Poker Face

Chapter 62 - The Smart Thing To Do

"I feel really shitty but a lot better," she grumbled. "I'd feel even better if I weren't cooped up and being shipped off."

"If you promise you'll be careful I figured you could sit up on one of the guard posts to get some air."

"Gee, thanks."

"Aven, I'm trying," he pleaded, moving to face her from across the coffee table. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop treating me like a puppy with a broken paw."

"Aven, you're still weak. You can't be putting yourself in danger like yesterday-"

"I KNOW!" she yelled, slamming her notebook against her lap. "I FUCKING KNOW! I'm weak and stupid and it's all my fucking fault so now I have to fucking sit around and be treated like the useless, weak piece of shit I fucking am!" Negan's jaw dropped at her outburst; he hadn't known her to be so self-effacing. Maybe a little self-pitying, but never that harsh. He had a feeling it was partially from her period and could only hope she'd feel more herself soon.

"Doll," he breathed, coming around to sit on the couch next to her and resting his hand on her knee. She eyed it skeptically but went back to writing. "You're physically weak right now through no fucking fault of your own and it's going to change real fucking soon. Maybe you're a fucking puppy with a broken paw right now but in a week you'll be chasing the fuckin' mailman down the street again."

"...What?" she looked up at him quizzically, without anger for the first time since the night before.

"I don't know, I was trying to keep with the fuckin' metaphor," he said with a sheepish smile, gently squeezing her knee. "You do that sometimes but you're better with words."

"Yeah, clearly," she scoffed, her lips twitching as she looked back down at her notebook, her face hidden partially by her messy curls.

"Was that humor?" Negan asked fake-shocked (though truly surprised), leaning over in front of her to see her face. He was wary of his usual brand of constant physical contact after she'd rejected him the night before but he reached up and she let him tilt her chin towards him. The anger seemed to be fading but now her eyes were growing sad again. Negan frowned, looking deep into her eyes for a silent moment.

"Did you mean it?" he finally asked in nothing more than a whisper. Her angry words from the previous night were still ringing in his head. She stared back with a soft expression and took a deep breath.

"Not exactly," she said simply.

"What do you mean?" Before she could answer, a wave of sharp cramps shot through her stomach and she leaned forwards suddenly with a yelp, trying to dull the pain with pressure.

"Shit, still?" Negan asked worriedly, rubbing her back. It was still baffling and frankly horrifying to him that this was something she went through for a week at a time on multiple occasions.

"Day or two more," she choked. "Doesn't go away all at once. It kind of fades out." Her pain only reassured him that he was doing the right thing, sending her to the safer location where the doctor would be too.

"What do you need to do to get ready?" he asked, trying to distract her from the pain. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Negan, problem with one of the trucks," Simon said over the radio laying on the bedside table. Negan stood reluctantly with a sigh and went to pick it up. "Need to see what you wanna do, fix it or leave it."

"Five minutes," Negan replied with the radio to his mouth. He turned back to Aven and opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

"Do what you need to do," she said for the hundredth time that week, since he was constantly hovering over her worried about leaving her side to take care of business. She slowly got to her feet with a groan and waved him away when he tried to help her stand. She stood in place for a moment, vaguely dizzy for only a second, before slowly moving towards the bathroom to shower. "I'll be fine." She shut the door before he could say another word, and he stared at it sadly for a moment before turning to leave.

-----------------------------------------

Aven sluggishly but steadily moved about, first going down to breakfast and then meeting Dr. Carson in the medical room where he was instructing workers on what to pack up. She heard Negan was looking for her but purposely avoided him for the time being, still angry and unsure of his treatment of her. It wasn't the way he'd acted towards her most of the time and she understood that her injury and weakness amplified his over-protectiveness, and she could only hope that he'd remember she was capable once she fully healed, even if she didn't quite believe it herself.

"Did you mean it?" Negan asked again once they'd been on the road for five minutes, alone in a car and silent.

"I told you no," Aven muttered.

"No, you said not exactly," he retorted. "Did you mean it or were you trying to fuckin' hurt me?"

"No," she gasped, finally looking up at him from the passenger's seat. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," he lied transparently, before his tone became more earnest. "I didn't mean to hurt you either."

"You would have forced me into this car if I hadn't agreed," she said disappointedly.

"Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do?" He tried to keep his temper down but he was already getting frustrated, eternally confused about what was going on in her mind.

"Take no for a fucking answer?"

"Why are you going?" he snapped. "I didn't actually fucking force you." Aven almost kept arguing; he did everything but physically force her. He certainly didn't make things easy. But she took a deep breath and, as usual, backed off of the argument.

"Because it's the smart thing to do."