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flyinghome-againstthewind · 4 years

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the best by far is you: chapter 9

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For all the things my hands have held The best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 9

April 16, 1746

Culloden House

Jamie gripped her elbow hard as he rushed her out of the house, away from Rupert, from Dougal’s dead body… it had all happened so fast…

And the inevitable had truly been just that ‒ nothing she or Jamie could succeed at stopping, though they’d given everything to that cause for the better part of a year now. The Battle of Culloden would begin this very morning.

“Jamie!”

Both of their heads whipped up at the sound, seeing Murtagh flying towards them on horseback like the devil himself was on his tail.

“Where has he been?” Claire wondered out loud, but Jamie only released his hold of her and ran for his godfather. She knew only that Murtagh had been acting on an order for this godforsaken war and hadn’t seen him for a few days. As he came into view, Claire noted the odd bulk around his torso and before her brain had any time to process, Murtagh had pulled the horse to a stop and immediately lifted a small, red-headed toddler from under his cloak.

Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

Faith.

Jamie was there, ready to grab her from Murtagh, and Claire watched in disbelief as he lowered Faith into his embrace, kissing her cheek as he did.

The wind-tossed curls were much longer on her ‒ had barely been long enough to curl when last she saw her ‒ but the small, scared face peeking over Jamie’s shoulder at Claire was unmistakably her child’s.

She had hardly swallowed this realization before Jamie had turned towards her. In a few long strides, he was in front of her and whether Jamie initiated it or she did, whether he had any intention of handing over Faith or not, Claire found herself clutching Faith’s head to her shoulder, her other hand anchoring the little body to her own. Her baby. She turned her face into the crook of Faith’s neck, spilling tears and kisses onto her skin.

It felt so centering to have Faith in her arms after eight months without her, that Claire didn’t even wonder why she was there with them for three solid minutes.

But Murtagh dismounted his horse and men were filing into lines nearby and the reminder of where they were and what was about to happen hit her like a punch in the gut.

“Jamie?” She asked urgently, her unspoken question already there in her eyes.

“I’m getting us out of here, mo nighean donn.” He murmured, though his tone was just as urgent, and she felt relief flood her veins. In the three years that she’d known him, he’d never let her down in this regard ‒ he always had a plan. They were going to run. And they’d be safe, he’d see to it. She had no doubt of it.

“Come along,” he said gently, tucking her in against his side, sheltering her and Faith as he led them back inside. Fergus was waiting in the doorway, and Murtagh was close on their heels.

Everything that unfolded next happened in rapid sequence. Jamie filled Murtagh in on the news of Dougal. A deed of sasine appeared to transfer the title of Lallybroch from Jamie to his nephew. Claire took all of this in while in a half-daze with Faith anchored on her hip.

Faith was bigger, heavier, Claire noted. And her wide, terrified gaze jumped from Jamie to Murtagh and back to Claire, with no ounce of recognition there. They’d been gone too long. She’d already forgotten them.

Claire swallowed back the bile that rose suddenly in her throat. She felt lightheaded from the nausea, with no idea if it was the pregnancy she was scared to acknowledge, or the fact that she had become a stranger to her child that made her physically ill.

She breathed in slowly to steady herself and shifted Faith higher in her arms to kiss her round cheek, the urge to soothe her being stronger than any other impulse.

“Claire.”

Murtagh held out the quill to her and gestured to the deed. He held the parchment flat while she shifted Faith to her left arm, took the quill, and signed as a witness to the loss of the only home she’d ever known. A tear slipped from her cheek and fell perfectly over her last name, blending with the still-wet ink and obscuring the name altogether.

The dazed feeling returned, making her unable to process the moment as it unfolded around her, but she became suddenly aware that Jamie meant to send Fergus to Lallybroch with the deed.

“You can’t.” Her voice came out soft at first.

But Fergus was holding the deed already and Jamie gave him final instructions as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Jamie.” The bite in her tone came out clearly and all three of them turned to look at her. “You can’t send him alone to Lallybroch. He needs to come with us.”

The flicker of self-doubt in Jamie’s eyes was just that ‒ a flicker, there and gone suddenly. In its place was a dogged determination that almost frightened her. “Claire, his safest place will be Lallybroch.” As he spoke to her, his hands came to rest affectionately on Fergus’s slim shoulders. “He’s our son, but he doesna look like you or me, nor does he talk like a Scotsman. And that will save him, along with Jenny and Ian’s guardianship of him. Lallybroch is safest for Fergus but not for Faith. Please.”

She heard in that one word a multitude of pleas ‒ to trust him, to allow this plan to unfold, to have faith that this wasn’t a rash decision, but one he’d agonized over if it came to it. She knew his heart, trusted him with her life and yes, the children’s too, but the idea of sending Fergus alone felt wrong. But everything about their situation felt wrong now and Claire didn’t know what to do.

“Go and say your goodbye,” Jamie murmured softly to Fergus, without waiting for her response.

It struck her then as impossibly cruel that as soon as she had one child restored to her, she must part with the other. She grabbed Fergus with her free arm and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love you. Be careful.” She kissed his head and swallowed back a cry. “Be careful for me, Fergus. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you,” she pleaded with him, knowing how dreadfully cavalier he could be with his own young life. She felt him nod against her shoulder and mutter something in French there, but she didn’t catch it. She did notice the way Jamie stiffened in front of her. God, none of this was easy. How had they arrived here, on this day, at this moment, after all they’d done to try and stop this bloody war?

And then Fergus was gone, slipping out of the house with the deed tucked down the front of his shirt. Although he’d grown a great deal taller since she’d first met him, he suddenly looked so dreadfully small there, against the backdrop of war.

“Stay here, mo ghraidh,” Jamie murmured before he and Murtagh slipped out, too.

She watched them only for a moment, standing together outside and bracing against the strong wind, before her gaze was inexorably drawn back to Faith.

Faith, who was unnervingly quiet and still in her arms. She kept looking around at the unfamiliar scenery, never quite at ease.

Claire’s hand brushed over Faith’s baby-fine curls and the girl’s eyes snapped back to her. She’d never forget the way her daughter’s gaze held only uncertainty and panic when it met hers. Claire forced a wobbly smile and felt a few tears spill down her cheeks unwarranted. Several words leapt to her tongue ‒ I love you, my heart has longed to be reunited with you, I’m so sorry I failed for months to stop all this and return to you ‒ but she bit them all back. What good would it do? Faith didn’t know her anymore. So she drew in a deep, fortifying breath and let it out, collecting herself and firming up her smile. “It’s all going to be alright, darling,” she said with certainty. Her words lacked the familiarity of her love for Faith, but they were honest and assuring, which is what Faith needed from her. At least, it was what Claire felt she needed from her. It would take time, she acknowledged, before Faith would rebuild that old attachment with her, and for Claire to learn how Faith had grown.

And after all they’d put her through, Faith was owed that time to relearn who they were to her, in however long it took.

“Claire?” Jamie stood in the doorway watching the two of them with an odd look on his face. “It’s time. We must go.”

She went with him without question. He helped her onto the horse and handed Faith up to her before hiking himself up into the saddle in front of her. She did her best to create room for Faith in between them without squishing her. Faith’s eyes sought hers out again, her little face pinched tight with worry, but she never said a word, though Claire was sure she must know how to speak by now, even just a little. “It’s going to be alright,” she repeated softly.

“Hold her tight, Claire.”

They rode swiftly away and the faint feeling of nausea returned. She focused on breathing steadily, a feat not easily reached while riding horseback, and her grip on Faith was as tight as she could manage without hurting the girl.

