Chapter Text
This is such a waste of time, you think to yourself as you look at the map in front of you. It’s already way past midnight and all you want to do is to catch some much needed sleep. Your group met up in your kitchen, fighting over where to go for the next runs and while you are the town's scout, your opinion seems to matter little to nothing to your father.
There is not enough food left for much longer, leaving the town's scavengers with the task of figuring out where to go next and to add some more pressure does the next run have to be a guaranteed success, or your people will either starve or someone will get a meet and greet with Lucille.
After the talk you had with Negan, he gave your father two weeks to find enough food. But one week is already over and because of your failure two days ago there is almost nothing left, not in the pantry, not in the sewers.
Rick is leaning above the kitchen table with his hands, his jaw tense in concentration. Daryl is nibbling at his thumb, Sasha and Rosita sitting at the table in silence and Michonne is pacing back and forth.
A large map of Virginia is spread out across the table with several pin needles used as markers. You look at a red one that’s sticking out of Lexington. You’ve been there on your last trip. A passing herd of walkers forced you to crash in there for the night. While on the run from the walkers, careful not to get detected, you had no choice but to take shelter in a motel that was probably already run-down before the apocalypse.
When you inspected the room you ran into, you noticed a hole in the floor and before you could react the complete floor gave in and you fell two stories down. After the dust settled, you crawled out of the rubble agonizingly slow, every fiber of your body hurt like hell. Your lungs burned with every breath you took and moving made you want to cry out in pain.
The fact that you survived the fall at all was nothing short but a miracle.
But you couldn't rejoice at your luck for long, attracted by the noise, the horde slowly moved towards the motel and you heard the moaning soon after you managed to pull yourself into a standing position. The two bags you had with you were still in the rubble, but once you leaned down to grab them the pain got overwhelming. The walkers got closer and eventually you climbed out of a window, groaning out in pain as you squeezed yourself through it and started running again a few streets back to your car, leaving the loot behind.
“No, that’s too dangerous.” Your father finally says from his side on the table, running a hand through his hair.
You roll your eyes in annoyance. “There are two already packed up bags. We just have to get in and grab them.”
“No.” He insists in a harsher tone this time. “You could have died, Y/N.”
“Yeah, so what? The floor already came down, it’s not like it will do that again.”
“We’ll pick ‘em up.” Daryl quietly announces. “When we head for Richwood, it’s practically on the way, might as well go grab ‘em.”
Finally some progress! You look back at Daryl and suggest, “I can draw you a map, the window should be large enough for Sasha to fit through.”
“Sounds good to me,” the other woman says.
“Fine,” Rick agrees, though not whole-heartedly. “Now we have to make a plan for team C.”
You voted for walking among the dead again but was quickly shut down by Michonne. The groups are too weak for that and although you agree, you don’t see any other way around it, since every other suggestion of yours was denied. Still you try, “There is still Hanover in Pennsylvania.”
“No.” Rick quickly turns you down, leaning down on the table again. “That's too far out, we can’t be gone for that long.”
You shake your head in response, at this pace you guys will be still sitting here at sunrise. “It’s the only area I haven’t been to so far, Dad-”
“And that’s the problem.” He sighs. “We can’t drive out to other states if we don’t know what we are dealing with."
“But we do know what we're gonna deal with if we don’t move out soon,” you state divisively. Just because Negan took a liking in you, doesn’t mean he won’t go hard on you and your people if the once steady flow of supplies keeps dwindling.
“I have to go with Y/N here, Rick.” Rosita breaks her silence. “We have scavenged pretty much every spot that was worth looking at.”
Daryl nods at a yellow pin in West Virginia, “When we went to Charleston, there were still places that were too overrun for us to look at, we could try that again.”
Michonne shakes her head, “We already said that we’re not fit enough to walk among.”
“You said that. I'm still down for it" You say with a wave of your hand. "It’s not like we have a choice really.”
