To: [REDACTED]
Subject: Sierra Whiskey November Seven
Welcome back, old friend. I wish we could speak under better circumstances, but the clock is ticking. I pulled a couple strings to get you what you needed. You and your team have been cleared hot for [REDACTED].
Though the necessary assets have been lined up for Operation [REDACTED], the Board expects to see a full report beforehand. And I mean it friend. Full roster, pre-op details, everything to be forwarded in a separate memorandum.
You've been designated handler to SWN-7. Though inordinately young to be an Agent, rest assured that he will not fail the expectations placed upon him. He is not to be added to your specialist team, but rather act as an independent force. Trust me when I say that he works best alone. He's still being debriefed on his new role, but you'll meet him soon enough.
Attached is a dossier on the latest Agent of [REDACTED]. It has all the relevant information you need. A word of advice, be careful when handling SWN-7. He's a man of few words, but don't be mistaken by his quiet exterior. His record on file speaks for itself.
The [REDACTED] made him the sole survivor, but on record he's officially K.I.A. The Board saw the chance to make a ghost and took it. It's a miracle really. No one thought it possible to survive what he did…
On another note, we're still pulling records for one Abraham Ford. The Board doesn't think it's a good idea to have your soldier boy join covert operations. I argued on your behalf, but the other members think he's better left as a soldier on combat deployment to Iraq and later down the line Afghanistan. They're considering a Marine instead. Man by the name of John Mercer. Intel says he's good.
For now it's nothing but idle talk, but the list of candidacy is expected by the end of the term. It's your squadron so you still have the last say, but the Board picks the pool. Well, I'll see what I can do – but no promises.
You know the standard procedure. You have till the end of the day before this email gets burned. Nothing is to be copied or shared. Your eyes only.
See you soon, old friend.
…
''You will move without boundaries. You will act above the law. You will use any means necessary to stop the wars that are hidden from the world. And if you succeed, you will do so without recognition. Because you do not exist, Negan Smith. Not anymore. Now you are among the few – the unsung and the unknown.''
''I understand, Sir,'' replied the young man softly.
''We expect great things from you, Smith. Your exemplary term of service in the military has made you S.A.D.'s youngest operative. Your reputation proceeds you. From the capture of…to the war in…Burning of the Glass Hill…your handler is…expect a call from us soon…''
Negan raised his head and looked to the charcoal skies as he finally left his orientation. Taking out the worn carton of cigarettes from his long black coat, the young man blew a trail of blue smoke as he walked with heavy steps down the marble stairs and to the city beyond.
The Laughing Coffin. A select brand with experimental blends that dulled the senses and eased the smoker's tension. Made by Veterans for Veterans. Those who smoked the black cigarette were men who often dealt with severe PTSD. Soldiers who couldn't relax, often strung high from the pain of war and unable to lower their guard.
Extremely strong sedatives were mixed and diluted with the tobacco, thus creating tendrils of colored smoke as consequence. Very few smoked the black cigarette due to the higher chances of death involved. Risk of seizures and cardiac arrest, lung and throat cancer were just a few among the list.
Unfortunate they discontinued this particular line. The red blend is too sweet for my tastes. The bitterness of the blue on the other hand…I'll have to contact the manufacturer, see if I can't purchase a couple boxes worth before they go extinct.
Smoking would be the last thing that killed Negan. A man in his line of work never died such a good death. Negan knew that, and it was why he indulged in the products of The Laughing Coffin. It might not be today or tomorrow, but he doubted he'd see past thirty regardless.
As for today…Negan didn't care much for the achievement of being inducted into S.A.D. Other men might have been, but not him. Fewer than a hundred were appointed to be active Agents at a single time, even less chosen to act alone rather than in a team. For the young man this was nothing.
It doesn't matter. None of this means anything.
A solitary figure against the masses, he ceased to live life like everyone else. He was just existing, lingering and surviving for the sake of surviving and nothing more. Sometimes he thought it was a cruel joke by God that good men died by his hand. Fathers with families, sons and daughters and loved ones waiting back home. It didn't seem right that a man with nothing at all could take from those with everything to lose.
