, a small smile cracked across Negan’s face. “Noted.”

The infirmary door creaked open again. Tanya stepped out, her face soft but tired.

“He’s ready for visitors. One at a time.”

Negan started to rise, but Michonne moved too. He stopped himself.

“You go first,” he said.

She tilted her head. “You sure?”

“I need a second,” he admitted. “Get my head on straight.”

She hesitated, then reached out and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Don’t take too long. He’s gonna want to see you.”

Then she disappeared inside.

Negan slumped back against the wall. Every muscle in his body was trembling now that the adrenaline was gone. He rubbed his hands together, stared at the fading blood beneath his fingernails.

He could’ve lost Rick tonight.

He had almost lost him.

And if he had, without ever saying what he felt what was real he would’ve never forgiven himself.

He was done hiding. Done pretending. Life was too fucking short.

When Michonne finally came back out, her face looked lighter.

“He’s okay,” she said softly. “Bit beat up. Tired. But alert. So go easy.”

Negan stood, nodded, his legs shaky. “Thanks.”

He opened the door, heart hammering in his throat, and stepped inside.

The room was quiet, warm. Rick lay in the bed, head bandaged, chest rising and falling slowly under the thin blanket. For a second, Negan didn’t move just looked.

He was alive.

Rick’s eyes opened.

He blinked at Negan, a smirk twitching across his lips despite the bruises.

“You just gonna stand there and stare, or you gonna say hi to me?”

Negan snorted, tension cracking off his chest like old armor.

“You always this mouthy after a brain injury, or is this just for me?”

Rick tried to chuckle, winced. “Just for you.”

Negan moved to the chair beside the bed and sat down slowly, letting the weight of everything finally settle.

“I’m not hiding anymore,” he said quietly.

Rick turned his head, met his eyes.

“Good,” Rick whispered. “Me neither.”

The room felt too quiet, even with Rick breathing, even with the machines giving off their steady, rhythmic hum. It wasn’t the silence that got to Negan. It was what it meant.

What it almost became.

Rick was here, but the memory of his body going limp in his arms of all that blood still clung to Negan’s skin like a second layer.

“You just gonna sit there brooding?” Rick muttered hoarsely, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You’re real good at that lately.”

Negan chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Don’t get smart with me, Grimes. You almost died out there. I earned a little brooding.”

“Yeah, well…” Rick swallowed, eyes slipping shut for a second. “Still alive. You and your big-ass mouth kept me awake.”

Negan smirked. “Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it. Honestly, Rick you slitting that Whisperer’s throat? Covered in blood? Hot as fuck. I was about five seconds from throwing you over my shoulder for different reasons.”

Rick cracked open an eye, scoffed. “Yeah. Real hot. Almost dying. Nothing gets the blood flowing like a concussion.”

And just like that, the air shifted.

The humor died off. Silence returned, thicker now.

Rick’s gaze dropped to the blanket. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Negan leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath him. “Don’t apologize.”

Rick looked up, startled by the edge in Negan’s voice.

Negan swallowed hard. His fingers twitched on his thigh for a second before he reached out and wrapped his hand around Rick’s. The contact steadied him. Anchored him.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Negan said, voice low, raw. “I’m the one who fucked up. Walked away like a damn coward. Left you without a word. And when I came back… brought Tanya and made it worse.”

Rick didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything either. He just watched him. Waiting.

Negan took a breath like it physically hurt to drag in. “I didn’t bring her to hurt you. She was just there to help. She’s not, wasn’t anything. I haven’t… Christ, Rick.”

He leaned closer, squeezed his hand.

“There hasn’t been anyone. Not since that first time. Not a single goddamn person. You wrecked me for anyone else. I tried to pretend it didn’t mean shit. Thought I could play it cool. Thought maybe this was just a phase. But then I saw you at Hilltop. And every fucking second I stayed away, it burned.”

Rick’s eyes flickered, surprised, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I didn’t think I belonged,” Negan continued. “In your world. In this world. Not really. You’ve got family, structure, rules. You’re the guy people look to. I’m the guy they still look sideways at when they think I’m not watchin’. I thought if I stayed away, it would make it easier for both of us.”

He laughed bitterly.

“But it didn’t. Because I missed you. I missed us whatever the hell this is. Even if it’s messy and complicated and drives me up the goddamn wall. I missed the sound of your voice, the way you look when you're pissed at me. The way you fight for everything you care about. Even when I’m not sure I deserve to be on that list.”

Rick opened his mouth, but Negan wasn’t finished.

“You scare the hell outta me, Rick Grimes,” he said with a trembling smile. “Because you make me want to be better. You make me give a shit about more than surviving. You made me hope again and that’s dangerous for a guy like me. Hope’s what gets you killed.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“But you almost died tonight, and that did it. I can’t hide from this anymore. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it makes me stupid and reckless and terrified. And I don’t wanna pretend anymore. I don’t want to be on the outside lookin’ in. I want to try, Rick. With you. For real.”

His voice cracked. He blinked hard and cursed softly as a tear slid down his cheek.

“I want to belong here. I want to belong to you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rick stared at him, his expression unreadable, lips slightly parted like he didn’t know how to breathe.

Negan bowed his head, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, chuckling bitterly. “Shit. I really just did that, huh?”

Still, Rick didn’t speak. But he didn’t pull away either. His fingers, pale and bandaged, curled weakly around Negan’s.

It was barely a grip. But it was enough.

Negan looked up through damp lashes. “Say something, Grimes. Even if it’s just to tell me I’m crazy.”

Rick’s voice was hoarse, shaky. “You’re not crazy.”

Negan gave a half-smile. “Not the reassurance I was hopin’ for, but I’ll take it.”

Rick held onto his hand. Still weak. Still hurting. But his eyes were glassy now too. And the next words came quiet, but firm.

“I missed you too.”

And for the first time in weeks, Negan finally let out a breath that didn’t feel like it cut him open.

The room felt warmer now. Rick was still pale, eyes a bit glassy from the meds, but some color had returned to his face and Negan wasn’t sure if that was because he finally got all the words out, or if Rick was actually blushing.

Which, truthfully, was kind of doing something to him.

“You know,” Negan said, leaning back just a bit but not letting go of Rick’s hand, “you look real pretty like that sweaty, bruised, stitched up, and pink in the cheeks. Kinda like a war-scarred debutante.”

Rick groaned and turned his head. “Jesus.”

Negan grinned. “I’m just sayin’. It’s a look. You could start a whole damn trend. Call it ‘gritty survival couture.’”

“Shut up,” Rick muttered, but he was smiling now. That little half-smirk he got when he was trying not to be amused.

Negan lifted a brow. “Now that’s more like it. I was starting to worry I’d broken you.”

Rick tilted his head just enough to shoot him a dry look. “You did. Multiple times. In multiple ways.”

“Damn right I did.” Negan winked. “Want me to apologize or say ‘you’re welcome’?”

Rick snorted. “Depends on the context.”

Negan leaned forward, dropping the theatrics for just a second, brushing his fingers along the back of Rick’s hand again. “I’m serious, though. Even now, all banged up and stitched, you’re the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

That killed whatever smartass comeback Rick had. His eyes softened, mouth parting like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out

Finally, Rick let out a quiet huff of laughter, his face turning redder by the second. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best bad decision you keep makin’.” Negan shot him finger guns. “And now? I’m your honest bad decision. No more secrets. We’re like… emotionally evolved now.”

Rick chuckled, shaking his head. “God help me.”

They sat like that for a while bantering, the weight in the room finally starting to lift. There was still pain behind Rick’s eyes, still a lot unsaid, but it didn’t feel impossible now. They were facing the same direction again. Together.