Michonne's eyes don’t even leave the map when she reminds you, “You are not down for anything for the next two months, Y/N.”
Another eye roll, at this point you wouldn't be surprised if they got stuck in the back of your head one day. But unfortunately Michone is right, you can barely sit straight. At first you thought you might got yourself some broken ribs but to your surprise it seems like you’ve only bruised them, but that doesn’t mean it doesn't hurt like fucking hell.
Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, the stress is clearly taking a toll on him. No food, you barely escaping certain death and now being one scavenger short due to your injuries. Negan's deadline is just the cherry on top. “How much is still in the sewers?”
“Nothing.” You almost whisper and everyone looks up to meet your eyes as if they misheard you. “We have enough food for about six more days, eleven if we cut down rations again.”
"Goddammit," Rick sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair again.
“Y/N knows the area better than any of us.” Sasha points out softly. “We should at least consider her ideas, despite the possible dangers, Rick.”
You smile at that. It's so rare to hear a word of validation and it makes you happy every time with pride swelling in your chest. Finally Rick lets his hand drop to his side, looking back at the map again. “Okay, Y/N. We have team C and A, give us a direction.”
The fresh winter cold is seeping through the closed windows of Alexandria's infirmary. As usual around this time you are at work, studying medical journals and books you found on your last scouting trip that wasn’t a total failure.
The Saviors can be heard working outside but you pay them and their noise no mind. It’s been your fathers idea to keep you out of their sight and it was one of the rare occasions the two of you agreed on something.
You didn’t tell anybody about Negan's talk about the food situation and of course not about the offer to become a Savior yourself. Somehow you had the feeling mentioning that to your father or to anyone else really would only cause more drama and you and the town really don’t need more of that.
But the offer never really left your head. Even though you have absolutely no desire in participating in their bloodlusting and brutal ways, it still feels good to at least have a plan B if you and the town fall out again. Everything would be better than being on your own again, while manageable it never was pleasant.
It should be wrong to even consider the offer, shouldn’t it? You saw the Saviors taking pleasure in hunting you and your friends down, killing you and you have been there at the clearing, you saw Ab and Glenn die.
But you also saw Negan, the head of the Saviors no less, actually care about you, you wouldn’t have got the opportunity otherwise. You still remember how worried he looked when Michael attacked you and how pissed he was when he learned you were not eating.
He could have killed you at the clearing but he didn’t. He could have let Michael finish you but he didn’t. He could have let your cut get infected but he didn't. He could have killed you for disobedience but he didn't.
Instead, he offered you to join him.
Goddamn, Y/N, concentrate! The voice in your head admonishes you. You try to get your constantly wandering mind back to your task.
While reading about the cuff & collar technique, you’re subconsciously warming your hands on the cup in front of you. Carl brought you breakfast about half an hour ago, stale and tasteless oats soaked in hot water. The food quality declined steadily, with the Saviors always taking the best findings and with not enough supplies to hide, there is nothing good left for you and your people.
But you don’t complain. It may not be very tasty nor nutritious, but it will keep the hunger away and at this point, you are grateful for even still being able to eat at all. Though that doesn’t mean it comes easy to you. Afraid of eventually running out of food again, you still kept purposefully missing the food distribution in the mornings. Carl noticed, he always does and so he brought you your ration for the morning, said eating only in the evening on the wall during your guard shifts won’t be enough for you. And he was right. You took every nightshift for the last weeks, getting weaker and less concentrated with every passing day you skipped meals.
You take a spoon full of oats and force them down with an audible glumb. Damn, you would kill for a burger right now. Suddenly you hear the door open, but you don’t bother to look up. Annoyed, you grumble, “I am eating, Carl. Leave me alone.”
“I’ll let him know, if I see him.”
Oh shit. The all too familiar voice of the man that's been plaguing your mind for months now makes your head snap up. "Negan, sorry.” Heat settles on your cheeks, you didn’t mean to be rude. “Thought it’s one of Carl's control check ups.”
