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."
Quietly, you strode to the couch and settled next to Dwight, who's mouth was still ajar. You knew he'd bombard you with questions after this discussion. The stranger stood and bowed his head at you in acknowledgment. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Paul Monroe, from the Hilltop. But you can call me Jesus." His faded green beanie brought out the color of his emerald eyes. His tawny hair framed his bearded face like curtains. His serene look actually resembled depictions of Christ.
Great. The fucker thinks he's the son of God, you jeered, silently. "It's a pleasure. As Negan said earlier, I'm No-Name. But you can call me...No-Name," you stated, matter-of-factly.
You heard Negan chuckle in his desk chair. His shoulders shook. Jesus wore a puzzled expression. "Nice to make your acquaintance...No-Name," he responded with a wavering lilt. He leaned back in his seat and stared at you, curiously.
Negan rose to his feet and paced the room. "Just a little recap," he began with his fingers drumming on his hips. He didn't appear whole without Lucille--a prominent extension of his being was missing. "The axe-wielding motherfucker stole a vehicle from the Hilltop. Jesus, here, witnessed the act. We still have no fucking idea where he's going, but it must be quite a stretch. We do know, after my investigation with the nameless Detective, that he's a part of a group." He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name of the tribe. "Whisper or the Whisperers, or fucking something like that. D whipped out an interesting theory as to what the fuck he may be scheming." He gestured to Dwight for his explanation.
"Well," he started, fixing his straw-like hair. "I think he was sent in to weaken The Sanctuary from the inside out. Obviously, that's why he stole Lucille--to show his community that we're vulnerable. Did his plan work? Not really. But is Lucille evidence enough to convince his community to attack? Damn straight."
You nodded in agreement with Dwight, but your mind was still criticizing his theory. Gio wasn't known for his fidelity. He'd often load the dice and work the situation to his benefit. You doubted he would return to the Whisperers with a symbol of loyalty like a cat dragging a dead mouse to its owner's doorstep. Gio was far too headstrong for that behavior. "What if it's a diversion?" you spoke up.
Negan raised his eyebrow. "I'm all fucking ears," he replied.
Clearing your throat, you verbalized your hypothesis. "Maybe he wrote 'Whisper' to make us believe that he's a part of that group. As a result, we'd target them. But what if he's working for someone else, and he's using that community as a scapegoat? Just like the Manson Family murders." The three of them didn't quite understand where you were going with this conspiracy, so you elaborated. "Charlie Manson wanted to start a race war. His cult members wrote 'Helter Skelter' in blood on the walls after they slaughtered their victims--thinking that the police would suspect that the Black Panthers did it."
Jesus seemed intrigued by your notion. "That's a likely motive. But what's next? What should we do?"
"Who knows how threatening his group is! We don't even know where the fuck they are. Hell, we don't even know who they are," Dwight added, leaning towards you.
Looking to Negan with a questioning disposition, you queried, "What do you suggest?"
"Spotlight's on you, kid. Take the fucking floor," he answered, urging you to continue.
You mulled over potential solutions. Lighting a cigarette, you hummed in careful thought. Taking a long drag, you concluded, "There's only one thing that we can do. We have to track him down, somehow. But we have to be clever about it. This can't be a full-on man hunt with loads of participants. No...this is a one-on-one game of 'Capture the Flag.' They took the symbol of power from The Sanctuary. We must get it back. If we find Lucille, we'll find the runaway stag. And the hunter's got to be seemingly non-threatening."
"Hmm...a wolf in sheep's clothing," Jesus mused. "Are any of you good trackers?"
Dwight lifted his hand and boasted, "I've done this shit before. Easy peasy. So, I can lead operation Paul Bunyan."
The only person here who knows how Gio's brain works is me. I'm the only solution to this problem, you thought. If they catch him, they'll torture him until he sings like a bird.
Scratching his head, Negan interjected. "I'm fucking aware of your abilities, D. But Sherry needs you to fucking stay put 'til she heals." He motioned to Jesus. "What about you, oh Holy One?"
The Christ-like character shook his head. "Gregory needs me to keep everyone in line." This Gregory he mentioned was the leader of the Hilltop--Jesus's commander. "Wish I could go, but orders are orders. If the community is disorganized, how will they be able to serve you, Negan?" He shrugged his shoulders and gave an apologetic smile.
"Well, I can't motherfucking up and leave," Negan remarked while stroking his beard. "Who the fucking fuck is going to catch this bastard? All of my fucking men look like dirty, hard-ass convicts! They're a damn long way from little fucking lambs!"