Someday it'll come back to haunt me, surely. Someone loved dearly will be killed by my hand, and it'll be the death of me. This time…this time for good.
Who would it be then? All was fair in war. A soldier can't discriminate when life and death were on the line. When the shouting and screaming began, no one hesitated to pull the trigger.
So who would it be? A brother to a man he killed? A son to a father? Maybe it would be a widow to a husband. The young man often saw a wedding band on the fingers of the men he killed. The possibility stood a chance of becoming reality just as the rest of them.
Families without a father. Wives without their husband. It just might be...
The corner of his lips curled as he conjured the image of a shadowy figure coming to kill him. A widowed woman of his doing no less.
I imagine dying to a woman is no less painful, just not the way I see myself going out. It would be just the type of joke God would play on me, however.
It was never personal for the young man, but it'd be just the thing. A woman with a vengeful heart out to kill. To that illusory woman it meant everything. To her it was personal.
If so, what would her name be? What color would her eyes have? Would she have me suffer before putting me out of my misery? Please God, if you're sending a woman to kill me, at least let me die to a beauty.
Negan joked, but it was just a reflex. An empty gesture he did to fit in with everybody else. Cracking jokes, smiling and laughing…it was the furthest thing from the truth. How could a man who killed so many people be able to do such humane things? The atrocities he witnessed, how could he ever come back from them?
All that he did and bore witness to, he lost the ability to smile and laugh. It was a gradual descent that started long ago and ended when he died.
The pain he suffered, the haunting sounds of choking on blood and unable to move a single finger. Unable to do anything but drown in a pool of your own blood.
I came back, but it cost me. Oh it cost me…
Negan's was greater than any man can imagine, and heavier than any man could bear. Some things when broken, even if pieced back together, will never be the same again. No one comes back from what he did. No one has been known to survive.
They all called it a miracle. A blessing from God. But it's not. It's nothing but a curse.
He thought back to the nameless woman held in his thoughts. Across the black sky that spanned beyond the edge of the horizon, Negan saw a lone bird colored emerald green stretch its wings and fly.
Without thinking he stretched his hand out, as if to reach and grab it. It looked to be just before him, but Negan knew it was forever out of his reach. In a sea of darkness, it alone stood out. Colored green in beauty, forever free.
Emerald green…how fitting it would be to die by a woman with those eyes – that color.
The young man blinked, and the bird was gone like it was never there. Negan chuckled hollowly and lowered his arm to his side.
Of all his thoughts, it never crossed his mind to think he'd die naturally. Peacefully. Not for a man like him. Never him. His was carved into stone from the very beginning, the moment he took a life closed all other paths. A killer to the bitter end for the man named Negan Smith.
It was why the Special Activities Division wanted him. A man without fear, without conscious. A man without weakness…A man ready to die. Morality and ethics be damned for the men who dirtied their hands for the so called ''greater good.'' Do whatever needs to be done. All is permitted, but one can never be compromised. Never exposed.
And now he was well and truly a ghost among the living. For all intents and purposes, Negan Smith died at the Burning of the Glass Hill. Born '67, dead at '93. Just another corpse buried beneath the endless cruelty of humanity's heart.
The young man hadn't come away unscathed. So many wars. So many battles. They all left a mark on him – took a piece of him. The screaming and the shouting, the begging of broken soldiers and boys thinking they were men. It stained the soul to know such violence. To have taken part and added to it.
Conflict brought out the worst, showed who was willing to take life and put their own on the line. War was hell. The invasions and the sieges...the hail of bullets and bloody sea of torn limbs and corpses. Negan had seen too much. Killed too many. The stench of blood clung to him, and he couldn't get it off.
It was why he thought revenge the most likely. Someone somewhere, one day. A bullet with his name. That someone would hold his fate in their hands, and Negan knew in his heart he wouldn't be spared.
That day will come. He knew, but until then…
This is all I have now. All that is left.
Negan looked to his hands, scarred and calloused. Stained invisibly with the blood of the fallen.
These are not good things, but it is all I have now – wicked and cruel they may be. There's nothing else. No other choice. It's the price paid, the cost I bear. Something brittle in me broke before it could bend, and I've been wandering aimlessly ever since.