Negan watched him for a moment, his thumb absently brushing the edge of Rick’s hand. There were bruises up his arm, faint cuts near his temple. His lips were cracked. But he was alive.

That was everything.

Just as Rick started to drift a little, the door creaked open and the Hilltop doctor stepped inside, clipboard tucked under one arm. He gave Negan a quick glance before making his way to Rick’s side.

“How are you feeling, Rick?” the doc asked, gently checking his pulse and then lifting the blanket to inspect the bandaging around his side.

“Like shit,” Rick muttered.

“Good. You’re aware. That’s progress.” The doctor gave a dry smile, then glanced toward Negan. “There’s a line of people who’ve been hovering around the porch waiting for news. They’ll want to talk to him now that he’s awake.”

Negan stood, stretching a little with a soft grunt. “Well, well. Look at you, Grimes. Already got a fan club. What’s next signing autographs on bullet casings?”

Rick gave a tired laugh, rubbing his eyes.

Negan leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. “I’ll let you bask in all the admiration. I’ll swing back later, once the crowds disperse and your groupies settle down.”

He turned to go, but a hand caught his wrist. Rick’s.

His grip wasn’t strong, but it was enough—and when Negan turned back, Rick was looking up at him with something vulnerable in his eyes.

“Wait.”

Negan leaned in automatically, closer, heart thudding hard in his chest and Rick pulled him down gently, guiding him in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was slow, almost tentative, but full of everything they hadn’t been able to say. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was real. Their mouths moved together softly, carefully, as if they were both afraid of shattering something fragile.

Negan cupped Rick’s cheek, angling just enough to deepen it without hurting him. And Rick let him, fingers sliding weakly up his arm, holding him there.

When they finally pulled apart, Rick let out a slow breath. “I’m not good with speeches,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I’m not… always good at this kind of stuff. But I love you, Negan. I do. I’ve felt it for a long time. I was just… scared of what it meant. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Negan stared at him, breath caught in his chest.

“I want to give this a shot,” Rick continued, eyes steady. “No more miscommunication. No more disappearing. If something’s wrong… we talk. No more running away.”

Negan smiled, and it was small, but it was real. “Well shit,” he whispered. “You do know how to make a guy feel special.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Hey now, I’m enhancing the moment. But alright, alright.” Negan squeezed his hand. “Deal. We talk. No running. Unless it’s from walkers or Whisperers or your fan club out there.”

Rick laughed. “You’re such a dumbass.”

Negan leaned in, pressing one last kiss to Rick’s lips shorter this time, but no less warm.

“And you’re stuck with me,” he whispered.

Then he stood tall, took a breath, and headed toward the door heart full, finally, and for the first time in a long time, home felt close.

-
-
Rick’s POV

Rick hadn’t had two damn seconds to breathe.

The minute the doc cleared people to come in, the flood started. First was Michonne coming again to see Rick because he was more conscious to fuss at. She clung to him so tight it knocked the air from his chest, scolding him for running off like he was still twenty years old and invincible. He tried to reassure her, but her eyes stayed sharp, always seeing deeper than he wanted her to.

Then Daryl shuffled in, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like he was holding himself together by force. “Thought you was dead again,” he muttered, eyes flicking anywhere but Rick’s face. Rick told him, “Not this time,” but the way Daryl’s jaw tightened said he wasn’t ready to let that go. They spoke quiet, in half sentences like they always did, both of them stubborn as hell but too loyal to walk away.

Maggie came next, Her smile was faint, cautious, but real. She told him Hilltop needed his head, his steadiness. He told her she was already running circles around him. For a second, they both laughed tired, but real.

And Carl… God, Carl. His boy had grown harder around the edges, but when he leaned down to hug Rick, it was the same as when he was little. Carl didn’t say much just, “Don’t scare me like that again, Dad.” That hit harder than any Whisperer blade could’ve.

By the time the stream of faces slowed and the door clicked shut, Rick felt wrung out, like a rag that’d been twisted dry. His head throbbed, his stitched scalp pulling every time he so much as shifted on the pillow. He sank back, eyelids heavy, and finally let himself slip under.
When he woke again, the room was dim, shadows stretching long across the walls. His mouth was dry, his body aching, but what caught him first was the soft sound of breathing beside him.

Negan.

Slumped in a chair like he’d been dropped there, long legs sprawled out, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. He looked almost peaceful. The leather jacket was draped over the back of the chair, shirt sleeves rolled up, one big hand still half-curled like he’d been fighting sleep as long as he could.

Rick stared, a smile tugging uninvited at his lips.
For the first time since all this started, he had a little quiet. A little space to think.
And that’s when it hit him the memory of Negan’s hand closing around his, the rasp in his voice when he’d said it all. The apology, the truth, the raw way he admitted there hadn’t been anyone else. Not since them.

Rick’s chest tightened, a mess of warmth and fear.
He thought about how damn angry he’d been at Negan, how hurt, how betrayed. And yet here he was the man who’d walked away, sitting in a hard chair just to keep watch while Rick slept.

It twisted him up inside. Because part of him still wanted to push Negan away, tell him this was too much, too dangerous. But the other part the louder part couldn’t stop replaying that confession. Couldn’t stop hearing the break in Negan’s voice, or remembering how it felt to be wanted that completely.

Rick let out a long breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, careful of the stitches. His eyes drifted back to Negan, still dead to the world. For once, he wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t larger-than-life. He was just… there.
And for the first time in what felt like years, Rick allowed himself to admit it. He wanted this. He wanted him.

Rick’s eyes had wandered to the ceiling, lost somewhere between the weight in his chest and the stitch of pain in his skull. His mind wouldn’t let him rest. Every path of thought circled back to Negan to what he’d said, to what Rick hadn’t said, to what the hell they were supposed to do now.

“Careful there, Sheriff,” a low, gravelly voice broke through the quiet, “if you keep thinkin’ that hard, you’re liable to pop those stitches wide open.”

Rick’s head turned slowly toward him, catching the half-smirk tugging at Negan’s mouth as he straightened up from the chair. Despite himself, Rick felt the corner of his own mouth twitch.
“Didn’t know you were watchin’ me think.”

Negan scooted his chair a little closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, well, hard to miss. You get that furrowed brow, squinty-eyed, brooding cowboy look. Real intense. Makes a man nervous.”

Rick huffed out a laugh, weak but genuine. Negan leaned forward more, and suddenly the humor softened, concern flickering through his expression.

“How you feelin’, really?” he asked. “Don’t feed me some tough-guy line. You need the doc, I’ll drag his ass back in here right now.”

Rick shook his head, the motion slow. “I’m fine. Just tired. Don’t think I could stand seein’ another person come through that door tonight.”

That got a low chuckle out of Negan, but his eyes stayed locked on Rick, scanning him like he didn’t trust a single word. “Tired I can live with. Anything worse, and you’d better believe I’m callin’ the white coat brigade.”

Rick’s smile deepened, his weariness showing in the way his voice softened. “Negan, I said I’m fine. You worry more than you let on.”

Negan leaned back, lips quirking. “Don’t go spreadin’ that rumor. Gotta protect my reputation, you know. World only needs one Rick Grimes playin’ nursemaid.”

Rick chuckled again, shaking his head, but his chest warmed in a way he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit out loud.

Rick let his head sink a little deeper into the pillow, lips quirking as he eyed Negan. “You know,” he murmured, “for somebody who used to flap his mouth every damn second, you’ve gotten real good at sittin’ there and starin’ at me.”

