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

The Thunderstorm

Negan had barely remembered getting into bed. Somehow staggering back up the stairs and into his room in his inebriated state, Arat's words still ringing in his ears.

He had stripped out of his clothes somehow, flinging them off and clambering into his bed, empty again tonight.

Earlier, five whiskeys in, Negan's instincts had been to ask one of the women downstairs to join him tonight. Maybe not his ex-wives, but he was almost certain there were plenty of women down there who would jump at the chance for a night with him. Who they were didn't really seem to matter to him, but the idea of using sex tonight as a way of coping with his feelings had seemed like a great idea then, feeling alone and bitter that Blake had left him the way that she did.

But now, it seemed his thoughts had cleared somewhat and Negan realised he didn't want someone else. Not even a one night stand....a meaningless pointless screw with a woman he probably wouldn't remember the name of tomorrow.

He needed Blake.

It killed him to know that she was out there somewhere, depressed, hurting, just like he was.

He wanted nothing more now, than to hold her, kiss her, tell her that everything would be ok.

But Arat was probably right.

She needed space.

Away from this place. Or maybe just away from him.

For what worried Negan now, was that when she WAS ready to come back, perhaps her love for him wouldn't be there anymore.

He had acted like an asshole. Said things he didn't mean. And maybe she wouldn't be able to forgive him for that.

Negan knew that she was too good for him.

Like a star burning so brightly amidst the darkness that engulfed him.

It was as though she was heaven sent, whereas Negan belonged in Hell. Damn, maybe he would never be good enough for her.

Maybe she deserved better than him.

What had been a warm and humid afternoon, soon turned into thunderstorms as the early hours crept in.

But passed out, Negan barely heard the crashing of thunder overhead, or saw the lightning that streaked through the sky.

For a sheen of sweat lay thick across his tanned brow, a frown-line littering his features as he mouthed into the darkness, tossing and turning, writhing within white sheets, his muscles taut, his fists clenched, veins throbbing within his forearms.

For in his dreams Negan found himself back there, at that hospital bed he hadn't seen in oh-so many years. With her. With his Lucille. And yet none of it looked like the same hospital he had visited on so many occasions. Instead, their surroundings were the medical room downstairs at the Sanctuary, dark and gloomy, shadowed and oppressive.

There she was now, his wife. His beautiful wife. Sitting up, smiling. And yet her features were somehow obscured by the gloom. And no matter how much he tried to squint, he couldn't quite seem to make her out, his memory of her fading now, he knew that, he felt it every day.

But even so, she reached out for his hand, giving it a squeeze, Negan feeling tears falling from his eyes at her warm touch.

"They need you, Negan," Lucille said in a gentle voice. "Both of them do."

And Negan knew of course who she was talking about.

The two people alive in this world who meant more to him than anyone else.