Negan considered the thought of a world where he could thrive without having to kill. A world where his hands weren't scarred and calloused by the harshness of life, but smooth and unmarred. He was only twenty-five years old. Where would he be now had he not joined the Army? Had he followed his mother's dying wish instead?
Negan saw men his age out on the street with umbrellas, walking and holding hands with their loved ones beneath the falling rain. They laughed and smiled, and it wasn't fake like his. They stayed warm and dry while the cold rain pierced and penetrated to the bone, enveloping him as the only home he now knew.
Most his age were finishing college, getting their degree and going off to start a family and settle down. How those same men could laugh so freely – smile so easily. They'd tune in to watch the news and hear of the wars overseas, and they'd shake their head and be glad it wasn't them.
Nothing worse than a man full of wishful thinking. You'll never be them, Negan. You'll never know what it feels like to be loved. To have a family you can call your own. No. These things, none of it for me. I move beneath the roar of thunder and fall of rain. Among monsters do I bleed, broken and torn. I come from the night…
It was his choice to become a soldier, but the choice to spill blood was made for him long before he even knew what killing was – what dying meant.
The first time I killed a man, I was just a kid without a clue. Killing others to survive…that's all I've ever done.
Not having to feel just made it easier. He endured the pain and suffering for too long, and he didn't want to feel it a moment longer. God answered him in his own cruel way. Negan paid for it, and it costed him everything.
Careful what you wish for, isn't that right? It might just come back to haunt you…If only I knew what I know now. If only I could go back in time, but that's wishful thinking.
The young man blew out one last puff of smoke and began to whistle beneath the falling rain. It was a haunting tune devoid of humanity. Those who heard it once never lived to hear it again.
It was why they called him the Whistler.
Negan held his arms wide to the rain. The young man could feel it beat on the torn and pieced together flesh that he called his body.
Ravaged by war…
A young man still without knowing the vastness of the world and all the pleasures and joy it could bring, yet even the rain felt like a memory hard passed to recall.
In that moment the rain fell hard and fast, and in the blink of an eye he was alone on the street. There was no one around. A desolate land with but a single man beneath the fall of rain.
And Negan felt nothing. Not the wind and rain on his face nor the weight of blood on his hands. A man worse than dead. That's who Negan was…all that remained.
That day will come. I'll be alone beneath the rain just like I am now, breathing my last breath and looking up to skies blacker than coal one last time. Will I see the green bird flitter across the sky before I go? Will I feel then? Will I finally be happy in that last moment of my life?
The world was pushing down on him, and he carried it not knowing why. Negan lowered his head and walked away. A teardrop fell from his cheek, but it wasn't rain.
Negan grunted as he picked Maggie up and into his arms. He had seen the landmark of the Saviors placed inconspicuously along the road. Sanctuary was only a few hours away on foot. He had made it.
No. Not yet. Everything banks on my stashes still being undiscovered. Sanctuary can provide a roof over our heads, but water, electricity, the generators and fuel have no doubt been swiped clean. I'll have to find a way to get all those things. Maybe the Big Spot? I can hotwire a car, make it back to Maggie by the end of the day…
Negan looked down to see a wisp of Maggie's hair land close to the corner of her eye. He couldn't use his arms, so he blew a huff of air to move it away from her face. He smiled and winked at her.
''I don't know about you Maggie, but I can't wait to sleep on a real bed for once. And I'm not talking about that shit cot back in Alexandria I slept in for seven years. I'm talking about my bed. Fit for a god damn fucking king.''
Negan looked up to see the first of snow begin to fall. He watched with interest as a snowflake fell on Maggie's cheek before melting. Winter was well and truly here. He breathed out and saw it against the frigid air. He had to hurry before the snow piled on the road.
''Don't worry I'll share. You didn't think I was going to let you sleep on the floor, right?'' Negan gave her a bit of side eye. ''Knowing you, you'd probably make me sleep outside. Just make sure not to hog all the sheets, alright?'' Negan chuckled; a bit of helplessness laced within.
