❝ WE COULD DO THIS TOGETHER ❞
–
The narrow dirt road spanned further than she'd remembered. Densely packed white pine trees aligned the desolate street making each twist and turn identical to the other. She nearly lost her way a time or two. Without music or Negan at the wheel, the drive seemed longer and painfully tedious. Every now and then a walker would stagger by, trailing her car and wailing its arms in the air, but she merely averted her gaze with knitted brows. The sight of the dead still sent her stomach swirling.
The clock read 1PM. She'd spent the last few hours raiding stores in town and grabbing whatever she could get her hands on. To her luck, she stumbled across a dilapidated store loaded with canned vegetables, the last they had stocked, and a myriad of bathroom essentials. She'd grabbed a few things for herself, some for Negan, and left the rest for her family. She didn't want to go home empty handed.
Shirts, pants and accessories cluttered the passenger's side. The back seats contained canned food and hygienic products. Her father was beginning to need a shave again, so she bought him a specialty razor. He told her once he preferred cartridge over straight.
After what seemed like hours of driving, the conspicuous house adorned with the vibrant red roof appeared around the corner. To her relief there was no black pickup truck in the driveway. She wanted to change out of her blood and dirt covered clothes, into something nice and comfortable before Negan arrived. She shut off her car, grabbed a few items from her car, and hurriedly made her way to the front entrance.
The smell started to become familiar. Oak and an artificial floral scent, something she still hadn't found the source of. She wasted no time climbing the creaky stairs and entering the master bedroom, then picking an outfit. With paltry clothes to choose from, she settled on a loose fitting white tee and black sweatpants.
She decided to fill time she'd make dinner. As much as she wanted to sit around with a good book and wait for Negan to arrive, the gurgling noise in her stomach was beckoning her to do otherwise. Grabbing a pot, she filled it halfway with bottled water and flicked the lighter over the gas top, causing it to ignite. After she situated the spaghetti noodles on the counter, she took a seat at the island and tapped her feet patiently.
Laying on the table was a plain black shirt, fingerless leather gloves and a tight fitting leather jacket. She picked them specifically for Negan. Although it wasn't much of a switch up, the jacket did look fairly different from the one he was often clad in. Tighter, more pockets and zippers. She hoped he'd appreciate it. Nobody else would. His style was rather unique for the apocalypse.
Bored, she tugged at the fingerless leather gloves and slipped them slowly on her hands. They weren't too snug, and the holes which were supposed to end mid-finger, spanned all the way to her nails. She smiled and slipped the other one on, liking the way they looked, and clenched her fists.
"Well, don't you look badass." She hadn't heard the door opening over the sound of bubbling water. Her head shot in his direction, the all too familiar voice alarming her for a split second. She hurriedly slipped off the gloves and tossed them back onto the sprawled clothes. "Don't take them off on my account, honey, I was fucking enjoying it."
A wide smile spread across her face. Negan strut over, usual leather jacket and gloves adorning his body, a shit eating on his lips. She spun the bar stool and reached up, linking her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his quicker than she had before. She didn't realize how much she missed him until then. His hands gripped her waist and slid down the sides of her legs until his palm cupped her knee. He pulled back and lifted a single glove.
"These yours?"
"I got them for you," she said, quieter than intended.
He grinned and flickered his gaze to the pile of clothes. "Gifts, huh? I didn't get you anything. If I knew, I would have fucking brought you something." He slid the flawlessly fitting glove on. "Figured they weren't yours, since your fingers are supposed to come out the holes."
She furrowed her brow. "They do!"
He chuckled and licked his lip, then cupped her chin with the leather clad hand. "I fucking missed you."
"I missed you too."
"The last three days have been a shit-fucking-show with you, darling. I actually went to the library I was so bored out of my goddamn mind."
She perked up. "Really? What did you read?"
He poked his head over her shoulder. "I'd tell you, but your pot's boiling over. Is that fucking spaghetti?"