Because of this, she missed what direction they were headed for most of the duration of the ride. It wasn’t until those unmistakable stones came into view that all of Jamie’s plans clicked into place.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She screamed at his back.

He didn’t answer, only kicked his heels into the horse harder. They reached the foot of the hill and Jamie slid down and turned expectantly to Claire to help her down, his face set in an unreadable expression.

“Jamie,” she snapped. “Get back on the fucking horse! We’re not doing this.”

“Yes, we are. Now, hand me Faith and I’ll help ye down.”

She studied him, holding Faith firm in her grasp, and only relinquished her when she realized she could never talk sense into him while he was stubbornly fighting her to get off the horse. But when her feet touched the ground, she stole Faith back and shoved him hard in the chest with one hand. “Idiot!”

But she staggered on the uneven ground with the toddler that was becoming heavier in her arms by the minute, and Jamie was there in an instant to steady her.

“Claire.” His voice cracked on her name ‒ a pained note. “Please.” She shook her head at him firmly.

“No, we’re not doing this. I can’t just leave you. I won’t.”

He reached out and cradled her cheek in his warm palm. She could see now the struggle for control in him. His jaw was set tensely but his eyes gave away the depths of his pain amidst the tenderness that she always found there. “Aye,” he said shakily. “Ye will leave. For her.” His gaze shifted to Faith and his hand came to rest lightly on her back. His touch was hesitant and she was reminded at once of the moment he first saw their baby.

She’s so beautiful, I’m scairt to touch her...

Her stomach churned again. No, this couldn’t be the answer. “We can run away, all of us. Sail to France or the colonies or… or anywhere, Jamie, it doesn’t matter.”

“The ports are closed and Red Jamie hasna got a chance in hell of escaping undetected ‒ wanted by the British and my kinsmen alike for being a traitor. I’m already a dead man, Claire. And I choose the battlefield. But before then, I will see ye and Faith safe, like I promised.” He grabbed her hand and turned, trying to lead her up the hill, but she yanked herself free of his grasp.

“I can’t go back.” She was vaguely aware of the tears on her face, though she couldn’t say when they had begun. “And how dare you orchestrate this… taking Faith from Lallybroch and bringing her here, trying to force my hand.”

“For god’s sake, do ye no’ see how it is? I canna protect ye both in this time. I must send ye back to yer time, to a man who can care for ye. And I couldna risk Faith’s life, leaving her here alone, never knowing if she would get recognized as my child. No, she must go with ye, for I canna bear for you two to be parted.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, at once disarming her of anger with his tenderness.

“Jamie,” she began feebly, unsure of what to say. His forehead came to rest against hers.

She suddenly felt the pressure of his palm on her stomach and she gasped involuntarily, a soft little sound. Her eyes flew to him and he nodded. “I ken, Sassenach. And I canna let ye stay in your condition with all that could go wrong.”

Her hand covered his over her still-flat belly. “You can’t know that. It’s much too soon.”

“No, Sassenach, you have not been a day late in your courses in all the time since ye first took me to yer bed, but it’s been two months now. The only other time that has happened was with this wean here.”

“You kept track? In the middle of this bloody war, you kept track?”

“Aye,” he murmured. “How long have you known?”

Her lip quivered. “Not long,” she admitted honestly.

“This child,” He cupped Faith’s head in his hand, thumb softly stroking her hair. “And this one,” He looked briefly at their hands still resting over her belly. “These two are all that will be left of me. Ever. So I beg of you, Claire, let me send you safely home, you and the bairns.”

There was a desperate edge to his voice that she had never heard before and everything within her fought against it. “But you are my home.”

“And you are mine, but this home is lost. So you and the bairns must go to a safe place. Let me see my family safe before I die, Claire. Please.”

She was too startled by his unflinchingly honest words to fight him as he started to lead her up the hill. But when they crested the hill and the familiar buzzing sound filled her ears once more, she lost whatever progress she’d made. It was again unfathomable, what he was asking of her.

“I’m not ready, Jamie. I’m not ready.” Her hand fisted in the fabric of his coat. Faith peered up at her mother with visible signs of distress, though she remained silent. “Come with us,” she said frantically. “Come with us through the stones.” Claire grabbed his hand and placed it on Faith’s back. “She needs you,” she whispered, tears slipping down her face. “I need you. I can’t leave, Jamie. Not without you.”

“We both know I can’t,” he said patiently.

“You could try.” Her pleading had turned desperate, pathetic, but she grasped for anything that might fix what he was trying to do. “You hear it, right? The buzzing?”

“I don’t hear anything, Claire.” His voice was soft and placating, and yet it made her want to weep even further because he wouldn’t agree to try. Still, when he strode over toward the stones, her mind only half-registered what he was saying. His hand reached out toward the stone and her breath caught in her throat, hoping against all hope.

His palm touched the stone and‒

Nothing.

And even though they both knew, it killed something inside of her to see confirmation of it and, watching as his face fell, she knew it broke him, too… that final outstanding hope dashed.

“My destiny lies on Culloden Moor. But I’ll find you. I promise. If I have to endure 200 years of purgatory, 200 years wi’out you,” He advanced on her, closing the distance between them. “Then that is my punishment that I have earned for my crimes.” His hand gently brushed her cheek. “For I have lied, killed, stolen, betrayed, and broken trust.” Jamie’s arm snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against him, Faith half-sandwiched between them like the night before they left Lallybroch all those months ago. “But when I stand before God, I’ll have one thing to say to weigh against all the rest.” He leaned in and kissed her, half-smiling. “‘Lord, ye gave me a rare woman.’” His next kiss came with more urgency and she gave into it. “‘And God, I loved her well!’”

When he kissed her for a third time, she kept her eyes open, even while they were watery with tears, because she couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting what it felt like, tasted like, looked like to be loved by him so completely.

Her hand came up to trace his brow and the lines of his face when he finally pulled away, memorizing the feel of him under her touch. She knew now that he’d been planning this for days, that if the moment came, he would be ready to pull the trigger and send them away. It must’ve been why he woke her in the middle of the night, from the dead of sleep, to love her one last time. She half-wished he’d given her the same understanding of that moment, the last time she would lie in his arms.

In the distance, canNon fire boomed and startled all three of them. Jamie instinctively rubbed Faith’s back, trying to give her comfort. She had looked over Claire’s shoulder in the direction of the blast but now she turned and glanced hesitantly up at Jamie. Faith suddenly wormed around fitfully in Claire’s arms, trying to get down.

“Do you want to‒” She looked at Jamie, the rest of the words caught in her throat. Goodbye felt too permanent and painful to acknowledge out loud.

Jamie lifted her from Claire’s arms and held Faith close, one last time. His hand cupped the back of her head against his shoulder. “I already said everything ye need tae know, wee lass.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Back when ye kent who I was to ye. So I’ll only say this now: I love ye, Faith.” His voice broke on her name, tears flowing freely now. “You have made my life whole.”

Struggling with her own composure, Claire reached into her pocket and pulled out the bit of amber that she’d carried with her for almost the entirety of her marriage to Jamie. She had her wedding ring, lovingly made from the key to Lallybroch, but the sudden need overtook her to make sure he had something, too, a token of their love. “Our wedding gift from Hugh Monroe. You keep it with you,” she murmured, pressing it into his palm. “Blood of my blood.”

“And bone of my bone,” he answered readily, his voice tight.

“As long as we both shall live,” she whispered before leaning up on her toes to kiss him again.

