How Negan Brought Valentines Day Back

In Love

Sitting around the parlor with his wives, Negan's head flopped back against the couch. "Is there anymore wine, Sherry?"

"Yup. Simon knocked over a liquor store about a week ago." Without prompting, she brought Negan more wine. Since Negan had shifted his attention to Rick Grimes, the wives were more willing to take him seriously. Not that they had ever intensely disliked him, or anything like that. Just that, he was constantly trying to get into their panties, or his jokes were terrible and his brutality was intolerable. But Rick Grimes had changed him – and all of the wives liked that.

"Something bothering you, Negan?" Frankie said, coming over to massage Negan's shoulders.

He took a sip of the red wine – way too fucking bitter, but alcohol was alcohol – and sighed, long and loud. "Fuck," he mumbled, staring down pensively at his half empty glass. Negan twirled the delicate glass stem between his fingers carelessly, losing himself in thought for a moment. "It's Rick."

Over Negan's head, Sherry and Frankie shared a knowing look. Tanya glanced up from her book from where she was curled up in her armchair. All it took was another sigh from Negan, and Tanya gently shut her book and set it aside. With Frankie still rubbing his shoulders, Tanya and Sherry took a seat on either side of Negan. Out of his nine wives, they were the only ones to stay – just for the comforts of it. Amber went back to Mark; the other wives went to work or even other communities. But Sherry, Frankie, and Tanya stayed. They didn't sleep with Negan much anymore, and mainly they helped him with the tedious things, like inventory, planning, things of that nature. Sherry was good at it, and Tanya used to be an accountant. It wasn't a bad gig for them.

Lately, though, Negan has stopped coming to them for advice. When they asked about it, he just said he talked to Rick about things or he passed it off to Simon or Regina or Gavin. It had been weeks since Negan had slept with any of them either – even when they offered. He passed it off on being tired, but they knew better. The last time he slept with Frankie, she'd been on her stomach and when he pulled out and painted the small of her back with his come, she swore she heard him mutter a small, "Oh, Rick." She hadn't said anything, but she didn't have to. Negan caught himself apparently; but he hadn't apologized.

Sitting with him now on the couch, sympathetically, Sherry tentatively broached the topic. "What about Rick Grimes? Tough negotiations with Alexandria again?"

"No," Negan answered dully, and added with a hint of bitterness, "Everything with Alexandria is just peachy-fucking-keen."

Sherry gave him a moment, and then continued, "I thought things were going well with Rick. You said you spent Christmas together and he was happy."

At the mention of this past 'Christmas' about a month or two ago, Negan perked up. "Fuck yeah, Rick and his family loved the presents I got them. Little Judy squealed at the dolls and threw a little tea party. She even fucking invited me to it. Some of the fucking ribbons I got for her hair were used on Rick instead. Shit, he looks gorgeous in red, his brown curls trussed up into pig tails and his blue eyes just so fucking..." Negan trailed off. "Shit. Fuck."

Again, the three wives exchanged a knowing look with each other. "Negan," Tanya started this time. "I think you like Rick."

"Of course, I fucking do. What's not to like about the man? He's a hell of a fucking guy. A great leader. Always willing to take risks right along-fucking-side his men. Never one to tolerate the bullshit. Fair. Just. Loyal. Shit." He shook his head, whistling lowly. "He's fucking perfect. A man worth fucking following, leading by ex-fucking-ample." Negan quaffed the rest of his drink and gasped appreciatively.

Seizing the opportunity to speak during Negan's pause, Tanya pushed. "Not to sound juvenile, Negan, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you fucking mean then, Tanya?" Negan leaned back, stretching out his legs in front of him underneath the coffee table. He had yet to meet any of their eyes, seemingly distracted.