"Yep." She smiled and hurried over, pushing Negan slightly out of the way. Turning the heat down a notch, she poured in the uncooked noodles. "My spaghetti is unrivalled, just you wait."
His brows shot up. "We'll have to see about that."
She spun on her toe and jovially walked back over to the counter, grasping the leather jacket. She shoved it at his chest. "Try it on."
"When did you get so fucking assertive?" He shrugged his jacket off and slid the new one on. It fit tighter than usual. She reached over and zipped it half way up his chest, smiling as she looked him up and down.
"You pervin' on me right now?"
With a mix of a scoff and a laugh, she sat down, crossing one leg over the other. she tilted her head and let her eyes roam down his body, loving the way the jacket fit perfectly to his slender torso. "You look good."
He pressed his tongue to his top lip and strolled closer, leaning down and placing his hands to either side of the chair. He locked his eyes on her for a few moments with hint of a salacious grin. "I lied."
She raised an apprehensive brow. "About?"
"I did get you something." His smile stretched further, which almost didn't seem possible.
She subconsciously leaned forward as he leaned into her, hand moving to cup her jaw. He stopped her from inching any closer and hovered his lips above hers for a few short seconds, his hot breath fanning against her, before raising them to her forehead. A wet kiss was pressed between her brows. He pulled back with a laugh. "It's in the car."
Huffing, she slumped back in her seat as he walked out the door. Swinging off the chair, she twirled some noodles from the pan on a fork and blew on them, then shoved it in her mouth. Perfectly al dente, she poured them into a strainer and used the empty pan for the tomato sauce. By the time she was pouring the canned tomatoes into the sauce pot, Negan was pressing his body against hers with his arm slid around her stomach, head resting atop her matted hair, and his other arm coming around, gripping a movie case.
Vada hurridly grabbed it from him. "You really got it?" It was a copy of Goodfellas, the plastic wrap still surrounding the case, looking practically untouched.
"Brand fucking new."
She huffed with disbelief, the corners of her lips raising. She spun around and wrapped her arms around his neck. He returned the hug by pulling her body close to his.
"Thank you. I haven't seen this since-" she stopped, her smile slowly diminishing. If this was anything like other times he'd gotten her a gift, somebody else had to scavenge it themself. "You didn't go out of your way to get this? I don't want anybody risking-"
"There was a movie store beside some place we were raiding. No big deal." He took the movie case from her tight grasp and placed it on the counter. His hands met her lower waist. "On the other hand, I don't feel too fucking great about you going places by yourself."
"I can't go back without supplies." She frowned.
"Then I'll go with you," he retorted, "no fucking way I'm letting you do that shit by yourself. It takes one goddamn dead fuck to sneak up from behind. What happens if you run into another group? There are some sick motherfuckers out there. I would fucking know. Even I don't go out by myself, Vada."
He was serious. The lively smile that often played at his lips was now a thin, straight line. It wasn't a look you wanted to mess with. Then again, she didn't lie. Not to him, at least.
"To be fair, if you die, there's hundreds of Savior's that'll wonder what happened to you. If I die, I'm another name on the wall of Alexandria."
He took a step back, his brows knitted and the grip on her waist faltering. "You really fucking think that?"
"Well, no-" she paused, taking in his angry, somewhat concerned expression. "I mean, in a sense yeah. I have my family, but you have hundreds of people looking up to you. I don't."
His jaw tightened but eyes softened, as he took a quick step forward to fill the gap. "You could."
"What?"
"You could always come back. I could make fucking sure they look at you the same way they look at me. You and me, we could do this together, sweetheart."
She imagined it. Having their meal and hopping in the truck, rumbling down the road to the sanctuary. Making it her home. Sleeping next to him. Waking up with his body beside hers. Seeing him everyday without the worry of having to plan their next secret rendezvous. Taking up her own job, perhaps in the kitchen or becoming a Savior. Having a purpose.
But she loved her father, and doing that to him would be unimaginable. What she was doing then was bad enough, and if it wasn't worth it, she would have never considered it. How she was going to tell him, she had no idea. The thought of having that conversation nauseated her.