He nodded, dropping the amber into his sporran. “Here,” he kissed Faith with one last, lingering squeeze before handing her back to Claire. Then he slipped a ring from his finger and placed it onto one of hers, just above her wedding ring. “This belonged to my father. Give it to the bairn when he’s old enough.” He dug into his sporran and produced a necklace Claire had never seen before, a simple piece with a modest gemstone. He slipped it over Faith’s head and smiled slightly. “Something to remember where ye came from, a chuisle.” He sealed his words with a final kiss to her forehead, fresh tears making silent tracks down his face. Faith remained unnervingly quiet, but her dimpled hand grasped the gemstone and studied it with piqued interest.

More cannon fire sounded in the distance and the urgency of the moment returned to them. “It’s time,” he murmured hoarsely.

Claire felt a sob building at the back of her throat, a wild, desperate thing, but she swallowed it back. She couldn’t move, but he gathered her close, holding both of them in his arms, and began to walk her backwards toward the center stone. She held his gaze, trying to keep hold of the moment. Even in a time of absolute pain, she could see the depths of his love for her there in his eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. Had she said it enough to him? Did he understand how much? “I love you,” she said again, louder this time, and nearly choked with her tears. She knew they were close to the stone, could feel the indescribable pull of it. Oh God, it was almost time.

“And I you.”

She was trembling when he kissed her softly, their tears mingling with it. He nodded and turned her in his arms, but his touch never left her as she faced the stone. His hand held hers and Faith’s as he guided them forward, reaching out.

She was shaking, holding tight to Faith with one arm, and only partially aware of Jamie whispering goodbye to them before turning his face into her curls one last time.

And then her hand felt the cold press of the stone once more.

She woke slowly, blinking awake in the shade of a tall stone. Her head swam, jumbled from before, and she laid there for several heartbeats before she remembered.

“Faith?” She bolted upright and felt another wave of dizziness hit her. But glancing around the grassy hilltop gave no sign of her daughter. How long had she been unconscious? How far could Faith have gone in that time?

Claire scrambled to her feet and steadied herself, still feeling as though the world was spinning. “Faith!”

She made a quick circle around the center stone, staring down the hill and through the trees, but there was no sign of anyone else. Claire was alone.

She spun and stared at the center stone, as if it could give her answers. There was no buzzing sound anymore. What once had felt alive from within it no longer called to her.

Panic clawed its way up her throat and she screamed her daughter’s name once more, looking about desperately, but there was no response. Her breathing quickened and she strode toward the stone. Where was her baby? “I wasn’t ready, you bloody bastard!” Her hands slapped against the stone, but this time, nothing happened. She sank to her knees at the foot of the stone, the cold reality hitting her anew. “I need my baby! Jamie!” She broke with the utterance of his name and collapsed in on herself, heartbroken and grieved and very, very much alone.

Jamie watched, disbelieving, as Faith tumbled seemingly from mid-air and landed at the foot of the stone, unleashing a scream as though she’d been hurt.

His body reacted before his mind could catch up, gathering Faith into his arms at once to try and calm her. His heart beat erratically in his chest. Even as he held her, he didn’t want to believe it to be true.

It hadn’t worked. Faith couldn’t travel through the stones.

Cumberland’s troops would ravage the Highlands as Claire had said, flocking out from the very battlefield Jamie had stupidly brought his child to. Oh god, his child… with her bright burn of red hair that matched his own. He was a dead man... and she was indisputably his own if they were found together.

He let out an unearthly howl at the stone, clutching Faith tightly to him. She should be two hundred years away from him now, in the safety of Claire’s embrace. “ Ye were supposed to take her!” He screamed, his eyes boring into the rock. Why hadn’t it worked?

Faith shrieked at the top of her lungs, a painful pitch that rattled Jamie’s brain in his skull. She kicked her legs frantically against him and pushed on his chest to try and get away, which only made his grip on her tighten.

“I’m sorry. Oh God. Mo chridhe, I’m sorry. Tha thu sàbhailte.” Jamie murmured.

And then he heard it.

The scuffle of soldiers nearby and British voices approaching them.

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #faith fraser #ol fic #my fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you

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backseat-negan · 6 years

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|Long-Awaited Savior: Part Fourteen|

Check out previous chapters and the Masterlist

Characters: Negan (JDM) x female reader, Jovana (OC), Eugene, Daryl, Simon

Word Count: 6,368

HEADS UP: Smut, language, description of physical injuries & abuse

Chapter Summary: You learn the truth about why the Alexandrians want Negan dead. You also share an intimate night with Negan and have a painful conversation with Jovana.

Author’s note: The second-to-last chapter is finally here after a rough couple weeks for me. This has been one of the most agonizing chapters I’ve ever written. I’ll leave it at that.

PART FOURTEEN: LOVE & PAIN

After two hours in the clinic, Dr. Carson was still nowhere near finished tending to Jovana’s wounds. You sat in silence, watching her grit her teeth with closed eyes as he scrubbed her burns clean and bandaged them. The shock still hadn’t worn off. You had to keep repeating the facts to yourself over and over, attempting to make them feel real.

Jovana is alive.

Dwight is dead.

A war is starting.

She had been stabbed in the side – you assumed by Dwight – and Dr. Carson believed one of the ligaments in her knee to be torn. On one hand, you wanted to allow Jovana to rest and recover from everything she had been through, but you also wanted to know exactly what happened after that ceiling collapsed in the building.

Be patient… you’ll know soon enough.

After another hour, Jovana was finally bandaged enough to go back to your room and rest. You walked with her, supporting her weight as she limped painfully in spite of a knee brace from Dr. Carson. Thankfully, Simon had been anxiously patrolling the area outside the clinic, so he immediately offered to help you with the daunting task of getting Jovana up the three flights of stairs to your shared room.

When all three of you finally reached the door, Simon lingered, lightly clinging to Jovana’s hand as his eyes darted nervously over to you and back to her. She giggled softly and turned Simon’s full attention to herself with just a single finger on his cheek. After another moment of awkward hesitation, he finally dipped his head and pressed his lips desperately to hers, his fingers trailing delicately down her neck and across her collarbone. You politely turned your gaze to the floor, trying (and failing) to stifle the grin that immediately spread across your face.

Even with the world gone to shit, love still exists.

Simon clearing his throat brought your eyes back up, and it was impossible to ignore the flush of pink in Jovana’s cheeks, even with the burns present. He patted you on the back and murmured quietly to you.

“Thanks for keeping an eye out for her. You let me know if you need anything, understand?”

You nodded with a smile and thanked him before pushing the door open and helping Jovana into the room, easing her down onto her bed as gently as you could. As soon as you let go, she motioned for paper and a pen. You hurriedly grabbed a notebook from under your bed and pulled out two pens – one for her, and one for yourself. She took the notebook and flipped to a clear page and began writing.

Did you find the knife?

You smiled and nodded, reaching across to write your response.

YES! You’re brilliant. So what happened?

Which part?

After the ceiling fell, I couldn’t see you. When the Saviors got there, they could only find Dwight and he said there were no other survivors.

Jovana growled in anger and began writing furiously. You sat down next to her, carefully making sure not to brush against her bandages and reading as she wrote.

I’m glad he’s dead. The only way out was upstairs. Knew a lot of people were sleeping up there. Tried to save them, but everyone was already gone. I saw Dwight carrying wires and empty gas cans out to the balcony I needed to get to. When he saw me, he attacked me – stabbed me, threw me in one of the burning rooms and barricaded the door. I couldn’t get out. The door finally burned so much that it started to crumble. I crawled out over the barricade. That’s where the burns came from. I went to the balcony and saw him going into the forest. I jumped down – hurt my knee more – and followed him. He needed to think I was dead so I didn’t go after him. He ran back to the building when the trucks showed up and I looked at everything he left there. I knew he started the fire. I left my knife there - hoping you would find it and know I was alive, know what happened – and started walking back here. I didn’t know how bad my knee was, or the stab wound or the burns… that’s why it took me so long.

