#judith really shines in a shitty way here but shes trying so hard

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 70

It’s extremely difficult to get through to a child who has been beaten down, with fists AND words, to have a healthy understanding of how much worth they have in their family/community. That made the questions I had for Lydia about her mother and her mother’s role as Alpha damn near impossible to answer. Not that I stopped trying.

“Come on,” I took the keys down from the hook near the exit, unlocking Henry’s door first. “If you two so much as twitch and make me THINK you’re going to run, I’ll fucking make sure that running is the last thing either of you can do for the foreseeable future, understood?” I am forever shocked at how formidable I can sound standing at barely five foot tall, but watching Henry nod and swallow hard enough for me to hear it confirmed that he took my threat as seriously as I meant it.

Unlocking Lydia’s, I stood back and waited for her to exit. Before she could turn toward me, the main door opened and Daryl stood blocking the sunlight. Well played, I smiled up at him. “Taking ‘em for a walk?” I nodded and he stood back, waiting for our charges to join him outside.

This time, since he’d been listening to my issues with the current line of questioning, we worked in tandem. Trying to gather intelligence on how important Lydia was to her people, her mother, and their plans I let Daryl discuss it with her. Henry and I were, well Henry was moral support, I was a tagalong that wanted to tag my ass back home.

 I should have known, as the day grew longer, that my visit wouldn’t end happily. There was never a day that ended away from the relative safety of my own four walls that didn’t end covered in horseshit and sadness. Eventually, anyway.

I was inside, sitting with Tara, listening to her telling me all the reasons she didn’t want to lead Hilltop and was ill equipped for it reminded me of how Dad had felt so many different times over the years.

“You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?” She was staring at me like I’d grown a third head. And my smile grew.

“People who want to lead are usually ill suited for it, Tara, it’s the people who are forced to lead and do it reluctantly that are best at it.” I shook my head and then my smile dropped when we heard a commotion start outside. “What was that?”

That, it turned out, was Lydia’s people. Her mother, actually, since Alpha was the one who actually spoke. I stood beside Tara, looking down at the crowd of people who looked far more like walkers than humans, staring up at us as this lump of a woman demanded her daughter be returned to them. That they have two of ours, a man named Luke and Alden the blacksmith apprentice. A baby cried, and I felt my heart stop beating in my chest as Alpha mentions that we are all animals, and animals have babies. As the child cries, she demands its mother leave it, since it will draw the walkers and danger. Without hesitation, the woman does. My heart stops, seeing this person sit this completely innocent and fragile infant down and walk away.

The tears fell quietly from my eyes, even as the tiny infant’s arms waved, as its pitiful screams grew, and I felt the breath leave my body. Chaos, the cries, the mass of Alpha’s people, Daryl, walkers, Lydia- If I was asked later, and Negan did, I couldn’t say how long it took. Hours, minutes, days? I had no idea. Forever. No time.

I know that Lydia was greeted with a sharp slap by her mother. I know that Alden and Luke were back among our people. The baby, the tiny infant that was left to die as a distraction for beasts, was saved by one of the people that Judith rescued. Connie, a deaf woman, a woman who offered this baby to me as a gift as though someone told her that I would want it, that I would welcome it. I look at it like someone would look at poison ivy or the plague. Or I did if the look she gave me was any indication.

“She meant no harm, Jessi.” Daryl offered, standing next to me as I was preparing to take my leave the next day. Danger or no, I wanted to be home. I didn’t look at him, I didn’t dare. “Everyone knows-”

“That I’m broken?” I snorted, shaking my head and tightening the saddle on my horse. “Giving me a random baby because its mother is a genetic fucking asshole isn’t going to fix my broken uterus, Daryl Dixon.” I checked and double checked the saddle, I wanted nothing to slow my trip. “Can you hand me that-” I pointed at my bag and my bow. “The quiver is leaning next to-”

“The table, I got it.” He handed me each in turn. “No one said she was gonna fix ya, Jess.” He was careful not to touch my skin, remembering at least that much about my twitchy little self. “Can’t help but see how much it hurt ya to see-”

I laughed hard then, without a fucking hint of humor. “What fucking asshole wasn’t hurt to see it?” My eyes met his then, hot and hard. “Seriously? They left a BABY to fucking die, Daryl. RIGHT fucking there, daring us to watch.” I pointed, like he hadn’t bore witness too. “I CRIED. So fucking what?” I shook my head and after securing my bags, hooking my bow over the saddle horn, and getting situated myself, I put my quiver within easy reach. “I’m going home. Where people don’t usually randomly hand me infants as parting gifts.” I waved and headed out. Hoping like fuck I was finished with my part in this madness for a long while.