''You know something Maggie, I never thought I'd live so long. I thought I'd die young, dead and buried somewhere far away for reasons having nothing to do with me.'' He changed the subject suddenly, his tone serious as he faintly recalled the past.
The man looked to the woman in his arms, held her deep green eyes and etched them to heart. He couldn't remember, but there was a memory on the edge of his grasp. Something important that lingered.
''There's this dream. Something important…it's gone when I wake up. Every time I look at your eyes I think back to that forgotten dream. You see, I don't like to think about my past from before I met my wife Lucille. But I visit these memories in my dreams. Memories of when I was a young man. I wish I could forget them, but they cling to me.''
Negan opened his mouth to speak again but stopped when he saw a group of walkers off in the distance. Negan slowed to a stop and looked on warily. The weather made them stationary, all of them standing still on the road.
And blocking me and Maggie from going any further. Damn.
Negan held Maggie closer to his chest, exerting more effort to keep her close to his own body's warmth.
He felt a bit sad at seeing the undead. At a closer look he recognized a few of them to be people of Sanctuary. Saviors. One of them was just a kid. A little girl.
It's been well over seven years. It doesn't feel like it, but it has. I lost my sense of time in that cell. If it weren't for Judith and Gabriel occasionally visiting, I might have lost my mind for good. Almost did.
Judith. He wasn't worried about the pastor. The man could handle himself just fine. Judith on the other hand was just a little girl. Sure, she didn't like to be treated like a kid, but it didn't change the fact.
I didn't see her when Alexandria fell to the Whisperers. I saw other children not so fortunate. The image of Maggie's kid came to mind, the boy named Hershel and all the other little ones torn apart by the horde brought about by the Whisperers.
Where could she be? Was she even alive?
His jaw clenched hard at the thought. Negan pushed down on the surge of anger he felt just thinking about Judith being torn apart, looking like the little girl just ahead on the road. His priority right now was the woman in his arms. Maggie came above all else.
When I get into contact with Maggie's people, I can ask if Judith is with them. If not, I can head back to Alexandria before I head off. I need to know if she's still alive, and if she's not…
Negan forced himself not to think about it. Thinking bad shit wouldn't do him any good, and right now he needed to be focused. The situation he and Maggie were in was desperate. Time was not on their side.
This damned cold. It'll be the death of us both if I don't get my shit together. Maggie's depending on me right now. I'm not going to fail this time. I can't.
In the corner of his eye, he noticed Maggie's lips faintly quivering. Quickly he held her up and freed an arm to adjust the red scarf around her neck, pulling it further up to shield her mouth and nose more securely from the freezing air.
Maggie's head was tilted inward to his chest, so he explained the situation.
''Group of walkers off in the distance. Settle in for a bumpy ride sweetheart, cause we're about to go offroad. At least until we get a good bit past the undead, then we can walk the open road again.''
Even if she wasn't taking in anything of what he was saying, Negan felt better talking like she was. It kept him sane in these moments, grounded in reality and what needed to be done.
Negan resumed carrying Maggie, moving into the woods to bypass the walkers on the road. He was careful not to alert them to his presence, though there wasn't much he could do with the crunch of snow beneath his foot. He could only hope he was far enough away to the point they wouldn't peep a sound.
The weather was getting too harsh to sleep outdoors, but thankfully by the end of the day they wouldn't have to. Negan had a choice to make, however. One that might just be the deciding factor to whether or not he and Maggie would live to see tomorrow.
Walking on foot and carrying Maggie as he was would take him all day to reach Sanctuary, and by the time they'd arrived it would be nightfall. The option to stop early and prepare camp wasn't available with the conditions of the weather, and it would only get colder once the sun went down.
Maggie might be dead by the morning, or me. A fire in this weather won't last long enough to cook food and keep us warm. What with the earlier rain and now the snow, any wood for fire will be too wet to burn quick.
Thankfully Negan had some dry pieces in his pack, and there had been several stacks at Sanctuary, but who knew what was left. Seven entire years had passed, and if there was nothing…
We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
''What do you think, Maggie? Just wrinkle your nose as a sign of saying no and wiggle your ass as a yes.'' He was joking around like he usually did, but just as always, it was the furthest thing from the truth. A reflex.