"You know I can't."
He brushed the knuckle of his thumb down her jaw. "Someday."
"Maybe," she mumbled. But she didn't know how that would be possible.
A pang of sadness hit her. In that moment, all she wanted was to be back at the Sanctuary with Negan. She wanted the feud to end. Negan's past actions to be undone. The vendetta her father held to disappear. The unrealistic fantasies only made it hurt more. She could have teared up if the bubbling sound of the tomatoes didn't snap her out of it.
She turned around and stirred them, then rustled around in the cabinets for spices. Her hands were shaking slightly from emotions but she got over it quick, placing all the ingredients she needed by the pot.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
She nodded. Negan's fingers brushed lightly against her shoulder as he swept her hair out of the way.
"Smells A-fucking-mazing. Jesus, when you said it was better than mine I thought you were busting my balls. It might actually be better than mine."
She stifled a laugh. "Is that so hard to imagine?"
"I thought mine was a tough one to beat but I might just be wrong. Give me some of that," he said, motioning to the wooden spoon. She scooped a bit of the sauce and held it to his lips. He ate every last bit, emitting a guttural groan.
"I should have put you in the kitchen the day you fucking came to the Sanctuary."
She raised her brows and gave him an 'i told you so' look. "I'm usually right. You should probably listen to me more often."
"Noted."
She brought the spoon to her lips. He was right. It had all the right spices to make it delectable. He watched her with curled lips as she closed her eyes and hummed, placing the spoon back in the pot.
"Alright, time to eat," she said.
Negan seated himself at the island, watching the girl move swiftly around the kitchen, slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Vada made two generous plates for the two. She stood on the opposite side of the counter, bent over, twirling the noodles with her fork.
"Your dad teach you to cook like this?" Negan asked through a mouthful of pasta.
She glanced up and swallowed. "My mother. She was amazing in the kitchen. She could make the best lasagna I'd ever had, but when it came to baking she was pretty much a lost cause. I'd pretend to sleep in every Sunday so I didn't have to eat her god awful pancakes."
"You pick that up from her too?"
Negan's brows raised in a teasing manner. Scowling, she pointed her fork at him. "No, I did not. I make wonderful pancakes."
"I'd be fucking glad to enjoy them sometime." His throat bobbed as he swallowed his food. "I could give you a job in the kitchen and you could make me your wonderful pancakes every Sunday morning. You could make me whatever the fuck you want."
"That depends," she said, lowering her brows, "are people in the kitchen as mean as people in the library?"
"Not when you're by my side, honey." The corners of his lips nearly touched his ears. She always wondered how he could smile so big. "They'd never fuck with you again."
"I'd rather have people respect me than fear me."
"Why not both?"
He was right, although she didn't think she'd be able to live with people cowering around her as she walked by, or said something. Negan was alright with that. And from it he gained power.
She straightened her back. "Different strokes for different folks."
His head twitched when he laughed. A mannerism she'd picked up on. At first it scared her, because Negan laughed when he was angry, he'd stretch his lips ear to ear and narrow his amused eyes. He had the ability to stay equanimous during those times, which almost made it scarier. Now it was something she admired. Something she looked forward to seeing.
"You're becoming more and more like me every day."
She'd always wanted to be like her father. Not lose her mortality. Kill tentatively, without a smile, value life. In a world surrounded by immoral people, however, she wasn't sure what she wanted anymore. "Yeah, maybe. At least I use my curse words sparingly."
"Fuck that."
He'd finished his plate. Scraped every last bit of sauce. She still had some left, but her stomach was filled to its capacity, so she tossed it in the bin, then their plates in the sink.
Goodfellas was laying on the counter near Negan's elbow. She picked it up and waved it in front of his face. "Now we hope there's a CD player."
Stroking his beard, Negan rose from his seat and towered above her with a leering smile. He took the case from her grip and placed it back on the counter. "If I remember correctly," he paused, running his tongue over his lip in thought, "you were the one with different plans a few days ago."