 I wasn’t home for more than a few hours, I fucking swear, when the entire bullshit showed up on my FUCKING doorstep. I wish I was joking. I truly do. I really truly do.

Teenagers. I swear, my dad got off so lucky with me. He might have teased that I had horrendous taste in the guys I dated, and I did, to be fair, but I wish he was around so I could point at Henry and go “REALLY?!”

First of all, he had ‘runaway’ with Lydia during her mother’s demands for her return at Hilltop. Then, once they were found, Lydia returned to her rightful place which I might remind everyone Daryl and I were NOT happy about, he decided to pretend that he was a knight in shining armor and go after her. I swear to GOD, someone (looking at you Carol) had better have a fucking conversation with Ezekiel about these grandiose ideas before they get someone fucking killed.

Which leads me to my doorstep. Or Alexandria’s gate. Daryl, Lydia, Connie (of the ‘here’s your new baby’ variety), and Henry (I came to rescue you m’lady, and oops I have a boo boo) all waiting at the gate. I was only excited to see Dog. And so was Mom.

 I was with Negan, who was listening to me as I railed against the entire fucking last hours of my visit to Hilltop, when Judith came to let me know we had visitors-AGAIN. Ugh.

“Go see,” Negan said, kissing my temple through the bars. “I doubt they brought the baby all this way,” he was teasing, I hoped. “Come back, tell me what’s going on. I love you.”

And after sighing heavily, reminding him that I loved him right fucking back, off I went to see what the high holy hell had gone fucking wrong again.

 The gist was our knight was wounded, our damsel was terrified and not sure she was worth it, and the adults were awkward (Daryl) and super unsure of me (Connie). But at least Dog was unscathed. While Henry got sutured in the infirmary, Connie and Mom bonded, Lydia kept her hero company and Judith got time with her uncle. That left me and my four legged pal, which I was pretty fucking pleased about.

I was playing with Dog, ignoring humans in general, when I overheard Mom giving Lydia a horrible nugget of advice that I felt the need to tell her my opinion on, since she insisted.

“Telling a young girl who is the victim of REPEATED extensive physical and emotional abuse that she should take her own safety into her own hands, is a pretty shitty way to lead, Mom.” I offered, keeping my eyes down as I ran my hands through Dog’s coat. “Don’t explain, you asked me to tell you my opinions, this is one.”

“She’s going to bring it down on our heads, Jessi.” Her voice was so low, I felt like her lips would barely be moving. “Can we afford more loss?”

I snorted. “Loss? Is that what we’re going to weigh now?” I shook my head and scratched Dog’s ears. “Humanity, Mom, count the humanity we cultivate.”

She came to me later, not much, just long enough that I’d seen Judith with Daryl and heard her asking him what our dad would do in Mom and the other leaders’ positions. Not a fair question, not really. She missed Daryl, I knew that, but I also knew that Daryl felt strained in Alexandria. Too cultured, which was hilarious since the first time it had been destroyed during the Savior War.

“Judith is-” She sighed, and I knew, I could feel it. The rebellion of my little sister. Her thirst for more understanding. To know more. “Negan thinks she’ll get it elsewhere if I don’t give it to her myself.”

“He’s not wrong.” I offered, handing her a drink. “I know you hate to hear that.”

“I do, but I want your honesty, and that’s what it is.” She smiled, and then sighed. “We’re going to The Kingdom. “Do you want to join us?” I shook my head. “Should I tell them to expect a long term visitor in his cell?” I laughed and asked if RJ was staying behind for me to take care of.

[foreverlilaclies]

To See the World Grow: Negan/Rick

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14546487

For nearly two weeks, Negan remained in that bed, healing both his physical injuries and his pride. Sure did take a beating with how sideways everything went in that last fight. Negan should have seen it coming. Fucking Eugene...His doctor treated him well enough, not saying much but ensuring he was healthy. When he was deemed well enough to be brought to his new prison, he had been expecting some pretty shitty scenarios. However, the cell did not turn out to be quite as awful as he expected. It was still a cell of course, but it had a bed with a blanket, a shit bucket, and the walls were insulated and the area was clean. Better than the accommodations Negan offered the sorry shits who crossed him at the Sanctuary.

Everything soon settled into a routine. The monotony was the worst part. Negan loathed being bored and wondered if he could actually die of it. He did push ups in his cell, trying to keep his body and mind occupied before it could waste away. There was no way to tell time, but Negan found he could usually guess by when he had his food brought to him. The food wasn't half bad either. It was nearly always Rick who delivered his meals. That was one thing Negan could count on.

