Negan - Still Breathing (Part 1)

Capture the Flag

The clock on Negan's writing desk chimed in a melodic tone. Ding, ding, ding, ding... It was four o'clock. You were roused by the toll of the hour. Tangled in the lavender sheets, you stretched like a cat awaking from a long nap. Checking the clock's face, you groaned. Negan was absent. The Hobbit was placed on his nightstand, and you could tell he marked a page. Opening the book, you noted where he left off. Damn, he read all the way to the Riddles in the Dark chapter, you thought. You put down the text and pulled on your clothes. Walking to the window as you hopped into your pant legs, you scanned the view of the compound. A few guards convened in the tower, and some other men unloaded supplies from an old maintenance truck. But you didn't see Negan ordering them about like he usually would at this time. As you jumped into your jeans, your cigs fell out of your back pocket. It had been quite a while since you smoked, so you cracked open the window, sat at the writing desk, and lit a Camel. Flicking your ashes outside the windowpane between drags, you mulled over the previous events. Negan's proposal looped in your head like a broken record: What if I let you carry on the way you have while being my wife? ...I want you, Jackie Bennett.

"Want me?" you thought aloud. "He doesn't even know me." You clutched the filter in your lips and deeply inhaled. "Hell, he probably doesn't trust me; I haven't given him much reason to," you muttered as you exhaled. "And why should I trust him? He's always stringing me along with petty games and restrictive deals." Another drag. "There's no understanding." Another drag. "There's no trust." And another drag. "There's no relationship." Exhale. "There's only mutual lust." Smoke curled around your fingers as your cig shrunk. "How could we be together if there's no bond?" You tapped off the ashes. "Do I even want to be his wife? The bastard didn't ask." Tap, tap, tap. "Maybe it's another game...a test of loyalty." Flick, flick, flick. "I want him to trust me; I don't want to play games, anymore. But how do I prove it?" Your mind bubbled and simmered with ideas. Noticing that you'd smoked your cigarette down to the filter, you chucked it out the window. "In any case, I'll prove it my way."

Your ears twitched at the sound of muffled voices in Negan's office. Creeping to the door, you listened in, wondering who was speaking. There were three distinct timbres: Negan's, Dwight's, and another that you didn't recognize. It didn't strike you as any of the Saviors' gruff voices. Rather, it had a cooler resonance. Should I just waltz in like nothing happened? What will Dwight think?! You wrestled with the idea of barging in on the meeting. Dwight would surely jump to conclusions. But he wouldn't spread the word to the rest of the men that you were allegedly eloping with Negan. With that assumption, you sighed and opened the door. You wanted to catch a glimpse of the new guy. To whom did that unfamiliar voice belong?

Creeeeeaaak! The three of them fixed their eyes on you as you stepped in. They were scattered on the leather chairs in the den, and they all shifted towards you. Dwight appeared cold with shock. Negan--fully dressed in his usual get-up--seemed pleased, and a sizzling smile revealed his dimples. The stranger, who looked a bit like Jesus Christ, gazed at you with glowing, jade orbs. "Glad you decided to fucking join us, No-Name," Negan greeted you. "Grab some chair. These pesky fucking matters concern you, too."