Your eyes ran over her words again and again. Dwight had tried to kill her. Even worse, he had left her for dead. He was a coward, and it was a good thing he was dead now. Jovana’s pen moved again.

What did Eugene do?

You sighed and pulled the notebook to your lap.

Set everything up. They both wanted Negan dead. Negan was supposed to visit the day before the fire happened, and Dwight had the idea for the fire. Eugene got the supplies and put it all together, probably said it was for the electrical team. When he found out Negan’s plans changed, he called the whole thing off, but Dwight was pissed and did it anyway – and killed as many people as he could. He deserved to die.

Why did they want Negan dead?

It was a valid question, and you still didn’t know the answer. You shrugged helplessly and Jovana reached across you to write one last thing.

Go find out.

Three days after the incident, you were grateful to discover Arat had gone back to her post outside of Maggie’s room. Gripping a bottle of water, you boldly approached the Savior keeping watch over the cells.

“Keys, please.”

Joey stared at you with uncertainty, a half-eaten turkey sandwich in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Rolling your eyes, you motioned to the keyring hanging off his belt.

“Can I just grab them? I’ve got water for the Alexandrian.”

“Which one?” Joey mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

Daryl must still be down here.

“Uh… Eugene, obviously.”

“Boss said no food.”

“Does water fucking sound like food to you?” you sneered, hoping your boldness would get you what you wanted instead of getting you reported to Negan. You decided to continue with the charade. “With no food, he suffers. No water? He dies. We need him alive. I’m taking the keys now.”

Eyeing you one more time, Joey finally nodded his head, taking another bite of his sandwich. You quickly snatched the keyring from him.

“Which cell?”

“The smart guy’s in Room 2, just down the hall and… no, wait… the other guy’s in Room 2, the one you want is in Room 7.”

Dipping your head in thanks, you tried to control your breathing as you stepped briskly toward the end of the hall.

Room 5, Room 6… Room 7.

Shoving the key into the lock, the handle turned with a bit of effort and the door fell open with a clunk. As light from the hallway flooded the room, you bit your tongue. The Alexandrian lay shaking on the concrete floor, stripped of his clothes. Dried blood covered his face and dark bruises had already shown up on his stomach, back, arms, and cheekbones. You cleared your throat and turned your face away as he scrambled to a sitting position in the corner, whimpering quietly and covering his face with his hands. Pulling the door shut behind you, you clicked on a small flashlight and held the bottle out to him.

“Here… drink some of this, you need it. Hey! Eugene. Look at me, goddammit.”

You almost felt sorry for the man as he continued to tremble, unable to move his hands away from his face. He jumped when you gently grasped one of his hands and pulled it away, looking into his terrified eyes. You shook your head with a sigh.

“Look, I get it… I’d be scared too. I’m not here to hurt you though. You give me the answers to some questions I have, and I’ll let you have some water.”

Eugene continued to eye you fearfully, so you eased yourself onto the cold floor, crossing your legs and holding the bottle out to him once more.

“Negan doesn’t know I’m here.”

His hand was shaking violently as he reached out and took the bottle from you. He twisted the cap off frantically and began gulping the water, downing half the bottle in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, hey… slow down… you’ll puke it all back up, take it easy.”

He lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and turning his gaze to the ground before finally speaking.

“I w-will do my b-best to answer any questions you m-might have.”

“Fair enough. Big one first: why? Why did you and Dwight want Negan dead? And I don’t want bullshit – please don’t give me bullshit. I honestly want to know. You don’t seem like the killing kind of man.”

Sniffing quietly, Eugene swallowed hard before speaking, his eyes still glued to the concrete floor.

“Dwight and I did indeed have very different morals and codes of conduct, but we both came to the conclusion that Negan needed to be taken out of the picture. It is my personal belief that Negan is evil in its purest form. He kills people to make a point, to establish power… to control. I can say with almost full certainty that he will not be killing me any time soon. No… it is most likely he will use my transgressions as a reason to kill my friends back home. That’s his MO, his modus operandi. He’d rather kill someone close to me than kill me. It’s more painful. Negan lives to control and instill fear.”

As Eugene went silent, you mulled his words over in your head.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

His tear-filled eyes jerked up to meet yours in fear, gripping the water bottle tightly as he began trembling again.

“C-can you please repeat the question?”

“Why? Why did you want him dead?”

“Because I want it to stop.”

“Want what to stop?”

“The death, the fear, the fighting… I want it all to stop.”

“You want the death to stop so you went and killed a bunch of innocent people?”

“That was not supposed to happen!” Eugene shouted, his voice cracking and his face beginning to redden. “Th-that was never part of the plan. The plan was to burn down the Saviors’ residential building while Negan was asleep. Take out the boss and a good percentage of his most dedicated followers in one fell swoop. I never wanted any innocent people to get hurt… I never wanted anyone dead except Negan and the Saviors. That is where Dwight and I differed. He had become more like Negan than he realized.”

Your eyes bore into Eugene’s until he became uncomfortable and looked away, taking a cautious sip of the water.

“Tell me what he did.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Tell me what Negan did to your people.”

You watched his eyes dart back and forth, clearly trying to choose his next words carefully. After an extended silence, you cleared your throat, prompting him to speak.

"Negan's arrival directly resulted in some of the worst events our group has had to endure. He bludgeoned two of our people to death, one of them a soon-to-be father and the other a best friend to many, including myself. He took Daryl with him and... well, I'm sure your aware of that situation."

"I'm actually not," you interrupted. "Why don't you enlighten me since you've spent so many shifts down here?"

Eugene quickly averted his eyes and swallowed hard before continuing in a quiet and monotone voice.

"Dog food sandwiches. Routine torture. Physical beatings. The severity and frequency have increased since the fire."

"The fire you helped start."

"I do indeed take responsibility for my actions," Eugene defended. "I will not argue for one second that I do not belong right here in this cell, because I believe I do. But Daryl is the one paying for my mistake and that's hardly what one would consider justice. It's Negan. He hurts the ones you care about instead of hurting you."

"What else has he done?"

"I helped fashion a bullet that was intended for Negan, but it did not find its mark. An innocent person was shot for that. Another man tried to befriend Negan to overthrow our leader, and Negan spilled his guts - quite literally. I've heard of other incidents. The Saviors leaving a near-indestructible vehicle blasting music at full volume inside the open gates at Hilltop. It drew an admittedly impressive herd of walkers before it could be disabled. His hot iron punishments here at the Sanctuary.”

“Hot iron punishments?”

“Reference the scarring on Dwight’s face, if Negan wants to call someone out for breaking the rules, they get a hot iron to the face. You missed the last one while you were at the outpost. Apart from that, there was the wiping out of the entire male population of a village near-"

"Oceanside?"

Eugene was silent for a moment before he responded.

"Yes, ma'am, I do believe that was their title. May I ask you something personal?"

You regarded the pitiful man with suspicion, then nodded your head.

"Did everyone in your camp deserve to die?"

His question caught you off guard, and for a split second your mind flashed back to the dark shed and the chains rattling against the door. You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to leave the memory behind and focus on the few minutes you had remaining with the Alexandrian.