THIS could be your shining moment to earn his trust, you realized.
"Um...Negan..." you piped up while raising your hand.
A puzzled look creased his crow's feet when he saw your arm fly up like you were a student in his classroom. He pointed to you. "Yes, teacher's pet?"
"I can go," you volunteered.
"That's out of the fucking question," he protested.
"Why?" you huffed. You stood up and approached him. "This kinda shit is on my resume. I was a burglar for two years after the outbreak. And I'm not necessarily the meanest-looking bitch on the block. So, why not?"
His eyes pierced you in concern. "Because it's fucking dangerous. That's why."
You shot him with a fervent rebuttal. "This whole world is dangerous. Trust me, I've gone through some fucked up shit. I can handle it."
"Not this fucking time," he retorted. "Your ass stays here."
"Come on, you've let me leave the compound for supply runs," you argued. Dwight and Jesus observed your debate as if they were watching a tennis match. Back and forth, back and forth.
"That's because you were with a fucking bunch of armed men. You can't fucking do this on your own. I won't allow it," he commanded, slamming his hand on his desk.
"Oh, I get what's going on. You think I'm using this as a chance to escape. Can't you trust me, Negan?" you questioned.
A scowl shadowed his face. "Your fucking track record doesn't give me any fucking reason to let you off the leash."
You stood firmly on the ground and hissed, "I'm done running. This compound is my home, now. And if I can do my part to help you out, I will. Not because I feel obligated to do so. I want to."
Silence. Absolute quiet. The trio of men gawked at your conviction. They were dumbfounded. Negan sighed and shook his head. He appeared distraught. Gazing into your glare, he hesitantly asked, "What do you fucking need for your journey?"
Holy fuck, he's actually letting me go! A smile of surprise raised your cheeks. Dwight's expression appeared startled. Jesus grinned and glanced at you in admiration. "I'll start packing, and I'll let you know," you told Negan. "I'll go on foot. A lot of those pricks out there will jump at the opportunity to steal a car. I'll play the helpless, unprepared pilgrim and locate that axe-swinger's stake out. It should be pretty damn close."
Negan rubbed his finger along his lower lip in thought. "Sounds like we've got a fucking plan. Done," he agreed in a defeated manner. "Run the fuck along and get ready. I'll meet you at the gates in an hour."
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"You're WHAT?!" Nicole shrieked in dismay. You decided to pack your things in her room to avoid any awkward encounters with Dwight.
"I told you, I'm going on a man hunt," you answered, calmly. "Alone."
"But why? Do you realize how risky that is?" she cried. "Why are you doing this? To prove that you're tough?" Throwing assumptions at you, she shivered with worry.
"No. I'm doing it because I'm the best candidate for this mission." You took inventory of your supplies. Camouflage blanket, rope, switchblade, ski mask, handgun, first-aid kit, granola bars, water bottle, cigarettes, and lighter. Check! Everything seemed in order.
"Why the fuck would Negan force you take on this crazy job?" she pried. Her lip trembled.
"Actually, I chose this task," you murmured, zipping up your bag. "And if Negan has faith that I'll come back in one piece, so should you."
She pouted and sharply crossed her arms. "Then, he must be nuts. Absolutely nuts. The moment you get on the road, you're fucked."
Turning to her, you sighed, "Please, don't worry about me. I'll be alright. Even if I'm not alright, I've always managed to pull through."
"B-b-but Jackie..." Nicole sobbed. She couldn't hold back her flood of tears any longer. Collapsing into her over-stuffed bed, she wept until her mascara trailed down her pink cheeks. "What if you don't come back? Just the thought..." Her breaths heaved in and out. "It fucking hurts. D-d-don't leave."
The sight of her in such grief over your imminent departure broke your heart. A part of your soul felt sick. She looked like a glowing vision of an angel, even when she was a puddle of sadness. Nearing the bedside, your dried her tears with your finger. "Nickie, darling. Please, don't cry. For your safety, and the safety of the compound, I have to find that fugitive and take back Lucille." You lovingly kissed her forehead, and her bawling subsided. "Be strong for me, sweetheart."
She grasped your hand and planted light kisses on each of your fingers. Using your wrist to dab her droplets of tears, she asked in a shaky voice, "How long will you be gone?"
You rubbed her silky, smooth back. "I'm not sure," you said through a heavy sigh. "But I'll return as soon as I possibly can."
Sniffling, she gazed up at you with her watering baby blues. "Please do," she squeaked. She blessed your travels by smooching your cheek.
Checking the clock above her nightstand, you jumped. "I've got five minutes. I'd better go." You grabbed your bag, slung it over your shoulder, and headed for the door.