Soldiers often joked as their brothers lay dead and dying, a way to take the edge off. Negan did it for other reasons, but as of now he did it to try and ease Maggie. To downplay the situation.
Even though she's not even listening. Still…
''I'm thinking of us driving the rest of the way. Getting to Sanctuary by nightfall is asking for a world of trouble. I don't know how well your people cleaned up the place while I was gone, but if there's walkers hidden in the dark when we arrive…''
Negan looked to his left as he walked the beaten path. Through shifting trees he passed by the group of walkers, his gaze lingering on the little girl. She held a teddy bear in her little hand, half her jaw hanging loosely by the bone.
The man nearly stopped, but he forced himself to keep walking. He made a note to remember. If he could he'd come back, put the girl to rest and bury her.
I'm trying. I am. You said there was good in me, and I'm trying. I let you down in the end, you and her, but I'm trying with Maggie. One more time…
''A whole damn month,'' whispered Negan. ''Killing those Whisperers, I was worried the rest would track us down if they found the bodies. Driving a car is easy to spot, and if they have good trackers…
''…I'm thinking it's been so long, and Sanctuary is so close. We'd be there before nightfall, enough sunlight for me to clear the way safely so that we can at least get to my quarters and secure it for the night.''
He briefly considered the thought of sleeping in a car again, but it wouldn't do much in the face of the cold weather. He couldn't very well leave one on and running through the night either. The noise might attract walkers, or worse – the living while they slept.
''I'm thinking getting a car is our best bet. I doubt there'd be anyone living at Sanctuary, what with how you and the Coalition cleaned up. However, I'll stop the car half a mile out so that if there are people, they won't know we're there.''
Resources were all but dwindled and they needed to get to Sanctuary. The situation was getting worse by the minute. Walking the remainder on foot was cutting it too close for comfort and inviting more risks.
''Whatever happens, I'll handle it Maggie. I made you a promise, and I'm keeping it no matter what.''
Leaving the group of walkers behind, Negan searched along the road and found several abandoned cars. Some were beyond repair, missing parts or too old to run. It wasn't until an hour later of walking that he found a black GMC Suburban that looked like it could work.
''I think we found the one, Maggie. You just sit tight and relax, alright?''
Moving to the passenger side, Negan found that the doors were thankfully unlocked. He was quick to move Maggie in, making sure she was in a comfortable position before closing the door.
With his hands finally free, Negan was quick to inspect the state of the car.
Tires could be worse. A bit of wear and tear but nothing too bad. Let's take a peek under the hood, shall we?
He popped the hood and the trunk, moving to check on the engine and the battery first after wiping away a sheet of snow.
Nothing looks like it's missing. Battery might be dead, though. Fuel might be a problem. Back in the day we had runners going out to siphon gas for our own cars. If this one was hit…
This wasn't the main road often used going to and from Sanctuary, so the chances of the cars on this road being siphoned weren't as high. It still made Negan worry, however. He couldn't remember the routes the runners had already completed.
I need those maps if shit really does hit the fan. Once we get to Sanctuary, I can see where the runners already went, what areas have already been picked clean so I know to go someplace else for supplies.
It wasn't always tributes and extortion of other communities. Shit was hell in the beginning, but he had capable people who knew what to do. What needed to be done. Simon...Jed…Regina…Gary…and him.
Buráz! You will not die here, my brother! You can make it! I know you can. You always survive…
That accent. That voice. A memory of the past came to him unbidden, a time so long ago it felt like another life altogether – separate from that with Lucille and even this one now. Mountains of rotting corpses, but he alone came back, searched for Negan amongst the dead for days on end.
My brother…
The man closed his eyes for a moment and let out a shuddered breath, burying the memory deep down until it couldn't be felt.
Negan closed the hood and moved to see what was in the back. Usually he would have slowed down, taken his time to go through everything. Every abandoned car and building had a story to them.
Take Sanctuary for example. A massive factory complex that once teemed with the lives of hundreds. Home to the Saviors, now nothing but an empty shell. Only remnants of what used to be lingered on, a story to tell future survivors.