"Different plans?" She questioned, taking the CD back into her hold. "I don't imagine I'd ever pass up the opportunity to watch a younger Ray Liotta. Are you sure you're remembering things correctly?"
"Oh, I think I remember it quite fucking clearly, sweetheart." He took a few easy steps forward, his arms moving smoothly to touch her waist. "Because I haven't been able to take my damn mind off of it for three days."
"Three days isn't that long, Negan. Besides, I know you want to watch this movie too." She rolled her eyes heavenward and clutched the case to her chest, passing his shoulder with a bump. He uttered a barely audible, short obscenity. "So that's what we'll do."
An archaic television sat in the corner, bathing in dust. She walked over and ran her finger through the thick layer, then wiped the remnants on her sweatpants with a grimace. There was a CD player below the miniature set, also appearing grimy and disused.
"I think you're forgetting there's no electricity," he voiced from behind.
She stopped in her tracks. He was right. She'd completely forgotten. They couldn't use the television without electricity.
Slumping her shoulders, she spun around to see him with a smug smile, arms crossed and his tongue between his teeth. She scrunched her nose and dropped her head in defeat.
"Plenty of electricity back at The Sanctuary."
"We'll waste too much time driving back there," she bemoaned.
"I know how we can waste time."
Inhaling a sharp breath of air, she plumped down onto the soda and crossed her arms. A frown sat upon her petit lips, and although Negan couldn't see from where he stood, he was soon behind her, hands on her shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze. He repeated the motion, fingers pushing gently into the curve of her neck. Her eyes shut, and without realizing it, her lips parted and she moaned softly.
"Hot fucking damn. I knew I was good with my hands but not that fucking good." She didn't have to turn around to know he was sporting a complacent grin. His fingers continued to work at her overly tense shoulders.
She managed a laugh. She didn't realize how sore she was until then, Negan skillfully working his way to her shoulder blades. Sleeping on the grounds with no more than a few ratty blankets and a pillow took a toll on her body. She couldn't imagine how the rest of Alexandria felt, having to do it for months.
"You know, taking away the mattresses was a real dick move," she said, twisting her face in discontent. The reminder that he'd done such a thing made her want to pull away, but it felt much too good, so she sank more into his touch.
"Well shit, sweetheart. I needed to do something. That day at the lineup was a slap on the goddamn wrist compared to what your daddy did to us." His hands warmed her chill shoulders as they slid beneath the sheer fabric. "I left yours there for a reason. Don't tell me you haven't been using it?"
"You don't think leaving my mattress then taking me was kind of mindless?" She flipped her hair over her shoulder to allow him more access. "Of course Carl's been using it, and I'm definitely not taking it back. He needs it more than me."
His movements faltered. "You've been sleeping on the fucking ground?"
"With everyone else, yeah I've been sleeping on the ground. It's not a big deal." He continued with tentative movements, unknotting the muscles in her shoulder. "Besides, I've been sleeping next to Judith's crib and she wakes me up early. I kinda like it."
He was quiet for a few minutes. His warm hands slid up and down her shoulders, to her blades, applying pressure to the sensitive parts. Her eyes sealed shut and she attempted to keep awake, but he was inadvertently lulling her to sleep.
"I'll bring you something to fucking sleep on next time. I don't want you on the goddamn ground."
She sighed. "If you do that, I'll end up giving it to my father or some other kid in Alexandria."
He tensed, his hands stopping at the ends of her shoulder. He gripped them tightly. "Goddamn it, Vada." One hand left her body, and she looked up to see him rubbing his temple in frustration. "Sleep here tonight."
"I can't."
"Then come back with me. Radio your dad and tell him you got caught the fuck up or some shit. Whatever the fuck you have to do."
She turned around and rubbed her hands together gently. The conversation had left some sort of a dejected tension. If she went, perhaps suspicion would grow, but maybe it wouldn't. Somebody could see her. She didn't know those people well. They couldn't be trusted. Besides, if meeting with Negan would be a regular occurance, she couldn't spend every night with him. Ever since she recognized Negan as more than the adversary, she'd been faced with a double edged sword. Go home or make a new one. It was the hardest decision she'd ever been faced with. One she wasn't ready to make.