"A few of them did... well, at least one of them for sure... but there were some good people there."

"How many of Negan's men did you kill, and how many of yours did he kill?"

You furrowed your brow, trying to recall a time you had tried so desperately to forget.

"I don't know," you muttered, shrugging your shoulders with uncertainty. "I don't think we killed any... he probably killed about twenty? Maybe twenty-five?"

For the first time since you entered the cell, the Alexandrian locked his eyes to yours with an unnerving intensity and spoke with conviction.

"Alexandria has killed more than our fair share of Negan's men, there is no denying that. However, I do believe that fact is purely because we are the only ones who have had the true means to fight back and win in some way. The numbers weigh heavily in our favor if you only consider our community... but with consideration of the big picture, Negan has hardly suffered the greater loss."

The resulting silence felt deafening as Eugene’s words hung in your ears. You tried unsuccessfully to shake off the feeling that maybe you hadn’t been able to see full truth since joining Negan at the Sanctuary. Before your mind could question anything further, you snatched the half-empty water bottle from Eugene’s hands and stood up, turning towards the door.

“Does Negan treat you well?”

The Alexandrian’s question caused you to pause, thoughts racing through your head.

Of course he does… he saved me, fed me, clothed me, gave me a place and a purpose in life… he’s cared for me, held me, loved me…

“Yes,” you replied confidently. You could hear Eugene grunt in pain as he readjusted his position on the concrete floor before speaking sadly.

“I hope for your sake it stays that way. He used to treat me well, too.”

You had heard enough. You twisted the knob of the door and wrenched it open, stepping out into the hallway and pulling it shut behind you, once again plunging the Alexandrian into darkness. You stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of your own breathing before regarding the set of keys in your hand and remembering Joey’s words.

“…the other guy’s in Room 2…”

Despite every logical bone in your body telling you to leave, you peeked around the corner to see that Joey had moved his chair to the doorway of a nearby residential room and turned the TV on to play reruns of an old 90s sitcom. Fairly certain he wouldn’t miss the keys for another few minutes, you ran silently down the hall and jammed the key into the lock of Room 2. Shoving the heavy door open with your shoulder, you immediately gagged and turned away, taking a few moments to regain your composure before turning back to the horrible sight before you.

The man named Daryl was laying naked in the fetal position in the corner, his back facing you. The stench of feces and urine was overpowering, and you observed a nearly full bucket in the opposite corner. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his body, unsure if his constant shaking was due to pain or to cold… or fear. Dark purple bruises marred his body, along with both scars and deep, fresh cuts. His skin was caked with dried blood and dirt, and the floor of the cell was covered in the same. It was obvious he had been whipped and beaten repeatedly – and recently. Your chest felt tight and a lump gathered in your throat as you observed blatant evidence of Negan’s rage.

“Daryl?”

His body jerked at the sound of your whisper, and he turned his head slightly towards you without saying a word. You quickly shut the door and clicked on your flashlight again, kneeling at Daryl’s side and whispering to him again.

“Negan doesn’t know I’m here… sit up, I have water… please, I don’t have much time.”

Daryl slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, still huddled against the wall in fear. With his hands now visible, you could see deep cuts and heavy scars around his wrists, the obvious results of being restrained for long periods of time. It reminded you of your own wrists after Negan rescued you from Wesley. Setting the flashlight on the floor, you twisted the cap off the water bottle and brought it to his lips. His bloodshot eyes regarded you with fear for a moment before he brought his head forward and gulped down the water with desperation. A few drops trickled down his chin as the bottle was emptied, and he dipped his chin in gratitude. You couldn’t hold back the questions any longer.

“Why is he doing this to you?”

Daryl remained silent, eyes fixated on the floor as his body continued to tremble. You tried again, softer and with a more pleading tone.

“What happened? Please, Daryl… I’m trying to understand.”

Still refusing to look at you, his trembling lips parted and he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

“I hit him. Maggie ok?”

This is his punishment just for taking a swing at Negan?

You took a deep breath and hesitated before responding.

“Mostly, yeah… the baby is fine. She’s fine. They… they haven’t been feeding her real well since the fire. She’s guarded all the time though, I can’t do anything about it.”

Daryl’s eyebrows furrowed and he brought his reddened eyes up to lock with yours.

“What fire?”

“Eugene and Dwight rigged one of our new outposts to burn… it was supposed to kill Negan, but the plan got thrown off. Eugene tried to call it off but Dwight did it anyway. It killed a bunch of us… I thought it killed my best friend. Would’ve killed me too if she hadn’t helped me escape.”

His eyes flashed with anger at the mention of Dwight’s name, and you could see his jaw clenching.

“That sonuva bitch still alive?”

“Dwight? No… we found out it was him and he tried to attack Negan… tried to attack me… my friend killed him. He’s dead. Negan had him thrown out to the walkers.”

Daryl’s eyes returned to the floor as he nodded with silent acknowledgement. Knowing you had just mere moments left with him, you inhaled deeply and asked your last question.

“Why does Negan need to die?”

You could see Daryl’s jaw repeatedly clenching again, and he finally turned his head to you, a deep fire burning within his bloodshot eyes.

“It’s gotta stop. We’re tired of dyin’… and we’re tired of killin’ people. We don’t wanna do it no more.”

Upon hearing distant voices, you grabbed your flashlight and ran to the door, pulling it open and whispering as you left.

“I’m sorry for what he’s done to you.”

Daryl called out angrily just before the door latched shut.

“If you’re sorry then do somethin’ about it!”

Your ears seemed to be ringing as you hurried down the hall to where Joey had been, and upon turning the corner you found him exactly as you last saw him. Sauntering up with an air of confidence, you dropped the keys into his lap and snapped, “Keep the smart one in line. Wouldn’t stop talking my ear off with all sorts of conspiracy bullshit. He might be losing it.” Joey nodded hurriedly as you marched off down the hall, not realizing you were holding your breath until you reached the stairs and finally exhaled. Tossing the empty water bottle in the trash can of a nearby room, you headed up the stairs and out into the open yard.

You couldn’t help but notice the pool of blood that had seeped into the dirt where Dwight had been before, illuminated by the light of the full moon hanging overhead. You felt a wave of satisfaction that he had been killed, but you couldn’t fight back the rest of the conflicting thoughts swirling in your head. You walked across the yard, stopping just a few feet from the fence, listening to the snarling of the walkers and watching them twist their necks and claw the air in a morbid and timeless dance. You heard the thudding of boots approaching behind you, but kept your gaze forward.

“What’s keeping you up, sweetheart?”

The low rumble of Negan’s voice was both comforting and unnerving. You shrugged and sighed deeply, trying to sort through your racing thoughts.

“Just wondering what’s next.”

Negan chuckled and draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing the top of your head gently.

“Revenge, darling. In a few days we’ll be heading to Alexandria, and we’ll teach them a lesson they’ll never be able to forget.”

You lifted your head to look at Negan and forced a smile as you tried to make your question appear eager instead of conflicted.

“How are we going to teach them? Please… don’t spare any details. I want to know exactly how we’re going to make them suffer.”

Negan laughed again and threw you a surprised look.

“Well, babygirl, I must admit… your enthusiasm is hot as fuck. My dick’s getting hard just hearing you talk like that. Then again, it does tend to be very hard in general whenever I’m around you. But I digress… we’ll be taking all three of our lovely Alexandrians with us, and they’re going to help us with a little… ‘demonstration.’”

His dark smile made you nervous, but the lust and dominance in his voice sent chills through your entire body. You could feel unexpected warmth beginning to pool between your legs. Forcing yourself to focus, you pushed past his seductive words to address the issue at hand.

