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

Mommy

Almost an hour Negan stayed in that shower, feeling his tears and his anger ebbing away with every droplet of water that got washed down the drain.

He hoped of course that his men would know by now, to stand down...that they would know that he had no intention of going anywhere. Not today at least. Not now.

He was done with acting rash. Acting like an asshole for his own ends or his own sheer anger and frustrations.

For Negan knew now that his priority needed to be to bring Blake back from wherever horrible place she was at.

Shit. He could feel her slipping further and further away from him with each moment that passed and knew that this couldn't not go on much longer.

She wasn't eating, he doubted she was sleeping either, falling into the clouded abyss it feared him to think she might not be able to climb out of without help.

And so, drying himself hastily with a towel, Negan had walked to his closet and tugged open its doors.

But his long and tanned figures hovered there for a moment in mid-air, drifting over the material of Blake's shirts and pants tucked neatly in between his own clothes. Realising now, just how much of a loss there was here in his life, without her.

She was the thing that kept him from that hell, that black hole he had been falling into for the past few years since Lucille's death.

He needed her.

And he hoped, that somewhere, she needed him too.

Pulling out a fresh t-shirt and clean pair of grey pants, Negan pulled them on over his tired bones.

He needed sleep, he knew that, but that could wait.

All he wanted now was to be back downstairs with Blake.

He had shed his tears for the baby that had never been born...and he hoped that soon, she would too.

Then they could mourn their loss together. Grieve together. Heal together.

Fuck, Negan needed her.

He ran a hand over his tired eyes and down his stubbly chin.

His beard had certainly grown in length over the last few days and he reminded himself that he would need to shave soon. But that, like his bed, could wait.

He heaved on his boots, and shrugged his black jacket back onto his shoulders before heading, once more, for the door.

But he paused once again, one gloved hand on the door handle, the other hovering over Lucille, sitting on the side-table, waiting for him. But Negan peeled his fingers back and dropped his digits to his side once more, before exiting the room, leaving the barbed wire-covered bat behind.

He traipsed down the hallway, a yellow light blinking over his head as he went, and made for the staircase, feeling a sort-of relief wash over him at the loss of his trusted weapon now.

For he knew he didn't need her. Not now. Not today. For this was not the time for anger or cracking skulls. This was a time for something else completely...

But the tall, dark-haired man, had only made it down one flight of stairs before he stopped suddenly, frowning at a familiar noise that seemed to be drifting its way down the lengthy, and otherwise silent, hallway.

Negan parted his lips, hand on the railing as he turned his head to stare down the long corridor that led only to one place.

And before he could stop himself, as if ushered by some invisible force, he took a couple of steps slowly towards the sound, heading away from the stairs..away from Blake...and walking down the gloomy corridor instead.