But Negan was in no mood to know and think of the past. Time was running short. At a cursory glance the back of the Suburban had splotches of dried blood, a couple empty bottles of water and a burned book. He could barely make out the title through the soot that stained the cover.
Arsonist's Lullaby. Whoever this belonged to really took it to heart. Burned the whole thing to a crisp so that no one else could have the pleasure of reading it.
Sometimes that's just the way it goes. Some people would rather destroy a treasure than let anyone else have it.
I wonder what it was about. Laura might have known. She always did love to collect books. Every time she returned to Sanctuary she'd have a stack of them in tow, though she was a stickler for the romance genre especially.
And Simon. He was always getting after her for bringing so many books back instead of ''better shit'', only to take a few for himself when he thought no one was looking with a smile to his face.
Negan shook his head with a faint smile as he tossed everything out and placed his backpack inside. He curled his hand into a fist then as it suddenly hit him that they were all gone. It was like a punch to the gut.
The past is the past, and it can't change. We make our choices and endure the consequences. The rest is void…
This regret he felt at how everything turned out, he only had himself to blame. He was the Savior, the leader they looked to to make the hard decisions.
And I made them alright. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
What was right and what wasn't? Had he killed them all when he had the chance, that little girl back on the road holding her stuffed bear might still be alive, her and everyone else that lived in Sanctuary.
My people. I wouldn't have had to kill Simon. My leadership wouldn't have been challenged. My people would be thriving. Seven years and we'd have expanded. I had plans, so many plans...
Negan closed the trunk and momentarily closed his eyes before taking in a deep breath of cold air, let the fall of snow cling to his beard and hair.
Nothing worse than a man full of wishful thinking, but that's all I'd ever done. What could have been…always thinking about what could have been. What could have been had I stayed on that island with her, or what could have been had Lucille not died. What fucking could have been…
A remnant of what used to be, that's all he was now. With that lingering thought, Negan climbed into the driver's seat. He kept pushing away the past, but it refused to keep away. He saw it everywhere, be it when he was awake or when he dreamed. Memories were all he had now. All that he was. A burden of the past.
And Maggie…
He looked to his right and saw a wisp of loose hair cling to Maggie's cheek. The man reached out to move it behind her ear, smiling as he did so. He moved to hold her little hands in his, making sure to keep them warm.
Unbelievable. Not a single scar or blemish. Not like my hands.
He had no illusions as to who Maggie was, what she could do. What she did do to those who crossed her path. And yet, her hands weren't like his. Weren't cruel and wicked. She killed to protect those she loved.
Not like mine at all. Good men died by my hand. Men who deserved to see another day. Men who had everything to lose. Men like the one she lost. The one I took from her.
It felt wrong touching her with his hands, felt like he was smearing the blood that stained them onto hers. And so he pulled away, hiding the pain he felt as he suddenly remembered the words she said to him when she first came to him in his prison.
I came to kill Negan, but you're already worse than dead. Her accented voice drawled in his mind, echoed with resentment and hatred.
Worse than dead, he thought bitterly. That's right…it's been so long I had almost forgotten. For different reasons, but it's just like it was then all those years ago. Twenty-seven years later and everything has changed. Everything…and nothing at all.
A fate worse than death. A cost paid to live. And just as before, one greater than any man can imagine, and heavier than any man could bear.
Negan felt nauseous at the realization. Felt himself wanting to go mad knowing he had come full circle. Like he always did, he resorted to pain to wash it all away. Bit and tore at the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood in his mouth, felt it pool across his tongue until he had no choice but to swallow.
Push it away. Push it all down until it can't be felt. The pain, the memories, the truth. Until I can't feel anymore.
The aged and weary man desperately wanted to act on the urge, but then he'd become that man again. The Whistler. And if he came back, hell was coming with him.
Focus on what needs to be done. Focus on Maggie. She needs you right now. She needs you…
''Beautiful as ever, Maggie. When we get to Sanctuary I'll see if I can't fix us up a hot bath, eat something delicious for a change. Who the hell knows. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate by the fire. Wouldn't that be something.''