“Let me help.”

Negan regarded you with both surprise and pride, pausing for a moment to consider your request.

“And exactly how would you like to help?”

“You’re going to hurt them… that much I know for sure. I want to help… I want to hurt them too. At least let me have a go at Eugene… he’s the reason Jovana is hurt, he’s the reason so many people are dead. Give me some sort of chance to make things even.”

Negan was silent for another moment before he slowly nodded his head and grinned.

“Fair enough… it’s hard to say no to you, doll. Tell me what you want to do.”

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment in contemplation.

“I just need a knife, a gun, and two or three bullets. I’ll manage to have some fun with that.”

Negan chuckled once again, grasping your hand and turning you to face him.

“As you wish, sweetheart. I know you’ll make me proud. What do you say about spending a little time together tonight? You know you can say no.”

The fluttering of your heart and the sparks of excitement all over your body gave away your desires. You blushed deeply and tipped your head up to his, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth and drawing him into a deep kiss. He moaned and pulled you close, his hands traveling down your back to grip your ass before giving it a playfully hard smack.

“I want you to take me completely,” you whispered breathlessly between kisses. Negan froze and pulled away from you, eyeing you with uncertainty.

“I told you before, I don’t want you to do it before you’re ready. I can wait as long as it takes, sweetheart, we don’t have-“

“I’m ready and I want it now,” you interrupted, gripping his jacket tightly with both hands and smashing your lips against his with urgency.

“Fuck, baby…” he gasped eagerly. “You don’t have to fucking tell me twice.”

He picked you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, and walked quickly to the residential building, nipping at your neck and ear the whole way. You tried to contain your noises of pleasure, but it was impossible. You were completely overcome with passion and desire. When you finally reached his room, he fumbled hurriedly with the door handle, eventually throwing the door open and immediately slamming it shut behind you. Your heart was pounding against your chest and you could feel wetness nearly pouring out of you in anticipation.

Negan tossed you passionately onto his bed, immediately climbing on top of you. He braced himself with his hands next to your shoulders, your tongues dancing together as he began to grind his growing erection against you. Quiet moans escaped you as his lips traveled along your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling deep love marks along your collarbone. You frantically reached for the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one ragged motion. Negan paused for a moment, staring in awe at your exposed stomach and bra. You only felt self-conscious for half a second before he whispered breathlessly.

“My god… you’re fucking perfect, every goddamn inch of you is fucking incredible.”

He dipped his head down, trailing his tongue across your stomach as he reached behind your back and released the hooks of your bra. His breath hitched in his throat as your breasts became exposed. Groaning heavily with desire, he sat up to pull his own shirt over his head and unzip his pants before fumbling with the zipper on your jeans, hooking his fingers in the beltloops and tugging them down over your hips. The combination of the cold air hitting your legs and the feeling of his obvious erection pressing against you sent goosebumps across your skin.

“Take me, Negan…” you whispered desperately. “Take me now.”

He rolled onto his back next to you in order to tug his pants and boxers off, his firm cock immediately springing forth. He turned his head to lock eyes with you, his chest heaving with gasping breaths.

“All you do is say ‘stop’ and it’s done – it won’t go on a second longer. You have to fucking promise me, baby… I need to be able to trust you. Tell me if you don’t want it anymore.”

As you crawled on top of him and positioned yourself above his cock, you leaned down to whisper tenderly against his ear.

“I promise.”

You gripped his rock-hard member with your hand and lined it up with your dripping entrance, the room absolutely silent as you hovered at the breaking point, both of you holding your breath in anticipation before Negan whispered.

“Only if you’re ready.”

You dropped yourself onto his cock and cried out with a loud voice, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. You pulled in gasping breaths as Negan swore through deep moans of pleasure.

“Oh my fucking god… holy fuck, baby… do whatever the hell you want, you feel so fucking amazing…”

As you continued to ease yourself down, his length pushing deeper and deeper inside of you, you began to slowly rock and swivel your hips. You had never heard such passionate and desperate noises come out of Negan, and both of your moans and shouts echoed against the walls of the room – and no doubt the walls of the hallway outside as well. Neither of you could be bothered to care though, and Negan’s hands slowly made their way from your ass, to your hips, to your clit. He slid his thumb against your wetness before dragging slow, clockwise circles around your swollen bud. The combination of his cock pushing deep inside you and his thumb on your clit caused you to start trembling uncontrollably.

“That feel ok, baby?”

“Fuck, god, yes,” you gasped breathlessly, leaning forward to plant your palms on his chest for balance. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lust-filled gaze. He began to lift his hips rhythmically below you, forcing his pulsing cock even deeper inside you and consequently forcing passionate moans from your lips.

“Negan, please…” you stammered desperately.

“Just say the word and I can stop,” he whispered through ragged breaths.

“God no… please don’t stop. Negan… jesus fuck, don’t- goddamnit, don’t fucking stop. Holy fuck… shit… Negan, you’re gonna make-…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave and rushed over you, throwing sparks of electricity and mind-numbing pleasure throughout your entire body. Your hoarse screams echoed against the walls and Negan gripped your hips tightly with both hands, pushing and pulling you against his cock erratically as he groaned through clenched teeth.

“Honey… goddamn…”

He lifted you up and tossed you onto your back in one swift motion before straddling you and pumping his throbbing member frantically with his hand. Your screams paled in comparison to his primal roar of release as hot cum poured out of him, painting your stomach with blatant evidence of his climax. In an instant, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your heaving breaths. Beads of sweat fell from Negan’s forehead, mingling with your own sweat already gathered on your stomach. He continued to straddle you for nearly a full minute, delicately holding his sensitive and softening member in his hand, eyes closed and chin lifted towards the ceiling.

You hardly felt him crawl off the bed, his feet softly thudding against the floor as he made his way to the bathroom to retrieve a towel for you. The rush of adrenaline slowed, leaving you in a near-numb state of euphoria with eyelids that refused to stay open. Negan gently wiped his release from your stomach with the damp towel before wiping himself off as well. He collapsed onto the bed next to you, his hand finding yours and gripping it tight.

“Baby, I need to talk to you about something.”

“I’m not ready to be a wife,” you blurted out, immediately regretting your assumption that a proposal would be a part of the conversation. “I mean… every single second of this was amazing, I just don’t know if I can handle-…”

“I love you.”

Your entire body froze as the words spilled from his mouth. The room became uncomfortably silent and you eventually turned your head to make out the silhouette of Negan’s face staring up at the ceiling. He finally rolled onto his side to face you, tenderly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb as he pulled in a deep breath.

“Before the fire, I… I wasn’t sure about it until your call came through on the radio for help, and all of a sudden I didn’t care if every other fucking person there was gone already, I needed you to be alive. I’d always imagined you’d be with me until we’re both old and wrinkled as fuck… I thought about that while we were driving over there, that I wanted you to be around for a damn long time and I knew if I lost you that day, it would destroy me. Life in this shitty world would suck ass without you… and I figured that has to be love, right? When just fucking thinking about living without someone makes you hurt?”

You tried to formulate a proper sentence, even just a few words, but your mind was both blank and racing at the same time. Everything you had learned about Negan came crashing down on you, clashing with all of your feelings towards him… clashing with all the words coming out of his mouth. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice Negan looking at you expectantly.

“Sweetheart…?”