Negan smirked, leaning back just enough to spread his arms wide. “What can I say? Man’s gotta have hobbies. Some people whittle, some people knit… me? I watch Rick Grimes look like he’s tryin’ to solve the goddamn mysteries of the universe.”

Rick shook his head, a soft laugh escaping despite the ache it stirred. “That’s a hell of a hobby.”

“Hell of a view,” Negan shot back, a flash of teeth behind his grin.

Rick flushed, looking away toward the wall, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

Before Rick could come up with a comeback, the door creaked open. A young Savior lingered in the frame, shifting nervously before stepping in.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to Rick then back to Negan. “But—uh—can I…?”
Negan’s expression darkened in an instant, humor gone. He stood smoothly and leaned down as the man whispered something in his ear. Rick couldn’t hear the words, but he caught the change in Negan’s face — his jaw tightening, lips pressing into a thin line.

“Alright,” Negan muttered low, nodding once. He clapped the Savior’s shoulder, dismissing him with a jerk of his chin. The man gave Rick a polite nod before slipping out, shutting the door behind him.

Silence lingered heavy in the room. Negan stayed standing a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor before he dragged a hand across his mouth.

Rick’s brows knit as he pushed himself up slightly on the mattress. “What was that?”

Negan looked at him, the walls already up in his eyes.
“Nothin’ you need to worry that pretty little head about.”

“Negan,” Rick said firmly, watching him like he was trying to peel back the layers. “What’s wrong?”

Negan shook his head, stepping closer to the bed but not sitting down again. “You’re laid up in here with stitches holdin’ your damn skull together. Last thing you need is me dumpin’ some mess in your lap. I’ll take care of it.”

Rick’s frown deepened, frustration tugging at his features. “You think I’m just gonna lay here while you—”

“Yes,” Negan cut him off, voice sharp but softening just as quickly. “That’s exactly what you’re gonna do. For once in your goddamn life, Rick Grimes, you’re gonna let somebody else handle the fight.”

The room fell quiet again, save for the muffled sounds of Hilltop outside. Negan’s hand flexed at his side, itching to reach out, but he held himself steady, eyes locked on Rick with something like regret swimming in them.

Rick’s glare could’ve burned through walls. “Negan, I ain’t just gonna sit here while you walk outta this room with that look on your face. You think I don’t know somethin’s wrong? You tell me what the hell it is.”

Negan’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. He tried to steady his voice, but Rick kept pressing, and finally the words came out sharp, raw.

“Jesus Christ, Rick—don’t you get it? I almost lost you out there.” His voice cracked louder than he meant, his chest heaving. “I thought you were gone, thought I’d never get the chance to tell you any of this shit. And I can’t—” He cut himself off, dragging both hands through his hair before jabbing a finger toward the bed. “So what you’re gonna do is stay your stubborn ass right here, let those stitches do their job, and let me handle this. Because I can’t—” His voice dipped lower, rough around the edges. “I can’t go through that again, Rick. I just can’t.”

Rick’s eyes widened at the sudden break in his tone. He stared at Negan, words caught in his throat, then slowly let himself sink back into the bed. The fight bled out of him, shoulders lowering, the weight of Negan’s confession hanging heavy in the air. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods.

Negan exhaled, shoulders easing as the storm inside him dimmed. He stepped up to the bedside, his voice dropping softer than Rick had maybe ever heard it. “Good. That’s good. You just… you just rest, alright?”

Rick swallowed hard, eyes glistening. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Negan’s chest tightened, and before he could think better of it, he leaned down, brushing his lips tenderly against Rick’s forehead. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. Just… be here. That’s all I need.”

He lingered a moment, the scent of blood and antiseptic mixed with the familiar warmth of Rick, before pulling back. His thumb ghosted over Rick’s temple, careful of the bandages, his voice a low rasp. “I’ll be back before you even miss me, promise.”

Rick’s eyes stayed locked on him, something unspoken passing between them. Negan gave a crooked half-smile, then bent one last time, pressing a slow, soft kiss to Rick’s lips. It was gentle, almost reverent, and when he finally pulled away, he let his hand trail down Rick’s arm before turning toward the door.

The door shut behind Negan, and Rick was left alone with nothing but the pounding in his head and the echo of his words. I almost lost you. I can’t go through that again.
Rick stared at the ceiling, his chest heavy, trying to let that settle. But the longer the silence dragged on, the more it ate at him. He’d never been good at sittin’ still. And now? Now there was something brewing outside these walls something no one would tell him about.

-
-

The hours turned into a day, then another. People came in and out Carl, Maggie, even Daryl, but every time Rick asked what was happening, he got the same thing. Deflections. Soft answers. Nothin’ you need to worry about. Focus on healing.

Healing. Hell with that. He was climbing out of his own skin.

By the third day, Rick was restless to the point of snapping. His head throbbed, sure, but the bruises were already yellowing, the stitches tight but holding. He was sick of being coddled.

Sitting up slow, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted, a flash of dizziness forcing him to steady against the nightstand, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. Bit by bit, he got dressed, pulling on his boots, shrugging into his shirt like every muscle fought him.

He caught sight of himself in the small mirror hung on the wall. The bandage wrapped around his head made him look worse than he felt. His face was pale, jaw shadowed with days of stubble, but his eyes they burned.

He wasn’t gonna sit here like some damn invalid while everyone else handled things.

Ignoring the protest in his skull, Rick shoved open the door and stepped into the hall. The sound of voices, boots scuffing over dirt, the low hum of tension outside—it all hit him at once. Something was happening out there. And if Negan thought he was gonna keep him in the dark? He had another thing comin’.

Rick straightened his spine and headed for the door that led outside, each step measured, stubborn. His head pounded with every heartbeat, but he kept moving.
It was time to see what the hell was going on.

The sunlight hit harder than Rick expected, sharp and hot against his face. The yard was alive with noise boots moving, voices carrying low and clipped, the kind of edge that told him folks were uneasy.

And right there, just ahead, Negan stood in the middle of a group, tall and commanding like he’d been born for it. His shoulders squared, arms folded, that familiar authority in his stance. People listened when he talked even now, even after everything.

Rick ducked his head, jaw tightening. Last damn thing he needed was Negan catching sight of him. He shifted, easing along the edge of the yard, trying to angle away before—

“Rick Grimes!”

The voice cracked like a whip. Every set of eyes swung his way.

Rick froze, shoulders stiff, before dragging in a breath and sighing. Slowly, he turned. Negan was already stalking toward him, boots eating up the ground, that amused but dangerous look spread wide across his face.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doin’, sugar?” Negan asked, voice pitched loud enough for everyone to hear. “Tryin’ to sneak out of your sick bed? Look at you, skulkin’ around like a teenager who just stole daddy’s whiskey.”

Rick scowled, forcing himself upright even though his head swam. “I ain’t sneakin’ around. I’m walkin’.”

Negan arched a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Mhm. With your head ducked down like a goddamn turtle hopin’ nobody notices? Hate to break it to ya, but you ain’t exactly invisible, darlin’.”

Rick huffed, irritated, but stood his ground. “I’m tired of bein’ kept in the dark. Whatever’s goin’ on, I got a right to know. I’m not gonna just lay in bed while everyone else handles it.”

That earned him a low chuckle. Negan dragged a hand down his jaw, giving Rick a once-over that was equal parts stern and entertained. “You are one stubborn son of a bitch, y’know that? Head stitched up, still swayin’ like you’re on a goddamn boat, but here you are demandin’ answers.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “So? You gonna tell me, or keep makin’ jokes?”

Negan’s grin widened. “Oh, I’ll tell ya. Matter fact you’re just in time. We’re about to have ourselves a little meetin’.” He gestured toward the Hilltop house, mock-bowing like he was inviting Rick to some fancy dinner. “C’mon, pretty boy. Let’s not make me carry your ass back inside.”