Negan moved away and worked as he talked, popping open the cover beneath the steering wheel and fiddling with the tangled mess of electrical wires and connectors.
Let's hope this rust bucket can move. No time like the present to find out.
''The good thing is that this Suburban is an older model baby girl, so there's hope yet that we can get this shit working. Some hot air conditioning to get us nice and cozy for the drive, see if I can't get the radio to work too. I mean I enjoy listening to your voice and all, but a couple tunes in the background wouldn't hurt, right?''
Let's see now. If I remember correctly this one should be for the battery, and this one for ignition. And this one…
Negan looked up at the sound of the engine roaring to life, the dashboard screen lighting up. The man let out a sigh of relief before grinning. He was so happy that he pecked a kiss on Maggie's cheek for the small victory.
''Not my finest work, but it's been a few years. Panel shows everything is good and great. We got less than half a tank of fuel. Not ideal, but it's enough to get us to Sanctuary.''
Negan quickly turned on the A/C and switched the setting to max heat as he put the car in drive. Looking at the dashboard, he was stunned to see the date change from 2010 to 2019. Not only that, but it showed the exact date as well.
Holy shit. It's the 11th of December. Isn't Maggie's birthday on the 14th?!
He knew this because of Judith. The little firecracker would sneak him some cake whenever someone had a birthday, and one night she snuck him some that had been made for ''Aunt Maggie.''
How many years ago was that? Three? No. I'm getting things mixed up. It was two years ago. Judith had lost a baby tooth the year after and accidently got it lodged in her throat. I had to fish around with my fingers to grab the thing.
Negan smiled at the memory. The girl almost chopped off his fingers before he finally took the tooth out and handed it to her.
Put it under your pillow and you'll get something nice. He almost said that at the time, but then he thought better than to say it. Michonne had disappeared not much longer after Rick, and neither came back after so many years. There wouldn't be a parent to sneak into the girl's room to take the tooth and replace it with something nice.
Not that Judith would believe in fairies in the first place, but she should have. Should have been able to keep that piece of innocence before growing up.
In the end he told her that he'd do anything she wanted – one wish she was allowed to make that he'd fulfill – if only she gave him her baby tooth in exchange.
Judith looked at me weird then, but in some way I was trying to be her tooth fairy, even though she'd never understand. I shouldn't have said anything…
That night was a mistake, and Judith stopped seeing him ever since. She'd given him her tooth just like he'd asked, but he couldn't make her one wish come true. He just couldn't. Not him.
Can you be my dad?
He still remembered that hopeful look Judith gave him, the nervousness and fear in her voice having found the courage to say her wish out loud. It meant everything to her.
And it broke him to reject her – to see her run away crying into the night. Negan could do nothing but watch her disappear, and when he was alone with everyone having gone to sleep, the man cried and raged silently.
He screamed soundlessly as tears broke through against his will for the first time since Lucille had passed. Beat his hands bloody against the walls that kept him, broke him further than he was already broken. He just wanted it to end. He was eager to die then, eagerly waiting for her to come and end it.
Maggie. I told her then that I hadn't forgotten her. I was betting she'd win, hoping she would.
Driving across the snow-laden roads, Negan painted a picture in his mind of the little girl who wore the Sheriff's hat. Judith Grimes. He pictured her and Maggie off in the distance, safe and sound the both of them. They were smiling and waving beneath the evening sun – amidst a land of swaying flowers. But in his mind it wasn't him they were smiling and waving at. No. He was just a stranger looking in, watching what could never be his.
These things, none of it for me. I move beneath the roar of thunder and fall of rain. Among monsters do I bleed, broken and torn. I come from the night…I come from the night…
The world was pushing down on him, and long ago Negan carried it not knowing why. He carried it now still, but this time was different. Not like the times before. This time he did it for them.
She needs to be safe. I need to know she's okay.
Even though he couldn't grant her wish, that night he stopped seeing her as his little friend. Negan realized he thought of Judith as the daughter he never had regardless of how he felt about it, even though he rejected it out loud.
The two had bonded over the years. It all started from her being curious as to why someone was behind bars in Alexandria, a single person no less when there was no one else. People wouldn't say, treated her like a kid, and so she set out to find out what no one would tell her.