“Nope.” Negan closes the door behind him, “Just one of mine.”
The head of the Saviors saunters further into the room until he reaches the old cot to lean against it, Lucille casually hanging at his side. “Why would your brother need to do control check ups on you?”
You look into your still steaming mug, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious about it. “He… he just wants to ensure I don’t forget to eat, that's all.”
“Still not eating, sunshine?” He asks with a mixture of concern and annoyance in his tone.
The heat on your face only intessevies at the nickname. “Not much. Got caught this morning.”
He rolls his eyes at you and asks, “Shouldn’t there be enough food? I’ve told the fat lady to tell my guys how much you need.”
You furrow your brows at how he addresses Olivia. He really is a dick sometimes. But you ignore his nasty remark in order to continue on with the conversation “Well, yeah.” You poke the mush in your mug with the spoon, unwilling to meet Negan's eyes. “But it’s kind of my fault we have to cut down the rations again.”
Negan frowns at you. “How so?”
You let go of your mug and finally look at him to tell him what has happened on the last run, the walkers, the motel, the lost loot. “All teams are out now and won't be back until the end of the deadline next week.”
During your story his eyebrows rose expentionaly. “Shit, doll. Not me complaining here, but how are you still in one piece?”
You shrug your shoulders and regret that immediately when sharp pain's shooting right through your torso. The complete left side of you hurts at your every move and your ribs are in all shades of black and blue. You took a few painkillers this morning, but it's been only able to slightly dull the pain.
“My luck still hasn’t run out, I guess,” you joke lightly. “But I’ll be out of order for at least six weeks, if not eight. Ribs tend to heal slowly and the pain keeps me from working, anyway. Just sitting down here was close to turture.”
Negan noods towards the cupboard you store the potent meds in. “Shouldn’t you have some stuff still in stock?”
“Yeah, but at this point all I’ve got is as effective as a TicTac. I actually need opioids.”
“Well, I don’t have opioids on me, but maybe something else to relieve the pain.” He says suggestively, with a small smile on his face. “Got time?”
“Of course,” you say, emphasizing it by closing your book.
With a smile on his lips, Negan fetches the roller stool to sit down across from you at your desk. He zips down his signature leather jacket and fumbles for something in his inside pockets. The clincking of glas makes you crook an eyebrow. He smiles from ear to ear when placing down two bottles of beer.
Your eyes land on their label but you don’t recognise them. Bewildered, you ask him, “Wait, did you bring those with you?”
“Sure did.” His smile doesn’t falter.
What the hell, why would he do that, you wonder but don’t know how to ask him without sounding ungrateful. With a faint smile on your face you go for, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Negan chuckles at that and opens up the bottles with his combat knife. “Figured we should get to know each other, considering we’ll be working together in the future.” Once open, he hands you one of them and you take it without your eyes leaving his.
Both of you take a sip before you remind him, “I mean I’d be stupid to say no to a good beer, but I did say no to your offer, Negan.”
He just shrugs his shoulders. “For now, sure. But the offer is still on the table.”
You can’t help but smile at his presistens. “Are you trying to wear me down with your personal beverages?”
“Pretty and intelligent,” he chuckles and it throws you back to a memory that seems to be years old. When he was in your infirmary for the first time and said exactly that. You still remember how nervous and actually scared you were of him. But now, months and several talks later, both feelings slowly got silent. But you are still weary of your words around him, it’s still Negan who you are talking to after all.
He keeps smiling his wolfish grin at you. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“Fine by me.” And you would be lying if you’d said you don't like the attention. Negan's attention. You take another sip from the beer before asking in a teasing tone. “Alright, what would you like to know, boss?”
The bright smile he’s casting you in response to that is enough to bring a warm blush on your face again. What the hell are you doing, you ask yourself in a clear moment but quickly decide to ignore the voice in your head.
This could be interesting.