"Wait!" she called. Diving to her closet, she rummaged around the piles of lingerie. Pulling out a small teddy bear, she scurried over to you. "Take Ruffles with you," Nicole demanded, handing you the stuffed animal. His faux fur was peanut-butter-brown, and he sported a robin's-egg-blue bow tie around his neck. Those tiny, coal eyes of his sparkled when they peered at you.
"Ruffles?" you giggled, lifting your brow.
"Don't let his name fool you," she said, smiling. "He's been to hell and back since the apocalypse. My mom gave him to me when I was learning to sleep in my 'big girl bed.' He kept me safe from the monsters in the closet." She laughed at her childish anecdote. "And now, he'll protect you from monsters."
Oh Nickie, you're just a sweet, little girl in a Playboy Bunny's body. A passionate grin lit your face. Her gift wasn't particularly useful; it wasn't a weapon or a tool of any kind. But it was a piece of her heart. You kissed the bear's button-nose. "I feel like a kid on Christmas morning," you cheered and you curled your arms around her. "Thank you, dearest Nicole."
You felt her tears tap your shoulder as she hugged you, tightly. "I adore you, Jackie," she murmured. "Please be careful, honey. I'll be waiting for you."
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Jogging to the gates of The Sanctuary, you spotted Dwight and Jesus talking amongst themselves. You slowed your pace and walked up to them. "How's it going, lads?" you asked. A thrilling feeling of excitement overcame your demeanor. You hadn't been on the road in so long, and a sense of adventure tingled in your gut.
Dwight answered you first. "Going good. The evening will be nice and mild. Sky's pretty clear." He averted his gaze. You could recognize the concern in his eyes.
Attempting to be considerate, you inquired, "Is Sherry feeling any better?"
D's irises were overcast. "She's gettin' there," he replied.
You placed your hand on his shoulder, and he looked up through his blonde wisps. "Negan told me about the deal he made with you. And I'm happy that you two are together, again," you said, reassuringly.
He smiled, and his teeth gleamed. "I knew you wouldn't be fussed about it," he chuckled in contentment. You brought him in for a hard hug. "Bad-ass-besties for life?"
"Oh you know it, D," you giggled as you held him close.
Jesus comically cleared his throat. "So..." he intervened. You broke the embrace with Dwight and listened in. "The escapee was northbound when he drove off. I suggest you start that way."
"Alright, thanks," you nodded to him.
He slowly strolled toward you. "But you'd better be ready for anything. There are some mean, nasty fuckers on the other side of these gates," he advised. You rolled your eyes, and he cocked his head. "Ye be warned. Walkers are the least of your worries."
"Don't even try to fucking scare her!" a booming voice rang out. "It won't fucking work!"
All three of your heads whipped around. "Negan!" you shouted as he strode towards you.
He wore a smile, but his eyes wore a frown. His leather-clad shoulders slouched a bit. The confident sway in his walk was gone. In this instance, he couldn't fool you. He was anxious. "All fucking suited up, doll?" he questioned, making sure you packed everything.
"All ready!" you chirped and patted your backpack.
His smile widened. "Can we have a moment, fellas?" he requested, and the two men left your side. Dwight humorously blew you a kiss as he walked away, and you caught it. Negan stifled a growl in response.
"What's up?" you inquired.
He seemed at a loss for words. Biting his lip, he scratched his slicked-back locks. "Well...I just wanted to wish you luck. You'll fucking need it," he said in sincerity. "And I hope you come back in the same fucking condition in which you left. All ten goddamn fingers and toes."
You chuckled, "How sweet of you..."
Letting out a fake noise of disgust, he yapped, "I'm not a sweet motherfucker." He winked, and you blushed.
You shyly looked at your feet. "It's nearly sundown," you marked. "Better start hiking."
Before you could take a step, Negan stopped you with his strong arm. "Hold on," he pleaded.
Tilting your head, you eyed his troubled expression. "Yes?"
Uncertainty made the corners of his mouth twitch. He slid his rough hands over your shoulders. "Will you consider my offer?"
Your brow furrowed. "I'll see how I feel about it when I return," you ardently replied.
Negan sighed lowly and tightened his grip on your arms. "Look..." He struggled with what he was about to say. "That's just fucking it. I know you, Jackie. You're a bad-ass, freedom-loving, natural-born drifter." Looking to the ground, he gulped hard. "I don't expect you to return."
"What?" you gasped. Did he really just hand you a ticket out of this place? Your brain swirled in awe.