Rick muttered under his breath but followed. Negan kept pace beside him, one big hand hovering like he was ready to catch him if he tripped.

As they reached the steps, Negan leaned in, dropping his voice low so only Rick could hear. “Try not to think too hard in there, yeah? Don’t wanna mess up those beautiful curls of yours.”

Rick stopped dead, glaring up at him, heat creeping up his neck. “Negan…”

Negan just grinned wolfishly, then bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Rick’s head before straightening. “Scowl suits you, baby. Let’s go.”

Rick shook his head, annoyed, but couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitchin’ just slightly as Negan guided him toward the meeting room.

Rick felt the brush of Negan’s shoulder against his own as they headed for the house, the man close enough to steady him but not making a show of it. Negan’s arm swung loose at his side, knuckles grazing against Rick’s every now and again like he was daring him to notice.

“So,” Negan drawled low, glancing sideways at him, “you enjoyin’ your little jailbreak? Or do I need to go start fashionin’ bars for your window?”

Rick huffed, lips twitching in spite of himself. “I was goin’ stir crazy in there.”

“Crazy-er,” Negan corrected smoothly, grin tugging at his mouth. “Already plenty nuts, Grimes.”

Rick shook his head, biting back a smile. He didn’t get a chance to answer before Michonne stepped out of the doorway, arms crossed, her gaze sharp as it landed on him.

“Rick,” she said flatly, eyes flicking from his face to the faint stiffness in his stride. “Why are you out of bed?”
“I’m fine,” Rick answered quickly, with the stubborn edge of a man tired of explaining himself. “Rested enough.” He gave a little scoff, trying to make it sound final.

Michonne’s eyes narrowed, then cut toward Negan. “And you’re okay with this?”

Negan tilted his head down at her, smile slow, almost wolfish. “Sweetheart, am I ever okay with anything Rick Grimes does? Man’s allergic to sittin’ still. But… truth is? We need him. I need him. This is Rick friggin’ Grimes we’re talkin’ about.”

He leaned closer to Rick, his voice dropping into something almost sincere beneath the humor. “World’s a lot less fun without him in it.”

Michonne studied him a long moment, then finally nodded, her expression softening as she turned back to Rick. “I missed you, Rick.”

Rick’s chest warmed, a small smile tugging at his lips. He glanced at Negan, who was already looking at him with that half-smirk, half-smolder that made it hard to keep his face straight.

They walked in together, shoulders brushing again, and when they reached the table, Rick didn’t think twice before sitting down right next to Negan.

Rick shifted in his seat, letting his back press against the chair while the room slowly filled. The scrape of boots and the quiet chatter of familiar voices echoed off the wooden walls. One by one, people came over to him faces that carried worry and relief in equal measure.

“Rick,” Aaron said first, leaning down to squeeze his shoulder. “Good to see you up. You’re looking better.”
Rick managed a small, polite smile. “I’m gettin’ there. Feels good to be sittin’ with folks again.”

Then came Enid, pressing a small cloth bundle into his hand a sprig of herbs, smelling faintly sharp. “For the headaches,” she explained, shy but steady.

“Thank you,” Rick murmured, meeting her eyes, and she gave a quick nod before moving away.

More came Jerry with a grin and a pat on the back, Tara with her sarcastic smirk and, “Bout time you stopped napping, boss.” Rick chuckled, offering each of them the same calm answers. He felt himself slipping into the rhythm of it, the old familiar role leader, neighbor, father.
But beneath it all, his mind wouldn’t stop racing. He was still reeling from Negan’s confession, from his own words in return. He hadn’t had time to think until now, and sitting here with all eyes on him, it suddenly felt heavier, like a second heartbeat in his chest.

The door creaked again, and Maggie and Carol entered together, both carrying themselves with the quiet command that settled the room before they even reached the front. Conversations tapered off into silence. Rick straightened automatically, the leader in him answering their call.

“Let’s get started,” Maggie said, her voice carrying over the hush.

Rick felt the faintest pressure under the table. Negan’s hand slid against his, fingers brushing before locking in place. A firm, grounding squeeze. Rick glanced sideways at him, brow furrowed, but Negan just leaned back in his chair, expression casual, like it was nothing.

Maggie began with updates Hilltop’s walls patched in the north corner, crops holding steady, a few sick but nothing spreading. Carol followed with news from Alexandria guard rotations doubled, scouts reporting no Whisperer sightings. Each word was steady, efficient, but Rick heard the weight behind them. Everyone was bracing.

“Negan,” Maggie said finally, eyes cutting toward him, “status of the Sanctuary?”

Negan straightened a bit, nodding. “Sanctuary’s fine. No trouble. Folks are working, walls are holding. Supplies are good enough, but I’ll be headin’ back in a day or so to bring more here.”

Maggie studied him, then nodded once. “Good. Thank you.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. Supplies, leaving Negan had said nothing to him about this. His eyes flicked upward, frowning at the man beside him. Negan caught it, and without missing a beat, squeezed his hand again. That same silent message: I’ve got this. Don’t.

Rick swallowed hard and looked forward again.

The meeting carried on smoothly delegations, small disputes, decisions about food stores and guard duty. It was almost comforting, the normalcy of it, though Rick couldn’t shake the tension humming beneath his skin.
At last, Carol’s voice cut through: “This time next week, we’ll meet again. And we’ll eat. Together. A reminder of what we’re fighting for.”

There were murmurs of approval, heads nodding, faces softening with something almost like hope. Rick let out a slow breath, the weight in the room easing just a fraction.
Under the table, Negan’s thumb brushed once across his knuckles. Steady. Warm. A tether pulling him back when his thoughts started to drift too far. Rick glanced at him again, and this time, Negan didn’t bother hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Rick turned his gaze forward, trying not to let the corner of his own mouth betray him.

As the meeting broke apart, people didn’t waste a second.
Rick barely made it to his feet before questions came at him from every angle, Aaron asking about guard rotations at Alexandria, Jerry cracking jokes but still pressing for his opinion on food stores, even a couple of Hilltop farmers wondering if they should expand planting rows. He answered as best he could, steady, polite… but all the while his eyes kept darting across the room, searching for Negan.

Negan was just as swarmed, a few Saviors clustered around him while Carol and Tara drew him into another conversation. Rick caught the sound of his laugh once, deep and smooth, before the press of bodies pushed them apart.

His thoughts wouldn’t settle. His chest tightened every time his gaze flicked toward the other side of the room. He wanted no, needed to confront him, but there was no chance.

Maggie appeared beside him then, her voice soft but firm. “It’s good to see you, Rick. You bein’ here it steadies folks. Tomorrow, you and I should catch up. Talk through what you’ve missed.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah… tomorrow.” His voice sounded far away even to himself.

She gave him a small, knowing smile and moved on. Rick seized the moment to excuse himself, slipping away before anyone else could stop him.

Negan was gone by the time Rick turned back to look. He searched, restless, but found no trace. Finally, with his head pounding against his skull like a drum, he gave up and made for the stairs.

Up in his room, he closed the door, leaned against it for a beat, and then let himself collapse onto the bed. His body was heavy, his mind even heavier. The weight of everything Negan’s words, the meeting, the unknowns pressing in hit him at once. His eyes slid shut before he even thought about fighting it.

The creak of the door stirred him awake.

Rick blinked blearily, head lifting just enough to see Negan stepping in, a tray balanced carefully in his hands. The smell of stew filled the room.

“Hi,” Rick croaked, his voice rough.