He felt like a trapped, wounded dog. And he acted like it. At first he had lashed out, spitting insults and jeers at Rick who offered him no reaction. Naturally, Negan grew bored with this useless tactic, so he eventually stopped with the insults and began with warmer greetings. Teasing Rick as he came down the stairs.

"Here comes my knight in shining armor."

"What a housewife you make, Rick!"

"A glass of lemonade would really hit the fucking spot!"

That didn't do much either. Rick wasn't much for talking. Occasionally he would speak to Negan, in a dry clinical tone, but Negan quickly found he enjoyed it when he did speak. Like little treats in Negan's otherwise uneventful days.

Sometimes, the resentment reared its' ugly head. Why did Rick bother letting him live? What good did it do anyone? A public execution would have sent more of a message that Negan jacking off in a cell for the rest of his life. He threw these comments at Rick, tone bitter and half defeated as Rick never offered him an answer that meany anything.

"To show you."

"Because we can do better." What did that even mean? Cryptic bastard...

Finally, Rick offered him an answer that seemed to make far more sense. "Because it's what Carl would have wanted." Negan remembered this trick. Just before Rick had sliced open his throat. Had he been telling the truth then? This answer left an ache in Negan's chest. One that he had come to associate with Carl Grimes and the future he had lost. Alive because of some misplaced guild over his dead son...wasn't that something.

"C'mon Rick," Negan croaked, dark eyes fixed on the younger man. "Letting me live won't bring your boy back. You know that." Rick offered no outward reaction, his blue eyes seeming far too bright in the dim lighting of the cell.

"I know it won't. But I owed it to him to try." He had replied and Negan released a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked away towards the wall.

"Did you even mean it when you told me there could be peace?" He asked, fingers flexing. His eyes darted back to Rick, meeting his gaze as if it held some answer that he desperately needed to know. As Rick looked back at him, he laughed again, shaking his head and slumping back. "Fuck, all you had to do was bat those baby blues and I was beat."

"I don't know," Rick whispered, arms crossing protectively over his chest. "We can have peace, but I don't know about you. Do you even want it?"

Negan frowned, licking his lips absently as he mulled over Rick's question. "I want a lot of things, Rick. Peace was never that important." He finally admitted and Rick nodded, as if expecting as much.

"Your little gang isn't too pleased with you. The Widow was ready to end it. But you wouldn't." Negan teased as he recalled the woman's screams as Rick handed the final verdict.

"They have every right to be upset," Rick admitted easily. "But keeping you alive was what we needed to do." Rick waited for him to finish eating and Negan barked out a laughter at this comment. Rick was still so fucking naive. How was he even still alive? His boy had more sense then he did. His boy should have been alive. There was a vicious curl in Negan that lashed out easily when it came to Rick, with his hard but soft eyes. Something that made Negan want to hurt him and want to bundle him all at once.

"Because you needed to? Don't kid yourself, Rick. The only reason I'm alive is for Carl. You failed him in life so you're trying to make up for it now. I already told you Rick, you failed your boy. You're not honoring him by keeping me alive. It's some misplaced guilt bullshit. He's dead and nothing you do is going to be able to fucking change that. You need to open your eyes." It was pure poion and cruelty that Negan was spitting at Rick, coming from a darker angrier place in his heart. Rick had left shortly after this, leaving Negan alone once more, feeling like his own skin was crawling.

Life continued as always.

One day, it wasn't Rick delivering Negan's food. It happened occasionally. Rick would miss bringing him a meal, but he always had someone come in his place. Rick would usually be back by the evening, so Negan didn't think much of it as Michonne brought him his meal. Then it happened the next day. All three meals. The third night, as Michonne strode down the steps, Negan stretched out, grinning lazily as she reached the bottom step. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but where's Rick at? Too good to see me, now?"

"He's not here." Michonne replied in a clipped tone, pushing the food towards Negan and crossing her arms as she waited for him to take the plate. He took it without much of a struggle, not bothering to poke at her as he often did with Rick.

"This is the third day in a row. Should I be worried?" He teased and Michonne's jaw clenched. She left without answering and Negan's laughter followed her, biting at her ankles.

The next day, she came down the steps again and Negan began to worry. He still offered her that grin, hoping his eyes didn't give away his unease. Four days. Rick was never gone this long and the expression Michonne wore showed her own discomfort. Once more, Negan asked about Rick. Michoone released a breath as Negan continued to watch her.

"He sometimes goes to visit Carl." Michonne quietly admitted, not looking at Negan, her hands grasping at the hilt of her katana as she stared at the wall. Any mirth in Negan's expression faded away at this.