"I can't," she said again, this time nearly a whisper.
"This is gonna fucking kill me, you know that?" He seemed defeated. She tried to lighten the mood with a weak smile, although he couldn't see it from where he stood.
"I doubt that. You're very hard to kill. I would know, I tried a few times."
"Which I've still done nothing about, may I fucking add." His lips upturned into a smile. Feeling a bit better, she turned in her seat and got to her knees so that she was closer to eye level. She put a hand over his. His mercurial behavior always took her by surprise. How he could be gloomy one moment and beaming the next.
"Unless you're planning and throwing me in a cell and locking me up, there's not much you can do." She clasped her hands together and looked up at him with rounded, soft eyes. She blinked a few times. "Besides, you're a few months late."
"And who the fuck says I won't?" He raised his brows.
"You just got angry about me sleeping on the floor." She rolled her eyes. Negan's chest rose and fell with laughter. His hands slid behind her neck and pulled her close to her chest. Her cheek warmed as it pressed against his body.
"I have a laptop in the truck," he muttered.
"What?" She pulled back. When she noticed his upturned lips and amused stance, she lowered her brows. "Asshole, why'd you have to hold it off?"
"You just got the massage of a fucking lifetime and you're complaining?"
A few moments passed. "No," she mumbled.
He bit his lip and jerked his head to the L shaped sofa in the corner. "Go lie down. I'll be back in a second."
Smiling, she jovially rose from her seat and wrapped a knitted blanket around her shoulders. She burrowed herself into the corner of the couch and gathered all the pillows she could find, placing them behind her strategically. Negan exited the room, leaving her covered in a few blankets, along with an unattractive quilt she discovered on the back of the sofa. From where she sat she had a good view of the bookcase, stacked to the top with old, grimy books. She wondered if she should take any home with her. Besides, it's not like she read anything when she came here.
By the time he returned, she was situated comfortably and layered in blankets.
"Cold?"
"Not anymore."
He held a newer looking laptop under his arm. It didn't come with a charger, not that it would be of any use. She hoped it had enough battery life for the whole movie, which, if she remembered correctly, was quite lengthy.
"Move," he demanded. She scooted up and allowed him room to slide partially under her. She flipped onto her stomach and placed a hand on his chest. As he got the movie started, she tried her best to keep her eyes open. Scavenging half the day wore her out.
Before she could let her lids fall shut, the introduction began. She rested her head on Negan's chest, with his hand circling her lower back, and the screen on the table.
It was a memorable movie altogether, but she never forgot the introduction. There was a body in the trunk. Three men surrounding it, gangsters, merciless. They killed him without hesitation. A couple stabs to the gut, a few shots to the chest. He was gone. Life drained from his eyes, every muscle in his body stilled. And not one showed an ounce of remorse. She wondered how they did it. She wished she could do it.
Living in such a corrupt world would be a lot easier if she didn't value human life so much. Then again, if she didn't value human life so much, Negan wouldn't be laying there under her. He'd be six feet under. Pushing daisies. She could have killed him. As much as she claimed to try, the times she did were out of sheer impulse, something she knew she was never get away with.
When she lay in his bed however, him asleep beside her, silence broken by his soft snores. She knew about his tiny arsenal. She could have pulled a gun, a knife, whatever. But those quiet moments were when she had the most time to think about life. How she valued it too much to end it. Especially his. Because for some reason, she'd come to value his more than anyone's. Except maybe her father's, and her two siblings.
She'd dug herself a deep hole. She had two ways out, and neither seemed appealing enough. She needed Negan. If she could stay in the tiny, decrepit house with him forever, she would. But there were too many consequences. She needed Rick. She needed Carl, and she needed her baby sister.
She may have dug a hole, but she'd find a way out. It was the least she could do.