Negan chuckled, low and warm. “Well, look who decided to rise from the goddamn dead. Ain’t exactly the flirty ‘hey, handsome’ I was hopin’ for, but I’ll take it.”

Rick gave a tired huff of a laugh, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry for runnin’ off. Just… needed to get away.”

Negan shook his head, setting the tray down on the nightstand before nudging it closer to him. “Nothin’ to apologize for, sweetheart. You got every right to tap out when you need to.” He gestured at the bowl. “Now, do me a favor and put that mouth of yours to good use for once by eatin’.”

Rick smirked faintly, dragging the tray closer. He lifted the spoon, the warmth of the stew settling against his palms as he took the first bite. It wasn’t long before he muttered, “Thank you.”

Negan shrugged, leaning back against the dresser with arms crossed. “Hell, I just don’t wanna be responsible for watchin’ you waste away. Michonne’d skin me alive if I let you starve.”

Rick’s spoon hovered mid-air. His stomach knotted with the thought he’d been circling all night. “You’re leavin’.”

Negan’s smile faded, his sigh long and heavy. He uncrossed his arms. “I was gonna tell you, Rick. I promise. I just… was waitin’ for the right time.” His voice softened, almost careful. “Maggie needs supplies. Sanctuary’s sittin’ on what she needs. So, I’m goin’. Check in, haul it back. Then I’m here. With you.”

Rick nodded slowly, shoveling another bite into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then muttered, “Just be safe. Come back.”

Negan’s lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “Well, shit, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually like havin’ me around.”

Rick gave him a sidelong look, grumbling around another spoonful. “We finally got our shit together, and now you’re leavin’.”

Negan forced out a laugh, shaking his head. “Darlin’, my timing’s always been fucked. You know that by now.”
Rick pushed the empty bowl away, exhaling. Negan reached for the tray, but before he made it to the door, Rick’s voice cut through.

“Stay. Please.”

Negan froze. He set the tray back down gently, then turned, his expression softened in a way Rick rarely saw. Without another word, he toed off his boots, shrugged off his jacket, and climbed into bed beside him.

His arm hooked around Rick, pulling him close. The heat of him, solid and grounding, sank into Rick’s bones. Rick leaned in first, their mouths meeting in a kiss that started soft but deepened quick, desperate. By the time they pulled apart, they were both breathless.

Negan’s forehead pressed against his, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Christ, you taste better than the stew.”
Rick huffed out a laugh, his chest tightening with something warmer than fear.

Negan kissed his forehead, lingering there. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. I got you.” He never loosened his hold.
Rick’s eyes were already sliding shut when he heard it, soft, barely above a whisper in his hair: “I love you.”

The words pulled at him, anchored him. He whispered it back, low but certain: “I love you too.”

And then the dark took him, safe in the circle of Negan’s arms.

Chapter Text

Rick stirred awake, the warmth of morning sunlight bleeding across the sheets, filtering in through the slats of the window. He blinked against it, the world fuzzy until he turned his head.

Negan was already up. Not moving, not restless just sitting at the edge of the bed, shoulders loose but his gaze fixed out the window like he was watching something only he could see. The light caught against the curve of his jaw, the faint silver threading his beard, the scar that never quite softened.

Rick shifted closer, the mattress dipping under his weight, and rested his hand lightly on Negan’s arm.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” His voice was still gravelled from sleep, soft in the hush of the morning.

Negan startled from his thoughts just enough to give him a crooked half-smile. He leaned back so their shoulders brushed.

“Good mornin’, sunshine.” He breathed out slow, eyes lingering on Rick’s face before drifting back to the window. “Just sittin’ here thinkin’ about how much I’m gonna miss your grumpy ass.”

Rick huffed a laugh, small but real, even if it faded quick. He studied Negan’s profile, every line etched with something heavier than he was saying.

“You wish you didn’t have to go,” Rick murmured not quite a question, not quite an accusation.

Negan’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t deny it. He only nodded faintly, voice lower when he answered.

“Yeah. I wish like hell I didn’t. But it needs doin’. Supplies don’t move themselves, and someone’s gotta make sure that place still holds together.” His smile was thin, more for Rick’s sake than his own. “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t think you’re gettin’ rid of me that easy.”

Rick didn’t push. He didn’t argue, though the knot in his chest urged him to. Instead, he slid his hand lower down Negan’s arm, thumb brushing circles against his skin slow, steady, like keeping time neither of them wanted to count.

Negan let out a quiet breath, and for a long moment neither spoke. The world outside carried on the breeze through the window, birds calling somewhere far off—but here, between them, there was nothing but stillness. No rush. No fight. Just the weight of knowing what was coming, and the stubborn refusal to break the spell of these last minutes together.

They stayed that way, shoulder to shoulder, silence pressing in soft and heavy, like moving or speaking too loud would shatter it.

Rick finally broke the silence, not with words, but by leaning in. His hand slid up to the back of Negan’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss soft at first, slow and lingering like he just wanted to feel the shape of Negan’s mouth against his. But the softness didn’t last. A beat later, it deepened, turned into something needier, hungrier, Rick pressing closer like he couldn’t stand the space between them.

Negan let out a low groan, his hands instinctively going to Rick’s hips just as Rick climbed higher, swinging a leg over to straddle his lap. The kiss grew rougher, Rick’s fingers sliding down the sharp line of Negan’s jaw, then dragging lower over his throat, down to the hard plane of his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt like a man on a mission.

But before Rick could go any further, Negan caught his wrist, breaking the kiss with a heavy exhale. His forehead rested against Rick’s for a second, eyes squeezed shut, like he was talking himself down.

“As much as I am absolutely lovin’ this little wake-up call,” Negan rasped, his smile crooked, “we should not be testin’ the limits of your half-healed ass right now.”

Rick pulled back just enough to give him a look eyebrows arched, lips still swollen from the kiss. He rolled his eyes with all the subtlety of a teenager.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice stubborn.

Negan chuckled, low and warm in his chest, one corner of his mouth tugging up into that infuriating grin.

“Sure you are, cowboy. Fine as a stallion who just got his skull kicked in.”

Rick scowled at him, which only made Negan’s grin widen. And then, just to be contrary, Rick shifted in his lap, rolling his hips slow, deliberately.

Negan’s breath caught, a curse muttered under it, his hands tightening on Rick’s hips even as he tried to hold him the line. “Son of a bitch… you’re tryin’ to kill me faster than the Whisperers ever could.”

Rick smirked at Negan’s protest, leaning down to mouth along the strong line of his jaw. His lips brushed warm against stubble, slow, teasing, before trailing lower. Rick kissed across Negan’s throat, down toward his chest, nipping lightly at the skin just hard enough to draw a groan out of him. Negan’s head tipped back, breath catching, a low curse slipping free.

“Jesus Christ, Rick…”

Rick only hummed against his skin, smug, before sliding lower. His hand hovered bold at the waistband of Negan’s pants, fingers ghosting but not committing, just enough to make his point. He dragged his palm lazily across the front, grinning when Negan shuddered under the touch.

“Fine,” Rick muttered against his chest, tone dripping sarcasm. “I guess you’re right.” His hand pressed just a little firmer, the movement slow, taunting.

Negan groaned, deep and helpless, his restraint finally snapping. “Gosh damn it… you win.”

Before Rick could gloat, Negan surged forward, capturing his mouth in a softer kiss this time still hungry, but tinged with something tender. In the next breath, Negan flipped them, settling Rick onto his back against the mattress and bracing himself above him.

Rick laughed, breathless and pleased, grinning up at him.
Negan’s grin crooked wickedly as he dipped down, lips brushing Rick’s. “You know, if you bust those stitches open again, I’m not re-stitching your stubborn ass. You’re on your own.”