“I didn’t have any flashbacks this time...” you stated emotionlessly. “I didn’t have any thoughts… about him… just you. You got rid of him, you…”

“I didn’t do anything, baby,” he interrupted, pushing your hair off of your face with a gentle hand. “You’re the strong one, you’ve gotten rid of him all on your own. I mean… shit, I’m sorry… it’s just, I haven’t said those words to anyone since… for a long time. And I mean them.”

Your ears were ringing, the weight of his words falling heavy upon you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the images of Daryl and Eugene’s bruised and beaten bodies, of Maggie’s gaunt appearance, of Negan walking down a line of kneeling young men and shooting them at point-blank range. You could feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate as your mind tried to rectify the haunting images with the tenderness of the man currently professing his love for you.

“Look, baby, I’m sorry I brought it up, I-…”

“I think I love you too,” you blurted out, forcing your eyes open to lock your gaze with his. His initial look of surprise was quickly replaced by an amused grin and a soft chuckle.

“Thank god, because this was about to get really fucking awkward.”

You giggled before rolling over and sitting on the edge of the bed. Negan crawled behind you, tenderly massaging your shoulders while placing delicate kisses across the back of your neck. Moaning gratefully, you stretched your shoulders before standing and beginning the search for your clothes.

“You know you can spend the night here, sweetheart, I’m not kicking you out…”

“I know,” you sighed, “But I need to get back and check on Jovana. She hasn’t been sleeping very much and I don’t want her to have to be alone.”

“But you’re ok with me being alone, I fucking see how it is…”

You glanced back at Negan to see him grinning mischievously and running his tongue across his bottom lip. You couldn’t help but smile as you walked back to him, running your fingers through his hair and studying his handsome features.

“The thought of living without you hurts me, too,” you whispered, dropping a soft kiss to his forehead and tasting the saltiness of his drying sweat on your lips. “And that’s how I know it’s love.”

Negan planted a deep kiss on the back of your hand before smiling up at you.

“Go get some rest, sweetheart… tomorrow we’re going to Alexandria.”

Your emotions hit you full-force on your walk back to your room. Tears poured relentlessly from your burning eyes as you tried to sort through your thoughts.

I actually love him. Shit, shit, shit… everything is complicated now…

Your bootsteps rang out on the metal stairs leading up to the fourth floor.

But do I actually love him if I don’t love all of him? His gentle side is easy to love, but… how can I bring myself to love his brutal side too?

Finally pushing your room door open with exhaustion, you saw Jovana gingerly sit up in bed and regard you with concern. You wiped the tears from your cheeks with the palm of your hand as Jovana motioned to her own cheek.

Why are you crying?

You couldn’t help but surrender to your emotions as you collapsed onto Jovana’s bed next to her, burying your face in her shoulder and letting ragged sobs pour forth as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I can’t do it, but I know I have to… I have to do it, it’s the only way…” you cried against her, knowing she wouldn’t hear the words. It was more of a confession to yourself than anything else. Jovana finally reached for the nearby paper and pens and set the notebook on your lap.

What happened?

I slept with Negan.

Did he hurt you??

No no no… he said he loves me.

Holy shit. Is that a good thing?

Yes and no… I realized I love him too, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Doesn’t make what easier?

I found out why everyone wants Negan dead.

Jovana froze and looked at you, her brow deeply furrowed with concern. After a few moments of hesitation, she finally reached out to write.

Why?

Your tears flowed in rivers down your cheeks as you told her everything – how he was treating all the Alexandrians here, the people he had killed back at Alexandria, the dozens of men and boys he had murdered at Oceanside and your old camp, the iron punishments he carried out here at the Sanctuary. As you wrote, Jovana’s face became deeply etched with sadness and confliction. When you finished, she swallowed hard before responding.

So now what? What do we do?

Your hand trembled violently as your brought the tip of the pen to the paper, the room beginning to blur and spin around you as you admitted what you had been trying to deny for days.

We have to end it.

I have to kill Negan.

Previous Chapter

Fuck. Now do you see why this chapter has taken me so long to write?? Typing that last line was so painful.

Tagging those who have requested to be and those who have inspired me to write. If you would like to be added OR removed, just shoot me a message. Love you all more than you can possibly fathom. Tumblr is sucking ass with tags today so I’m hoping these work....

@livetoseetheworld @theonethatgotaway213 @thefelinemedia78 @genevievedarcygranger @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @ali-pennell @blumenkind72 @jmackie1983 @jenn0755 @beltz2016 @ibelongtonegan @xandythelazyunicorn @negans-network @negans-dirty-girl @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @ladylorelitany @wickednerdery @vizhi0n @death2thevirgin @autumnjade22 @womderland-fandom @thedeadwalks @monicapernas @my-achilles--heel @ericuhlorain @marvelmaximoff @hellainternet @totallysupernaturaloneshots @alisajo5576 @isayweallgetdrunk @babystarwitch @jasoncrouse @wadeyourebarelyalive @negan--is--god @small-town-wayward-daughter @malmaldude @haleyea @ohmyneganimagination-twd @ilovemistahj @kerij77 @evansrogerskitten @clinicalkayla @odetteviolet @deepsouth @miiraal @negandarylsatisfaction @prettyepiic @baked-potatoes @you-just-got-jacknifed @jessie-cake1994-blog @batjoker12 @riisten @jdmfanfiction @nothin-after-79 @neganfictions @blondielovesr5-blog @magical-spit @warriorqueen1991 @court666 @opportunisticlullaby @almostinwonderland @harry-titss @cass-xxo @kazosa @jackythemoo @missnegandixon @mwesterfeld1985 @kaitlynnratliff02 @londoncapsule @i-am-negan-trash @kellyn1604 @alyisdead @stress-and-obsess @collette04 @elinyaes @toomuchpaintocome @badsongwinchester @neganswinchesters

#long-awaited savior #long awaited savior #negan x reader #negan fanfiction #negan slow burn #negan multichapter fic #negans-network #backseat-negan

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melorsomething · 7 years

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Crystal Clear | Chapter 7 | Stars

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The first thing Moira noticed was that the world was on fire. The second, that the world as not on fire, rather, she was. The third that she was not on fire either, but maybe lighting herself on fire would distract her from the pain.

Everything hurt. Her head pounded out the seconds, keeping time as her nerves screamed at her. She tried to open her eyes, but even such a small movement caused a fresh wave of pain to shoot through her aching head.

“Moira?”

A voice was calling to her. Where was it? Where was she? Am I dying? she wondered.

“Moira!”

The voice sounded distant—pained, almost—was its owner dying? Who was its owner?

“Moira, I swear to… something… answer me.”

Oh. Ignoring the pain and forcing the words past the thickness in her throat, Moira replied, “Shut. Up. Ange.”

“There you go. Why did you follow me?”

“Wha—?”

“Moira, I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I need you to tell me why you followed me. You aren’t one for blind adventure—what gives?”

“Ange, stop, please.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t stay with me. Just talk.”

“Am I dying?”

A pause.

“No, no, Moi, uh, you’ll be fine… I just need you to talk to me.”

“Oh my stars, I’m dying.”

“Shut up. You’re not dying.”

“Because you just fell out of the sky. What did you expect, a scratch?”

Moira tried again to open her eyes and succeeded, only to immediately squint. The bright blue sky surrounded her friend’s head, light dancing off her hair in a sort of halo. Bright sky? Wasn’t it evening? She cleared her throat. “How long was I out?”

“Couple minutes, maybe. I’m not sure you were ever entirely out… you were probably just dazed more than anything.”

“But then… why is it light out?”

Angela smiled slightly. Is she having fun with this? “Now,” she said, raising her eyebrows and glancing up at the sky herself, “that’s the real question, isn’t it?”

