Poker Face

Chapter 8 - Excuses, Excuses

"You what?!" Dr. Carson gaped, raising his voice involuntarily. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he tensed, regretting them. He couldn't look at Negan.

"Whoa, there, Doc," Negan warned, "I'm gonna need you to watch your fuckin' tone."

"I'm sorry, sir." Carson turned his back to Negan, finding work to keep him busy. Normally, Negan wouldn't tolerate backtalk, but he couldn't ignore the feeling that the doctor was right to be horrified.

"What? You think she shouldn't be in there?" Negan asked. It sounded like a challenge.

"No, I- Whatever you think is best, but..." he trailed off, catching himself and intending not to disagree with the boss. "Whatever you think is best."

"Jesus, Doc, you really need to learn how to speak the fuck up. What is it you're trying to fucking say?" Dr. Carson turned to Negan, reluctantly looking him in the eye. His heart was pounding in his ears, knowing that one wrong syllable could lead to death, but for the millionth time in a week he saw something in his boss's eyes he wasn't used to seeing. He knew there was part of Negan that legitimately cared for people, but it usually seemed to be concern for people as a community rather than individuals. However, if they had met in another lifetime, Dr. Carson might have even thought Negan had a crush.

"She was just really confused, sir," Carson began, trying to connect with whatever bit of humanity Negan was exhibiting. "I think she's obviously a very anxious person, or at least she has been because of all this. I was there when she drew the gun on Simon and I don't even really know what happened. One second they were talking civilly and when I turned back, she had the gun to his head." Negan broke eye contact, running a hand through his beard. The girl sounded like a loose cannon and he had gravely misjudged her as mostly helpless. He wondered if she could be useful to him or if she'd only prove to be a bigger threat.

"After you-" Carson continued, still choosing his words very carefully as he glanced at Dwight's unconscious body in a nearby bed. "After Dwight got the iron, she told me she just wanted to get to work and then leave. She felt like you just dropped her here and expected her to figure things out. And not knowing what to do, she's just using up more resources and building more debt. She was backed into a corner."

"Careful, Carson, it sounds like you agree with her."

"No, no sir, not at all," Carson stuttered. "She shouldn't have attacked him, but obviously she isn't very trusting-"

"Well I gave her every god damn reason to trust me," Negan retorted, raising his volume in frustration. "If you don't know how things work, you ask nicely. You don't come out guns a-fucking-blazing and threatening the safety of an entire community." Negan didn't know why he felt the need to say this to Carson; it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. One girl with a handgun probably wasn't as much of a threat as he was making her out to be, but he had a system and a corresponding image to uphold.

"She was wrong. There's no denying that." When Carson saw Negan relax slightly, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Against his better judgement, he wanted to try to talk to him as someone on the same level. "Negan, to put it simply, you two got off on the wrong foot. And that's not your fault," he added, hoping Negan wouldn't catch the lie. "You have a community to run and people to take care of, but we don't know her side of things other than she came here under unfortunate circumstances...circumstances I'm almost positive she's still reliving."

Negan felt his chest tighten. The emptiness in her eyes like she wasn't really there had hit him hard, more than once; how had he not stopped to think it was because she was badly traumatized? He tensed further, realizing he had thought of it, and kept her locked up anyway.