Rick barked a laugh, the sound rumbling low as Negan kissed him again, slower this time, steadying

Negan’s mouth trailed lower, slow and deliberate, kissing along Rick’s neck, then dragging hot against his collarbone. His beard scratched deliciously as he moved down, pressing kisses across Rick’s chest, tongue slipping out to tease before sucking a mark into his skin. Rick’s back arched off the bed, a sharp moan spilling from his lips.

“Negan…” he groaned, voice low, almost pleading.
Negan grinned against his skin.

“Damn, you sound good like that.” He let his teeth graze across Rick’s ribs before moving lower, savoring every twitch and gasp that came from beneath him.

Rick’s fingers dug into Negan’s shoulders, trying to push him faster, needing more. When Negan’s hand finally slipped to the waist of his pants, tugging them down at an infuriatingly slow pace, Rick huffed out a groan of impatience.

“Goddamn it, Negan—you’re too slow.”

That earned him a deep chuckle, Negan’s dark eyes flashing as he paused, thumb hooked under the fabric but not moving another inch. He leaned up close, voice low and wicked in Rick’s ear.

“Oh, is that right? You think you get to rush me, sweetheart?” He nipped at Rick’s earlobe, making him shiver. “If you’re gonna act like a brat…” Negan’s grin widened, “…I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”

Rick glared at him from beneath heavy lids, a flush spreading across his face, but the way his hips shifted up into Negan’s touch gave him away.

Negan pulled back just enough to look at him, smirk tugging at his lips. Rick’s chest rose and fell quick, his hair sticking to his damp forehead as he glared like he had any power here.

“Lesson number one…” Negan murmured, dragging Rick’s pants down agonizingly slow until they were bunched at his thighs. His big hand came down to grip Rick’s hip, pinning him to the mattress when he tried to buck up. “…you don’t get to call the shots when you’re laid out like this.”

Rick clenched his jaw, stubborn to the last, and the rolled his hips anyway. “You talk too damn much.”

Negan laughed, low and rough, the sound vibrating against Rick’s chest as he leaned down to kiss him deep and hungry, stealing the air from Rick’s lungs. His beard scratched, his tongue teased, and by the time he pulled back Rick was breathless and flushed.

“Lesson number two,” Negan drawled, brushing his thumb across Rick’s swollen lower lip, “if you’re gonna act like a brat… I’ll make you beg before I give you what you want.”

Negan goes on ignoring every little noise of frustration Rick made beneath him. Rick bucked his hips, trying to force his way, but Negan just pressed a heavy hand down against his stomach, pinning him in place.

“Settle the hell down,” Negan muttered, his grin smug as ever. “You think you’re running the show here? Hate to break it to you, Rick Grimes…” he leaned down, his lips brushing against Rick’s ear, “…but this is my game.”

Rick shuddered under the weight of his voice, though his scowl tried to mask it. “You’re so damn full of yourself,” he rasped, shifting beneath him again.

Negan’s chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and before Rick could throw out another smart remark, Negan caught his wrists, pressing them firmly into the mattress above his head. Rick’s breath hitched, body straining against the hold, testing him.

“See?” Negan drawled, eyes dark and hungry, “brat through and through. You push, I push back harder. That’s how this works.”

Rick swallowed, his chest heaving, but instead of backing down, he tilted his chin up and rolled his hips into Negan’s with maddening defiance. “Then push harder,” he whispered, almost a dare.

Negan groaned, his composure cracking, the sound low and rough as he kissed Rick again no longer soft, but hot and claiming, swallowing that smirk right off his face. His hands tightened around Rick’s wrists as he ground down against him, leaving no space between them.

Rick moaned into his mouth, every bit of his stubborn fight melting into hunger.

Negan pulled back just enough to smirk down at him, breathless. “Lesson number three,” he murmured, voice gravel-thick “you don’t get to rush me. I take my time with you, every single goddamn second. You got that?”

Rick glared up at him, lips swollen, chest heaving. “…Make me.”

Negan’s laugh was sharp and sinful. “Oh, sweetheart… that’s exactly what I planned on doing.”

Negan’s grip on Rick’s wrists tightened, keeping him pinned while his mouth moved rough and hungry against Rick’s, stealing every breath until Rick was gasping under him. Rick writhed, stubborn even now, pressing his hips up in sharp little jerks as though he could force Negan to give in faster.

Negan pulled back with a dark chuckle, his forehead pressed to Rick’s. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he rasped, his voice rougher than ever. “Can’t even lay still and let a man worship you proper.”

Rick’s eyes burned with challenge, lips parting just enough to rasp, “Maybe I don’t wanna be worshipped.”

“Ohhh,” Negan groaned, the sound low and dangerous, “you’re just beggin’ for me to ruin you, aren’t ya?”

Rick smirked, sharp and infuriating. “Guess you’ll have to prove you can.”

That did it. With a growl, Negan released Rick’s wrists only to hook his hands under his thighs, flipping him deeper into the mattress. Rick let out a startled sound that turned into a moan when Negan pressed against him, hot and heavy, showing him just how little control he had left.

Negan growled low, dropping his forehead against Rick’s. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he rasped, his breath hot against Rick’s lips.

Rick only smirked back, whispering, “Then stop talking and play.”

That broke him.

Negan released Rick’s wrists only to drag his hands down, gripping Rick’s hips hard as he finally shoved Rick’s pants down the rest of the way, discarding them without care. Rick hissed at the sudden cool air on his skin but didn’t get the chance to complain before Negan’s mouth was back on him, kissing, biting, leaving marks down his neck and chest, making him writhe beneath him.

“Negan—” Rick’s voice cracked, part moan, part protest.
“What’s that, Rick Grimes?” Negan taunted between kisses, his hand palming him through his briefs, slow, torturous. “Soundin’ a little less bratty now, huh?”

Rick bit his lip, his breath shuddering as his body betrayed him. He bucked again, needy, and Negan laughed darkly.
“Alright, alright…” Negan muttered, tugging the last of the fabric away. “You win, darlin’. I’ll give you what you want.”

Rick shot him a triumphant look, but it quickly dissolved when Negan pressed back down against him, bare skin to bare skin, overwhelming and perfect. Rick gasped, his hands immediately grabbing at Negan’s shoulders, holding on tight.

Negan kissed him again hungry, messy, all teeth and heat before pulling back just enough to whisper, “Lesson number four: when I give in, I don’t hold back.”
And he didn’t.

The world narrowed to nothing but their bodies, their heat, the sounds Rick couldn’t contain no matter how hard he tried. Negan was relentless, taking him apart piece by piece, every thrust, every touch, every kiss meant to remind Rick exactly who he belonged to. Rick clung to him, moaning his name like a prayer, stubborn fire replaced with desperate need.

By the time it broke them both, Rick was wrecked beneath him, chest heaving, sweat-slicked, and utterly undone. Negan collapsed against him, still grinning through his ragged breaths, pressing sloppy kisses into Rick’s damp hair.

“Told you I’d make you behave,” Negan murmured, his voice rough but softer now.

Rick chuckled weakly, his hand sliding up to rest against Negan’s jaw. “Yeah… but don’t get too cocky. I let you win.”

Negan barked out a laugh, kissing him again, slower this time. “Sure, sweetheart. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

They stayed tangled together, the room filled only with the sound of their uneven breaths, neither one willing to move, both lost in the rare peace of the moment.

-
-

Rick lay sprawled against the sheets, chest still rising hard, skin flushed and damp. The haze of it clung to him, every nerve thrumming with leftover electricity. He felt Negan shift beside him, heavy weight easing off just enough so he could breathe without losing the warmth.