“So…”

“So, I don’t know, but at least we’re on the same page.”

As their conversation continued, Moira could feel healing magic flooding over her, and relaxed slightly into its warm embrace. “Why aren’t you hurt?” she asked, her vision beginning to adjust to the light. She could now see that Angela, unlike herself, was virtually unharmed, save for a few scratches.

“I put up spirit armor as I fell. A lot of spells like that can be really useful outside combat. By the time I noticed you had followed me, you were almost to the ground, so the shield didn’t have time to slow your fall like mine—only take the brunt of the damage. Now, how about telling me why you followed me while I fix you up?”

Moira grunted, trying to move her arm to push Angela’s away. “Ange, that’s a lot of power. You don’t need to heal me; you’re weak enough as is. See,” she said, beginning her first attempt at getting up, “I’m fi—ah—ah—ow...” She flopped back down, pain streaking up her side.

“Mm-hmm,” Angela hummed. “That’s believable. Now sit still and don’t worry about me. Strangely enough, I feel pretty good. Maybe the adrenaline gave my mana a kickstart.”

“Ange—” Moira began to protest, but abandoned the plan quickly, deciding that going toward the dark spots in her vision might be easier.

“No—hey—Moi, what did I say? You have to stay with me or you make this about ten times harder. You want me to conserve power? Do your part and stay awake. Keep talking to me. You still haven’t answered my question.”

Sighing—or possibly wheezing—Moira opened her eyes again and glared at Angela. “Fine.”

As a green glow filled the air near Angela’s hands, Moira frowned. “Can’t you summon a satyr or something faster?”

Angela shook her head. “I tried. Satyrs, unicorns, pixies, even little sprites—nothing shows up. We’ll just have to take the slower route. Based on your previous responses, I take it you’re not going to tell me why you followed me, are you?”

Exaggerating her frown further, Moira replied, “Hmm, nah, probably not.”

Angela chuckled. “Well, I can see you’re feeling better already.” She cracked a small smile as the green glow grew brighter. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what? Aren’t you already doing it?”

“Not exactly. That’s the surface injuries. You’re used to that kind of healing. Internal healing, however…” she trailed off, a slight grimace on her face. “It’s a bit different than what you’re used to. You’re still in a bit of shock right now, and that’ll be the first thing to go when the magic hits, unfortunately.”

“Huh?”

“It’s going to get a heck of a lot worse before it gets any better,” she clarified. She shrugged and let the magic envelop Moira, sinking into her. “Sorry.”

Moira opened her mouth to say, ‘It can’t get much worse than this,’ but her potential words were quickly proven wrong. Angela was right, although Moira might have used the word ‘agonizing’ instead of ‘a lot worse’. Gasping for breath, she squeezed her eyes shut as the fire from earlier returned tenfold. Pain crept into every crevice—every layer of skin and muscle and bone—and consumed her. How could healing feel like this? She grasped for an anchor, and found Angela’s voice in a faraway corner of her awareness, slicing through the pain. She focused on it, analyzing every syllable, every letter, every noise that was telling her to stay awake, and she couldn’t help but scream. She didn’t know for how long she screamed, but her shrieking continued until her voice gave out until the red clouds over her vision parted and she could focus on Angela’s features.

“That’s it, Moi! You’re almost there! Just a little more, I promise!”

An empty promise, as it was, did little to reassure Moira, for she was very familiar with her friend’s mind. ‘A little more’ to Angela did not mean the same as it did to Moira. She shut her eyes against the pain once more and felt herself slipping away.

After a moment, she forced her eyes open. No matter what Angela had said, Moira knew she couldn’t let her use up too much mana. I have to make this easy for her, she thought. Gritting her teeth, she gripped handfuls of the grass beneath her as her back arched. She wasn’t sure whether she could hold out for much longer.

And then the pain stopped.

The agonizing fire quickly melted away into the blissful warmth normally associated with healing. Breathing deeply with relief, Moira relaxed, letting the world fade out.

When the world blinked back into existence, the first thing Moira noticed was that it was dark—very dark, in fact. She launched herself up and had to shut her eyes to cull the waves of nausea that accompanied her feather-light head.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Angela chirped from beside her.

When she had enough confidence in her ability to open her mouth without her last meal spilling down her front, Moira remarked, “You have an interesting idea of what constitutes as ‘morning’,” gesturing aimlessly about the world around her.

“Someone’s feeling better. Come on, up and at ‘em,” Angela replied, hooking her arms under Moira’s to help her stand. “You’re the one who’s always saying we have to take shelter instead of sleeping under the stars. Although, I’m not even sure if there are living creatures here… besides us and the guards, of course.”

Suddenly alert, Moira snapped her eyes up to meet the other girl’s. “The guards? What guards?”

“Those guards,” she replied, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. In the distance, Moira could see the unmoving forms of two Wizard City guards. Angela’s face dropped slightly, and she said quietly, “Well, maybe they don’t quite fit into the ‘living creature’ category.”

Moira looked back at Angela, studying the hurt on her face. “You mean,” she said weakly.

“Yeah.” Angela’s voice was barely above a whisper at this point. “I—there’s just nothing. I tried, but they’re…”

The two girls shared a moment of silence, both pairs of eyes locked onto the guards.

Moira spoke first. “Are you sure, though? Not that I doubt you… just… are you really sure?”

Angela nodded. “The energy has dissipated.”

Feeling tired again, Moira sat back down in the grass, motioning for Angela to join her. “Can you really tell that? You talk about energy all the time, but I thought it was just like… a vibes kind of thing.”

As she sat, crossing her legs, Angela said, “It’s more than vibes. It’s something unique to life wizards. Everyone with theurgy aptitude has it a little, but the more you train, the more you hone in on it. I can feel energy all around us. It’s something you get used to, but it can be overwhelming sometimes. Crowded areas are bursting with energy, but it’s all localized into bodies. Big areas of nature—fields and forests—the energy is more spread out there. The energy of flora is more communal than that of fauna. Plants are always sort of… sharing, I guess. The energy flows freely between them, so much so that it feels like it’s in the air. With creatures, the energy is compact, becoming a being rather than an essence. When I was little, I couldn’t feel it like this, but now, the world seems like it’d be so empty without it. Like, when I imagine your world, it seems so closed off and alone. Being able to feel energy makes you connected with everything. And things that affect the nearby energy affect us as well. It’s why life wizards always seem so selfless. We heal others in battle first because their pain hurts more than our own.” Angela smiled, “Or, at least, that’s why I do it. I can’t speak for every life wizard out there.”

Moira watched her friend speak, awe written across her face. To have a whole other dimension to the world…

“I didn’t overload your brain, did I?” Angela asked, delivering a soft poke to Moira’s forehead.

“Ah, no, I’m good. It just sounds… crazy.”

“It can be.”

“And that’s how you knew something was wrong in the Spiral chamber? Why didn’t any other theurgists in there feel it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say that because I was weak and out of it, my sense of energy was heightened since my consciousness was more open and vulnerable.”

“Is that a thing?”

“No idea,” Angela answered with a laugh. Moira joined in, and the girls were left laughing, looking up at the night sky.

Moira’s laughter trickled to a stop as her face turned down in a frown and her eyebrows knitted together. “Ange, where do you think we are?”

“Well, it looks like Mooshu, but…”

“There aren’t any stars.”

“No,” Angela agreed, her face joining Moira’s in a frown. “There aren’t.”

Angela leaned her head against Moira’s shoulder, and the two sat silently, looking into the pitch black sky.

#crystal clear

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