"His grave." He guessed and Michonne nodded, looking down. It was still a sore spot. The empty hole that Carl had left when he died. In the quiet moments, Negan thought of him and what he could have been. He wondered if Rick thought the same. "How has he been?" It was a rare show of sympathy, but Negan could only guess what Carl's death had done to Rick. He allowed Negan to live for his son, but what else had happened since then? With everything that had happened, there had never been time to grieve. Michonne took the seat facing Negan's cell, crossing her legs as she clasped her hands on her lap. She blinked once, mouth thinning and eyes wateringas she thought of Carl.

"Sometimes, he seems to be doing better. But then it hits him. The door opens and his head snaps up like he's waiting for Carl to round the corner, his eyes always going from that moment of excitement to realization. One of the boys in the community laughs and Rick wilts, knowing it's not Carl's. Judith says his name and Rick fumbles for words. We are surrounded by death everyday, but it never makes it easier." Her voice was steady as she spoke, but there was pain in her dark eyes that screamed of a mother losing their child. She was still grieving. The thought of Rick looking for a son that would not be coming through that door and never would again was an imagine Negan never wanted to linger on. Somethings shouldn't exist in this world and yet here it was. Carl would never laugh and play with his little sister again. Rick would never...

"The first night he didn't want to leave him alone. Didn't want to leave him in that cold ground all by himself," Michonne's words were soft again, eyes shining in the dim light as she spoke. It was like a confession. She needed to be able to reach someone, when most refused to hear it. "Couldn't get him to leave him."

Negan's eyes widened is surprise. "He sleeps there?" He asked, hoping that it wasn't the case. Sleeping out in the open alone like that was fucking dangerous. Rick should have known better.

"Sometimes," Michonne's voice was soft, nearly lost, but Negan heard. "When the nightmares get bad."

Rick Grimes, sleeping next to the cold grave, unable to leave his boy alone in the dirt. Could Negan really have done it? When he had the chance, could he really have killed Carl? He had the bat and he had been in mid swing when that fucking tiger attacked. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, despite his losses. It gave Carl more time. It allowed Rick to get his son to safety, even for a little while. If Negan had killed him, what would that have done to him? What would it have done to Rick?

Michonne seemed to come back to herself, because she blinked, standing back up and her expression once more smooth and cold. "Eat your food. I don't have time for your nonsense." With that, story-time was over and Negan was left with his thoughts once more, wondering Rick was going to be spending another cold evening, curled next to his boy's lonely grave.

It turned out to be for nothing, because that night, Rick was slowly coming down the stairs with Negan's meal. It was almost sad how excited Negan felt at seeing that familiar mop of curls as Rick reached the bottom step. The poor bastard looked like hell. He was paler than normal and seemed to be swaying on his feet.

"Evenin' Rick!" Negan managed to greet after a moment of surprise. "Been awhile." He was splayed out on the small mattress, grinning cheekily as Rick blinked at him.

"Hi." Rick greeted and pushed the food into Negan's cell. Spaghetti. Negan's chest warmed up at this. Rick wasn't the best cook, but he always tried to keep Negan fed and his spaghetti wasn't awful. Nothing compared to Negan's own, but it was the thought the counted. At least he tried to take care of Negan. If it had been up to pretty much anyone else, he would have died that day. Maybe it would have been for the best, too.

"You were gone for four days." Negan pointed out and Rick nodded, looking exhausted. His hair was mused and there were bags under his eyes that seemed more sunken in than before. He was killing himself.

"Had things to do." He replied, almost on autopilot, like he was being asked again and again. Negan hummed, toying with the food. He didn't have much of an appetite. He changed a quick glance to where Rick was, noting he was leaning against the opposite wall, looking ready to fall asleep there. Why was he even the one down here? He needed to get some rest. The food could have waited. Negan pushed the plate aside.

"You need to sleep." He drawled and Rick blinked, lifting his head as if just realizing Negan was there.

"You need to eat." He countered after a moment, drawl prominent. God, Negan had always enjoyed bickering with his boy. But now, he just needed Rick to listen. For old times sake.

"Rick," Negan shifted forward so he could get a better look at Rick. "You're gonna get yourself killed." Rick's brows furrowed at this, obviously confused on what Negan was trying to do. He rubbed his hand against his eyes, blinking slowly. Negan noticed that his hands were bruised. He stood, stretching out his back while carefully watching Rick's reaction.

"I'm not dying. You need to eat." Rick stated again.

"You're wasting away," Negan observed, going for a casual tone. "Your people smell weakness and they might lash out."