“Hey,” Negan murmured low, voice still wrecked but soft in a way that made Rick’s throat tighten. “You with me?”

Rick cracked one eye open and huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Think so.” His voice was hoarse, worn from all the sounds Negan had dragged out of him.

For a second, Rick didn’t say anything. Just breathed. Just let himself enjoy the silence and peaceful moment.

Finally, his voice came out rough, low: “Don’t want you to go.”

Negan’s grin was faint, almost tired around the edges. He leaned down, brushing his lips against Rick’s forehead.

“Wish I didn’t have to, sweetheart.”

Rick closed his eyes at the touch, soaking it in like it might hold him together. He curled a little closer, sliding his hand across Negan’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat under his palm. “Feels good like this,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Negan agreed, softer than usual, his hand tracing idle patterns over Rick’s arm. “Could stay in this bed all damn day if the world would just quit falling apart for five minutes.”

Rick let out a faint huff of air that was close to a laugh, but not quite. Neither of them moved, both content to stay pressed together in the quiet. The only sound was the wind outside and the occasional creak of the house settling.

It could’ve been a whole other lifetime.

Eventually, though, reality pressed back in. Negan sighed, sitting up slow, dragging a hand through his hair. “We gotta face it sooner or later.”

Rick stayed where he was for another beat, staring up at the ceiling. Then, with a reluctant grunt, he pushed himself upright too. His head throbbed, but he didn’t mention it.

Negan leaned over, stealing one last kiss against Rick’s forehead before standing. “Come on, Grimes. Let’s go remind these folks the world hasn’t beaten us yet.”

Rick followed, dragging himself out of bed with a crooked smile. The warmth of the morning clung to him, even as the day began.

-
-

Rick finally peeled himself away from bed, the sheets still tangled around his legs like they were trying to hold him there. The spot beside him was empty, the pillow still faintly warm where Negan had been lying. For a long moment, Rick just sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing a hand over his face, letting the golden sunlight streaming in through the window settle on his shoulders. It felt… good. Better than he expected after everything.

Downstairs, the low murmur of voices and the faint clatter of dishes drew him forward. He tugged on his shirt, adjusted the bandage the doctor had insisted on, and made his way down the steps.

At the kitchen table, Michonne and Daryl were bent over a map, a couple plates of half-finished breakfast scattered nearby. The smell of coffee, eggs, and something fried still hung thick in the air. Michonne’s head lifted first when she heard him, and her lips curved into a genuine smile.

“Well, look at you,” she said warmly. “Didn’t think we’d see you up and about this early. You’re looking good, Rick.”
Daryl glanced up, his hair falling in his eyes. He gave a quick nod. “Mornin’.”

Rick gave them both a small smile, reaching across the counter to snag an apple from a bowl. “Mornin’,” he echoed, taking a bite before leaning against the edge of the table. “What’s all this?” He gestured at the map, his drawl lazy but curious.

Michonne tapped a finger along one of the lines. “Working out supply runs, making sure all our bases are covered. Hilltop’s been holding, but we can’t get complacent. We’ve got patrols stretched thin.”

Daryl grunted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m takin’ a group out later. Huntin’, maybe scoutin’ a bit. Need fresh game, and we can keep eyes on the woods at the same time.”

Rick nodded, chewing thoughtfully. His ears were listening, but his mind kept drifting. He could still feel Negan’s weight pressed against him in bed, hear the low chuckle in his voice, the way he kissed Rick’s forehead like he meant it. The thought made a faint smile tug at his lips before he could stop it.

Michonne’s sharp eyes caught it instantly. One eyebrow arched, her smile tilting sly. “You sure the doc doesn’t need to check that head again? You’re grinning like a man with a fever.”

Rick barked out a soft, mock laugh, shaking his head. “Funny. Real funny.” He took another bite of his apple and pointed it at her. “Truth is, that’s exactly where I’m headed now. Had to promise the doc I’d show up this mornin’ if he let me out yesterday.”

“Mhm,” Michonne said, clearly unconvinced, though the warmth in her eyes softened the tease. “Good. At least one of us can make you listen.”

Rick rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” she shot back, earning a small smirk from him.

Daryl finally looked up from the map, his voice rough but steady. “Doc says you’re fine, then what? You sittin’ still, or you plannin’ on jumpin’ back into things?”

Rick shifted the apple in his hand, half-grinning. “I’ll sit still… for about five minutes.”

That got a quiet huff of amusement out of Daryl, though he shook his head. “Figures.”

Rick chuckled under his breath, pushing away from the table. “Y’all don’t go gettin’ into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Michonne leaned back in her chair, giving him a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The doctor’s place wasn’t far, and Rick walked slow, the cool air tugging at his shirt, the village alive around him with the sound of hammers, voices, and children laughing somewhere off in the distance. For a moment, he just let himself take it in the peace of it all, the sense of normalcy they’d fought so damn hard for.

The doctor greeted him with a nod, ushering him inside. The exam was quick but thorough light in his eyes, a hand pressing carefully at the tender spot on his head, questions about dizziness and pain.

“You’re healing well,” the doctor said at last, satisfied. “Still need rest. Don’t overdo it.”

Rick groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s all I’ve been hearin’ lately.”

“Because it’s true,” the doctor said, tone dry but not unkind.

Rick lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Rest. No overdoing it.”

The man gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him for a second, but he let it go.

Stepping back out into the morning, Rick took a deep breath, the sunlight warming his face. He tried to tell himself the doctor was right that he needed to take it easy, let things settle. But already, his chest tightened at the thought of Negan leaving.

The idea of waking up tomorrow without him here felt heavier than the ache in his head.

Rick left the doctor’s with a clean bill of health and a warning ringing in his ears. Rest. Don’t overdo it. He nodded along, promised like he always did, but his feet weren’t taking him toward home. They were already carrying him across the square, eyes scanning instinctively for one man.

The sun was climbing higher, its heat spilling across Alexandria, and the streets were alive with people—hammering, stacking, patching. It should’ve felt good to see, the community working together, thriving despite everything. And it did… but it also slowed him down.

“Rick!” A familiar voice called, and he turned automatically, schooling his expression into something pleasant. Old Mr. Collins, leaning against his cane, waved him over. “How you feelin’? We were worried sick, thought you weren’t gonna get back on your feet.”

Rick forced a smile, stepped closer. “I’m doin’ just fine. Doc says I’ll be good as new soon.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Collins said with a grin. “Don’t push it, though. Ain’t no shame in takin’ your time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rick answered, though his eyes kept flicking past the man’s shoulder, searching the street.
Collins caught it, chuckled. “Busy man, I’ll let you go. Just glad you’re up again.”

Rick squeezed his arm in thanks, muttered something polite, and slipped away only to be stopped again.

This time it was a pair of younger farmers, faces smeared with dirt, holding their hats awkwardly. “Rick—uh, we were wonderin’ about the north fields. Soil’s still too damp, reckon we should hold off another week before plantin’?”

Rick nodded, giving them his full attention even as impatience prickled under his skin. “That’s smart. Don’t rush it. Better to wait it out, let it dry some. You’ll get stronger crops for it.”

The boys nodded, relief on their faces like his word was gospel. “Thanks, Rick.”

“Anytime,” he said, offering a quick smile before moving on.

Another hand caught his shoulder. This time it was a woman with questions about the patrol schedule, what it meant for their safety, if the Whisperers were truly gone.

Rick reassured her gently, his voice even, his answers practiced. But while he spoke, his gaze kept darting down the street, his pulse quickening when he caught the sight of a tall frame, broad shoulders, familiar swagger.

