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Ch. 23 - Medicine

After nearly half an hour, Negan turns down a small dirt road. The headlights illuminate a log cabin in the distance. It is surrounded by dense forest that seems to stretch on for miles. 

"We're here, sweetheart," he speaks as we near the building. I watch as a biter stalks around the corner at the sound of the truck, lugging itself across the gravel driveway. As Negan cuts the engine, another walker steps into the headlights. "I'll take the one on the left, you get the other," he orders, hopping out of the cabin and grabbing Lucille from the bed of the truck. I follow suit and step out of the truck, then I pat my legs vigorously in search of my knife with no luck.

"Negan," I call to him before he stalks too far, "Got a knife I can borrow?"

He turns to look at me with a wicked grin, unsheaths his knife, and hands it to me hilt first. "For you? Any-fucking-thing, darling." The scales graze across my fingers before landing firmly in my palm. I smile back, then pivot toward the walker in the distance. It continues its stumbling toward me, feet crossing in front of each other in an unsteady pattern. I spin the handle of the knife in my hand as I approach, then drive my foot into the walker's chest, sending it straight to the gravel drive. I plunge the knife into its skull to render the dead one useless. When I pull the blade out, I turn to find Negan sauntering over to me from the truck with Lucille propped over his shoulder and one large bag in his open hand.

"There's a towel inside," he nods toward the front door of the cabin and I begin to move in that direction. I swing the door open as I reach the threshold and step inside the stuffy building.

"Where's your shit?" It dawns on me he's holding just a single bag and not a pair of bags.

"I threw my stuff in with what Sherry packed ya," he speaks from behind me as his heavy boots meet the wood flooring. The door shuts and locks behind him. "She packed you some sluty shit," he sings. "And boy am I excited to see you in it."

Shaking my head, I make my way toward the kitchen counter where a dirty towel rests. "You browsed what she packed me, hm?" I wipe the bloody blade against the towel, staining it a deep-dead crimson, then place them both atop the surface. "Pervert."

He chuckles as he passes me by, snatching a lantern off of the island. He pulls a pack of matches from a drawer and strikes one against the box, a faint glow paints the room as he lights the wick. The luminescence softens his features tremendously. He hardly resembles the man I met months ago. This is the Negan that I've come to know. The man who strives to light a fire in my chest as easily as he did the lantern. Who learned to cook to impress me. Who danced with me in front of all of his men, all of his people, without a care in the world. The man beneath the shell that I had slowly cracked away. He was once a deep-dead crimson, but now he is a hazy yellow. My Negan.

I round the island and prop myself on top of the counter space in front of him, motioning for him to step forward between my legs. He places himself between my thighs and sets the lantern down next to me, his hands on either side of my legs.

"You're beautiful," I whisper.

"Funny, I was about to say the same to you," he smiles and his eyes flicker to my lips.

"I mean it," I say. "Not just on the outside, either. You've changed a lot since we met. I didn't think you were capable of becoming who you're working towards, but you've proved me wrong. You're trying to keep the peace with Rick and Alexandria, and I know it's not easy and it might not work, but I appreciate that you've been trying."

"You thought I was a raging lunatic with no shot at changing, didn't ya?" He smirks.

"Well, you made a pretty shitty first impression," now I gaze down to his lips, mirroring his grin. When I meet his eyes, they glisten in the soft yellow of the lantern's flames.