"The choice is yours, hon. Two more fucking doors to think about," he murmured.
"W-w-what about Lucille?" you stuttered as he held you.
He laughed and his gorgeous, bronze eyes twinkled. "It's just a fucking baseball bat. I'm a big boy. I'll fucking get over it. But if you find that fucking lumberjack, gift-wrap the fuck out of him with ribbons and bows. I want that piece of shit in my fucking mailbox." Waving his hand high above his head, he signaled the guards to open the massive gates. The entrance creaked as the large slabs of ridged metal were rolled to the side. The road beckoned you to follow its trail. Negan smiled at you and pointed to the world beyond. "Stay strong as a motherfucker and dig deep," he bellowed.
Before you departed, you felt the urge to yank him to your lips. You wanted so badly to feel his smoldering kiss, once more. But instead, you gave him a hug and pressed your head to his pounding heart. "Thanks, Coach Negan," you said through a bright grin.
His arms slid around your waist, and he breathed deeply. "Enough of this mushy shit. Get your game-face on, and take the fucking field."
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Three days later...
You skipped down the overgrown trail, relishing the sensation of liberty. The pale November sun licked your face. Singing as you traveled, you felt like Dorothy Gale dancing on the yellow-brick road. Your steps were bouncy and light. Damn, it feels good to be unchained, you thought, and almost let out a howl of happiness. The weather was perfect for hiking--there was hardly a cloud in the sky. You were headed north, looking out for lurkers as you went. But you couldn't be bothered! You were so goddamn giddy that you whistled a jubilant tune as you shot a few stray walkers in their skulls. Nothing could bring you down from your glorious high!
Since you'd walked so briskly, you calculated that you'd already put about eighty miles of distance between you and The Sanctuary. Only climbing trees a couple of times to sleep, you journeyed with little rest. Your long awaited freedom electrified you with unbound energy. But you observed no sign of human life. No camps, no communities, no traces of civilization. Surely, Gio must've been staking out with a group before the Saviors caught him. They couldn't be far...
You heard the ripple of a nearby stream coming from a patch of forest. Darting off the road for a minute, you knelt by the stream and refilled your bottle. The water looked clear and delicious. As you took a gulp from the container, you heard a rumbling on the trail. Gravel and dirt crackled loudly. A hum of an engine crescendoed. I spy with my little eye...something big, boxy, and black with large tires. A truck thundered toward your position. How convenient! Maybe I could hitch a ride...
Sprinting to the road, you eyed the approaching vehicle. You stepped out into the middle of their path. Two men hid behind the tinted windshield. The truck ground to a halt when they saw you. They kicked off the roaring engine. Jumping out of their seats in a flash, they strutted towards you with weapons drawn. They pointed their guns at your head, and you just smiled. "Hey guys!" you greeted them. "Going north?"
The two of them looked at each other. One wore a black leather vest, and his biceps bulged. His squinted eyes were covered by his unkempt strands of dark hair. The other sported a denim shirt, and his ocean irises fixed on you. His stubble looked a bit grey. They both appeared to be in their forties.
Seeming on-guard, the man in denim called in a southern twang, "Are you armed?"
You paused, unwilling to give up your weapons. But their potential generosity could be your only chance of finding Gio. Slowly and carefully, you raised your arms to eye-level. "Um...I just have a couple of--"
"Give him your stuff," the vested man commanded in a hickish timbre.
"My stuff?" you asked, unsure.
"Your thangs," the ocean-eyed man answered.
Shrugging your shoulders innocently, you queried, "All my thangs?"
They rolled their eyes and shouted in unison, "Your weapons!" Their aim was still pin-pointed on you.
Kneeling down, you removed the pack from your back and dug for your .44 and your switchblade. You placed both of them in front of their feet. "Check the bag, Daryl," the denim-clad man ordered.
The vested man--Daryl--snatched your survival sack and sifted through its contents. You stared at him, nervously. Thrashing through the bag, he pulled out Ruffles the teddy bear and laughed. "What the hell is this shit?" he bayed in his hillbilly accent.
Your eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Just some fucking memorabilia, alright?" you explained.
"Would you put it back? She's harmless," the stubbly man said to Daryl. With that realization, he shoved his gun back in its holster.
Never assume, you thought with a wicked smile.
As Daryl confiscated your weapons, the other man approached you and held out his hand. "The name's Rick," he announced, and gave you a firm hand shake. "Rick Grimes." He pulled you up to your feet in the process. His friendly grin softened his aura. "Need a lift?"
"Yes please," you sighed in relief. Let's hope this guy's as kind as he is handsome.