Future Ghosts • TWD

146. Can't Let Go.

Daryl pushed open the door to Negan's cell with a creek. Negan was lying on his back in his cot, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to get rid of his stress headache. He didn't have to look up to know that it was Daryl who had entered his cell.

"How's Lydia doing?" Negan asked as Daryl stepped closer to the bars.

"She's banged up, but she'll be a'right," Daryl answered. Negan sighed and let his hand drop back down to the cot. Daryl grabbed onto the bars, leaning up against them. "Y'know, the people out there are talkin' 'bout puttin' you down. Sayin' Rick ain't around to save you no more. Maybe they shoulda' done it a long time ago," Daryl said.

Negan sighed, sitting himself up in his cot. "If you came here lookin' for a confession... just keep walkin'. It was an accident. And, for the record, screw her. She was a goddamn asshole beatin' on a kid. World's better off," he said. Daryl glared at him from the other side of the bars, waiting to see where this was going. "But you already know that, don't you? You came down here to look me in the eye because you don't know what to do with me," Negan said with a chuckle.

Truth was, though, Daryl went down there because he wanted to know what the hell Rosie was doing with Negan beforehand. He had just told her to stay away from the man earlier that day. And it was so goddamn frustrating. What was she telling Negan that she didn't feel like she could tell Daryl? Why was she going to Negan instead of him?

"Shit, all that time you spent fantasizing about my death, all that time you actually tried to kill me, and now look at ya. You're not so sure," Negan said with a humorous quality to his voice.

Working his jaw, Daryl leaned even closer into the bars. He glared at the man across from him, gripping the metal so tight it turned his fingers white. "You listen to me real close. You and I ain't never been in a room before, not toe to toe. And there ain't nobody to save you right now," Daryl threatened.

"You kill me, then you better learn to keep a closer eye on Banks. You've been doing a pretty shit job at that lately, seeing as she keeps crawling back to me for help," Negan taunted, returning Daryl's sharp glare.

Daryl inhaled sharply, a twinge of pain hitting his chest for just a moment. "Hell she been talkin' to you 'bout, anyway?" he growled.

"Well, damn, Daryl. You wanna take Lydia under your wing, meanwhile, you don't even know what's going on with the kid you like to pretend is your daughter?" Negan chuckled humorlessly. Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. "What do you want me to do, Daryl? I mean, the people out there are out for blood. Guys like you and me; we can smell that from a mile away."

"What was she down here, talkin' to you for?" Daryl asked, not yet ready to move on from the subject.

Negan wasn't sure whether to give up that information or not. On one hand, he felt like he should tell Daryl for Rosie's own safety. But on the other hand, would telling Daryl that betray the trust that Negan had been working so hard to build back up?

"She was cryin'. Why?" Daryl asked, growing impatient. He could always tell when Rosie had been crying, even if she tried to hide it. If her watery, red eyes didn't give it up, her unusual quietness always did.

It was a hard choice to make, but Negan figured it was better to be safe than sorry. "She misses her brother. I'm the only person she's got left who remembers him," he answered honestly. Daryl was quiet for a moment, thinking it through, and somewhat understanding. "She was asking me if I wanted to die when I first got locked up. Asking if it was because I missed my wife," Negan added.

His stomach churning, Daryl looked down at the ground for a moment. "What're you tryna' say? You think she's... thinkin' 'bout that?" he eventually asked.