Poker Face

Chapter 4 - Gravitation

It had been days since Negan left Aven with Dr. Carson to recover. As he sat in his office trying to focus on a map of supply run routes, he constantly found his mind wandering to the frail young woman no matter how many times he shook the thoughts away. He almost felt guilty for not going to check on her, even though he didn't usually make a habit of visiting rescuees at their bedsides. Whenever the Saviors brought someone new in with injuries, Negan would make his initial visit to introduce himself and get whatever information necessary, and then check in again after they'd healed to brief them on their new lives, the rules they'd be following.

He always gave people the choice of whether or not to stay, and usually only cared about their answer if they seemed to have skills he could utilize. He was already hoping this girl would stay, though he'd seen her do nothing but cry, vomit, and over-react. She'd already used up days of medical supplies and had no knowledge of the system she'd use to make up for it.

I should make sure she knows this ain't a free fuckin' ride, Negan thought to himself. With that excuse, he pushed himself out of his chair, grabbed Lucille, and headed out the door towards the medical room.

He wasn't completely blind on Aven's status; Dwight had given him every update. Her fever had briefly returned one day, and the next day she was taken for a short, supervised walk outside in the daylight before becoming dizzy again and needing to be helped back to bed. She was going to be okay but it was obvious she was still severely malnourished and would need time to regain her strength.

Negan stood at the door of the medical office and looked at Aven through the glass. Her sunburn was beginning to fade to a deep tan and her skin seemed to have a more healthy color to it, and she was sitting up without having to lean heavily against her pillows. Her dark red curls were pulled back out of her face and he could see her demeanor hadn't changed. Her eyes were almost vacant, but not quite. She looked like a porcelain doll positioned on a shelf, even in a baggy blue t-shirt with her curly hair all frizzy and matted. There was a calm beauty about her, unmarred by her injuries and illness. Negan pulled back out of his thoughts, giving himself a warning to focus, and entered the room. She didn't turn to look at him until he was at her bedside; she didn't seem to notice his presence until then.

"How's our girl feeling?" he asked, pulling up the stool he'd left near her bed days earlier.

"My head feels like a bowling ball and everything is spinning and my mouth is numb," she mumbled, her shoulders slumped and her eyes tired. "But how are you?" She looked up to see him grinning down at her, taking him in consciously for the first time. He had the beginnings of a light beard sprouting across his strong jaw and his dark eyes sent heat waves towards her. The way he was looking at her made her uneasy but she couldn't look away.

"I am just fuckin' fantastic, thanks for asking!" He swung his arms open and, as usual, she flinched away. "Damn, you're really fuckin' jumpy, aren'tcha doll?"

"Aven," she reminded him politely.

"I know your name. You told me already."

"Oh...sorry, I don't know, seemed like you might have forgotten it." Her expression remained blank, her voice soft and steady, and Negan eyed her suspiciously, unsure if she really thought he forgot or if it was a dig at his use of pet names. It wouldn't be the first time a woman gave him lip about it. He chose to ignore it.

"So, Aven," he began, her name rumbling out of his mouth like distant thunder. Whenever his voice dropped to that calm, low pitch, just the sound was enough to make her want to melt into her bed and let go of her worries, trust him and let him protect her. "I wanted to talk to you a little bit about how life works here." The foot of the bed sank slightly as Negan sat on his hip, his hand resting next to her thigh.