Negan.

Negan stood by one of the pickup trucks, his voice carrying as he spoke to a few of the Saviors about how to load the crates properly. Supplies were already stacked in the bed cans, tools, bundles of cloth. He looked at ease, one hand on his hip, the other gesturing wide like he owned the whole damn street.

Rick’s heart kicked in his chest. He excused himself mid-conversation, the last man’s thanks barely hitting his ears before he started across the square. His walk turned into a near-rush, his eyes locked on the tall figure by the truck.
Negan caught sight of him halfway there. That familiar smirk spread across his face, slow and knowing, like he’d been expecting this.

“Well, hell,” he drawled as Rick came up quick. “Didn’t know I was worth breakin’ into a jog for. What’s the matter, Rick? Afraid I’d slip away before you got your goodbye kiss?”

Rick let out a short huff, shaking his head, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a smile. “Somethin’ like that.”

Negan leaned back against the side of the truck, folding his arms, eyes glinting with mischief. “Gotta say, darlin’, you lookin’ at me like that in front of everybody? You’re gonna start rumors.”

Rick rolled his eyes, but he stepped a little closer all the same, low enough for only Negan to hear. “Let ‘em talk.”
That earned him a soft chuckle, one that did something to Rick’s chest. For a moment, it was like the square had gone quiet around them, the chatter of workers fading into nothing. Just the two of them standing too close in the open sunlight, Rick’s hand itching at his side to reach out and close the gap.

Negan tilted his head, his voice lowering just a fraction. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m not gonna make it outta here in one piece.”

Rick’s lips curved, warm and easy. “Maybe that’s the point.”

For a suspended second, they just held each other’s gaze, the world falling away. But then—

A throat cleared loudly from behind them. One of the Saviors shifted awkwardly, a clipboard in his hand. “Uh, Negan? We need you to check the manifest before we load the last crate.”

Negan groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, then shot Rick an apologetic look. “Duty calls.” His voice softened, just for Rick. “I’ll meet you inside. Thirty minutes. Before I go.”

Rick nodded, the tightness in his chest easing just a little. “I’ll be there.”

Negan’s grin returned, quick and crooked. “Good. Wouldn’t wanna leave without my send-off.”

Rick shook his head, but he couldn’t stop the smile that came with it. “You’re impossible.”

“Damn right,” Negan fired back with a wink, already turning to deal with the manifest.

Rick let himself linger for one heartbeat more, memorizing the sight, before forcing himself to step back. He raised a hand in polite farewell to a few others as he passed, sliding back into his steady leader mask. But inside, he was already counting down the minutes until thirty was up.

-
-

Rick paced the length of the small room, boots dragging over the wood floor in restless loops. He’d tried sitting by the table, on the edge of the bed but every time he did, a weight pressed down harder in his chest, and he was up again, moving. His hands wrung together, his breath too shallow. His chest felt tight, the way it used to before a fight, though there wasn’t any fight waiting just Negan leaving for a few days. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself he was being foolish. But still, he couldn’t shake the knot in his gut.

Negan had gone out before. He’d gone back to the Sanctuary, taken runs, led his own people. Rick had watched him leave and watched him return, plenty of times. But tonight his chest was tight, his nerves stretched thin. He couldn’t shake the feeling, so he pushed it down, told himself it was in his head. Still, he kept pacing.

The door creaked open behind him.

Negan stepped in with a grin, all wide teeth and swagger like he was walking into a damn stage light. “Well, shit. Look at you. Wearin’ out the floor like a worried old man waitin’ on his wife to come home from town.”

Rick didn’t even answer. His body moved before his head caught up. He crossed the room in a few steps and pulled Negan into a hug, fierce and desperate, his arms locking around his middle.

Negan let out a startled laugh but melted into it fast, strong arms circling Rick’s back, one hand smoothing up into his hair. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he rumbled, pressing a slow kiss into the curls at the top of Rick’s head. “Didn’t know you were plannin’ to miss me this much already.”
Rick mumbled something into his shirt, words muffled and half-formed, but he didn’t let go.

Negan leaned back just enough to look down at him, brows lifted, his grin softening. “Hey. Look at me.” His hand found Rick’s jaw, tilting his face up. “I’m not gone for good. Just a quick run. Supplies, a few faces to check in on. I’ll be back before you’ve even got time to burn my side of the damn bed cold.”

Rick gave a short nod, though his eyes caught something behind Negan’s smile a flicker of shadow, quick but sharp. It didn’t reach his eyes the way it should’ve. Rick’s chest squeezed tighter, but he shoved it down. Told himself he was imagining it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “I know.”

They talked a little—Negan teasing about how the place would fall apart without him, Rick grumbling about keeping his men out of trouble but it all sat low and half-hearted, words to fill the silence more than anything else. Negan’s thumb brushed back and forth over Rick’s knuckles, slow and steady, like he knew Rick’s nerves needed steadying.

Then Negan leaned down and kissed him.

It started gentle, lips pressing together soft and warm, but it deepened quick Rick’s hand curling in his shirt, pulling him closer. Negan’s mouth opened against his, slow and deliberate, coaxing Rick into it until Rick’s breath hitched. Negan kissed like he had nowhere else to be, like the whole world could wait while he traced every line of Rick’s mouth, tasting him slow, then deepening it until Rick thought his knees might give.

Rick’s hand slid up into Negan’s hair, fingers gripping tight, needing him closer, needing more. He felt the scratch of stubble against his jaw, the warmth of Negan’s breath, the steady way Negan’s hand cradled the back of his neck like he was something breakable and precious all at once.
By the time they broke apart, Rick’s chest was heaving, his lips tingling. He pressed his forehead against Negan’s, eyes half-shut.

“That,” Rick said, voice rough and low, “didn’t feel like a see-you-later kiss.”

Negan huffed a short laugh, though his throat was tight.
Negan’s thumb traced over his cheek, rough skin against soft. “That was definitely a see-you-later kiss, Grimes. Hell, you’re already gonna be wantin’ more when I get back.” His grin flickered back, cocky and warm all at once.

Rick shook his head, smiling despite himself. He tugged Negan in for one more, quick but sharp and lingering, like he couldn’t help it.

Negan laughed against his mouth. “Gotta head out now, darlin’.”

Rick only nodded, but his hand stayed locked in Negan’s as they walked outside together. He didn’t let go, not once, even with people watching. He didn’t care.
Whispers passed, curious eyes on them, but Rick’s gaze never left Negan.

At the truck, Negan stopped, turning to him again. He pressed a kiss to Rick’s cheek, lingering there just a heartbeat longer than casual. “Short trip. Promise.”

Rick swallowed and nodded, his hand finally slipping free as Negan hauled himself up into the cab.

The engine roared to life, men calling back and forth, dust rising from the tires. Rick stood in the road, arms crossed, eyes pinned on the back of that truck as it rolled down the path. He didn’t look away, not even when it disappeared out of sight.

Rick stayed rooted to the spot long after the truck disappeared down the road. The dust lingered in the air, hanging heavy before it finally settled back over the dirt. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, as if the motion could wipe away the hollowness starting to spread in his chest.

He told himself he was being foolish, Negan had gone out a hundred times before, always came back. This was no different.

But as he stood there, staring at the empty road, a weight kept bubbling low in his gut. A slow, steady churn of weariness he couldn’t shake. Like some part of him already knew the morning goodbye had meant more than either of them wanted to admit.

Rick drew a long breath through his nose, shoved his hands into his pockets, and finally turned back toward Hilltop. He tried to push it down, tried to bury it under the day’s tasks and smiles and nods. But that unease followed him, whispering quiet in the back of his head.