"I don't want to discuss this with you." Rick whispered, exhausted and annoyed.

"What would Carl want?" Negan asked and it seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Rick's eyes turned flinty and his body coiled as if wishing to strike out at Negan.

"Don't you talk about him." Rick replied, voice hollow. Negan shook his head, eyes narrowed at the younger man. This was the same fucker who had slashed his throat and taken away any semblance of power, and here Negan was trying to help his ungrateful ass. It seemed no one else was bothering, except maybe Michonne. But she hd her own shit to deal with. Stubborn asshole needed to learn.

"You slept at his fucking grave, Rick. That's not healthy."

Rick blinked, jaw clenching and unclenching. "She told you."

"She's probably worried about you. Fuck, I'm worried about you," He knew Rick was busy. He was rebuilding and trying to move the world forward, but part of his world was in the ground and the other part was reaching that age where she was asking questions. Rick's eyes were striking as they stared at Negan. It was a terrible mix of caution and vulnerability. He took care of everyone and honestly, he needed someone to take care of him. Make sure he slept in his own bed. Made sure he wasn't wandering. "Your boy would want you to be safe." Negan murmured, breath ghosting over the bars of the watched as Rick's face crumpled into a painful, lost expression. Once upon a time, Negan would have craved it, but now, even in this fucking cell, he wanted to wipe it away.

"I don't want to be in a world that he's not part of," Rick admitted, slumping down to the ground and leaning heavily against the wall opposite Negan. "I don't want to wake up everyday while he can't."

There was something heartbreaking in his confession. A vulnerability that Negan wanted to exploit and smother all at once. "Honey," Negan breathed, sitting against the bars. "He wouldn't want you like this. You're running yourself ragged. You can't be sleeping there. It's not safe." He settled for smothering. He didn't like that look on Rick's face. He wanted it gone.

"You were right," Rick whispered in a small voice. "I failed him. I should have been there and I wasn't."

"It's not your fault. I was just trying to be an asshole when I said that. Your boy died helping someone. It sucks, but it fucking happens every day. Pushing yourself like this isn't honoring his memory."

'Keeping me alive isn't doing much for you, either.'

"He shouldn't have died. It should never have happened. I couldn't even get him a coffin. He's just in the dirt...with the bugs and the cold..." Rick trailed off, lower lip wobbling at the thought. He didn't want his boy in the cold like that. He didn't want his boy alone.

"He shouldn't have died," Negan agreed, voice lowering with emotion. "But he did and you need to accept it."

'Like I should have with Lucille.'

"You buried him, darlin' now it's time to move forward. You still have your baby girl. You still have kids, Rick. Just 'cause he's gone doesn't mean he's not your boy." Negan wondered if there was even a name for a parent who lost a child, or would it always be father? That would never change.

"I don't want to leave him."

"Then don't. Sleeping at his grave ain't doing him any service, Rick. You're honoring his wishes with moving forward, but I can bet he wanted you to be safe, too." Negan argued, fingers drumming over the bars. Rick blinked away tears at this, looking away. It needed to be said, but it still hurt to see Rick like this. There was only so much of a shield a person could put up, and his was wavering.

"Thank you." Rick whispered suddenly and Negan blinked in surprise at the freely offered words. Once upon a time, he would have jumped on it. But it was a new world now and Negan just wanted it to stop.

"Go get some sleep Rick, send that girl down if you need to" Negan muttered, shaking his head at the younger man. "Your boy wants you to live and be happy. You can't do that if you're not taking care of yourself." He wanted to be able to touch Rick. Reach through the bars and touch him and be able to feel that stubble and run his thumb over those lips. Rick blinked, lifting his head to look Negan in the eye.

"Eat." He nodded to the plate and Negan rolled his eyes. The Grimes boys had a stubborn streak in them that beat even his. He ate his food without complaint. Michonne was the one to deliver his breakfast and lunch the next day and there was an oddly approving look in those pretty eyes of hers as she gave him his food. When Negan asked where Rick had gone to, she had inclined her head towards him, examining him as she spoke.

"He's getting some rest." She offered in reply and Negan hummed in approval. It was about fucking time.

That evening, Rick was back down, looking rested and more alert. He handed Negan his plate and Negan was pleasantly surprised to see a glass of lemonade sitting on the tray and a piece of neatly folded paper. Negan had only noticed it after downing his drink without hesitation. He looked at the paper and to Rick ho was settled against the wall, arms crossed. Negan unfolded it with careful fingers and as he read the words on the page, his eyes misted over.

It was Carl's letter, written in a surprisingly steady hand from a boy who had wanted to see the world grow.