I think I liked you better when you didn't have a knife in your hand, Peaches

Let me just hold your f*ckin' hand, Darlin'...

It was late evening and after a long sleep, getting herself back to rights, Blake was now wandering alone down one of the long corridors of the Sanctuary, heading towards the canteen, following the request of her rumbling stomach.

It was good to be back.

And as gloomy and dank as the place sometimes could be, it felt so much more like home to her than being back at Alexandria ever had.

Blake, despite her throbbing head and aching body, had today, managed to take a shower, getting changed afterwards into a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a tight black sweater. Her hair now hung loosely over her shoulders, her cheeks finally having regained a little colour.

She felt ok. A little groggy but ok.

Better at least than when she had been pushed down a flight of stairs, that was for sure.

After another lazy make out session with Negan this morning after her mark remarks about spanking, the dark-haired Saviour had muttered some bullshit excuse about having some business to attend to, which Blake most likely assumed either ironing someone's face....or threatening someone.

She wasn't particularly happy with the way Negan conducted himself of course, but she knew that she had very little choice about changing his mind about being so gun-ho in situations.

That was just...well, him. And no, Blake was not defending it. But the side of Negan, Blake was privy to, was far from the monster he was usually painted as.

She was pretty enamoured with him now...feeling her heart pounding faster when he came into a room...

Perhaps he had worn her down...but Blake had a sneaking suspicion that she had always felt that way about him...even that first time she had laid eyes on him standing there imposing and cocky.

Him, even back then, being one of the only men to ever challenge her in a constructive way...to make her feel better, and not worse about herself...

Building her up, instead of stamping her down, like David always had.

Blake gave a sigh, her thoughts somewhere else completely now, as she wandered the winding hallways of the third floor.

But, turning a corner, before she could do a thing to stop herself, she had barrelled straight into someone, giving a short 'oof'.....as she stumbled backwards, wobbling slightly and trying to catch her balance.

But before she could topple over, a swift hand grabbed her waist , pulling her upright and flush into his lean, familiar body.

"I mean, I know you like me, Peaches," said the snarky, growling voice of Negan, as he peered down at her, his mouth set into a wide grin. "But you have got to stop tryin' to run into me like this. People are gonna start talkin'."

The dark-haired Saviour was stood before her now, in a clean grey t-shirt, grey pants and boots, with his trusty baseball bat hanging loosely from one hand.

Blake immediately rolled her eyes, giving him a gentle shove away from her and tutting, brushing herself down.

"I highly doubt anyone would be talking about us, Negan," she said a little scoldingly. "After all, you've got five wives sitting upstairs. Why would anyone bat an eyelid at another woman in your life?"

She was teasing him, she knew that, but she had to admit that with all that had happened between the pair of the over the last twenty-four hours, it did hurt thinking about the weeks Negan had spent back here with his wives.

Negan, cocked an eyebrow at her, smirking down at the caramel-haired woman bemusedly. "You jealous, Doll-face?" he asked, eyeing her. "Because it kinda sounds like you are."