I didn't think anything of it back then, but she was lonely. Always coming to me with an excuse, always trying to find a way to spend more time with me. She'd tell me about her day, sulk when I didn't praise her for the simple things like eating her greens. I helped her with her studies, spoke to her like she was family, and I didn't even know it at the time. Didn't know I was treating her like my daughter.
He'd ask Gabriel about Judith every time he visited. It was the first thing he asked about each and every time without fail. It hurt Negan to say no to her, but he couldn't be what she needed in her life. She knew the truth of why he was locked in a cell. Why people hated him and rightly so. He told her everything – answered all her questions – and it was for that reason Negan couldn't grant her wish.
A prisoner of war. An example to all others, his fate to rot for the rest of his years. Judith should have nothing to do with such a man, least of all call him father. She was just a kid. She knew nothing of the consequences to her wish, but he did. Negan knew better, and so he couldn't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't.
Like so many other things…I'd like to give her a hug before I go for good. I never could with those damned metal bars between us, but I'd like to. Just once.
Negan glanced to Maggie to check on her before sighing with regret. Wishful thinking…
Judith told me how old Maggie was turning. Two years ago Maggie turned twenty-eight. She'll be thirty this Saturday then. Three days from now...
…It's not enough to just survive. I've learned that now. I'll see if I can't make that day special for her. It might not be right of me to do so, but it wouldn't sit right with me now that I know. Thirty…I was thirty when I married Lucille. How time passes…
Negan kept Maggie's birthday in mind for later. It'd be no use thinking about it if they didn't live to see it happen.
''Sanctuary. You ever been, Maggie?'' Negan couldn't get the radio to work, so he opted to talk as he drove.
''A big 'ole factory that me and two others came across.'' He started with nostalgia to his tone. ''One of them you knew, or at least saw. My right hand, Simon. I saved him from a bad call, him and some others way back when. Back then I was different – trying to be. They called me their savior, depended on me to lead the way. That's how all this shit began, really.''
Negan hesitated to speak the rest of what was on his mind, but then he consoled himself thinking Maggie wasn't really listening. That none of this would be remembered by her.
''Truth be told Maggie, I hate conflict. It brings out the worst in everyone involved, and I'm no exception to that.'' Negan looked out to his right, saw a few walkers trying to approach the moving car. Many of the undead he saw by the road were likely to be his people. Disfigured and rotting away, slowed by the harsh cold.
My people…
''It's why I tried to prevent it as much as I could. Simon…he was manageable. He listened and followed the rules I set. In the beginning they all did. Under my rule the Saviors grew. We expanded from a few dozen to several hundred. Dozens of outposts and locations all under a single banner.''
Negan remembered the report he received. All dead at the satellite outpost. Most killed in their sleep without having been able to put up a fight. He and his men knew beforehand that several runners had gone missing or dead, but this was the first they learned as to why. An enemy attack. Several from their gathered intelligence. One they knew nothing about.
People were in a panic. Men and women were demanding answers for their friends and kin who had gone missing. The arguments and the shouting, the questioning looks of his right hand and his lieutenants when they looked to him for what he wanted to do.
Everyone was watching…watching me. Always looking at me…
The faces of his men – the Saviors – warped and changed to that of those from decades past. Men and women all who looked to him as their last ray of hope. The American soldier who turned the tide. Savior, they would call him in their foreign language – chant it beneath their breath as they looked to him to decide their next move. To lead them on against all odds.
To win the war. That day my brother in blood and arms raised my hand, and in the language of his people proclaimed us no longer the Liberation Army, but the Saviors. He looked to me then and smiled, and I grinned all the while artillery shells poured like rain around us and bullets stormed like the wind.
''I don't deny that those under me were horrible and cruel, but not all who were sent to the frontier were bad men. Some of them volunteered, wanted to contribute and support their families back home at Sanctuary. A good portion were young men too. Good natured kids who wanted to prove themselves and protect their families. Those who volunteered were made known, their kin put on a list for preferential treatment.''
Negan explained as much to Maggie, tried to put into words his perspective of the situation at the time. How the walls were closing in the moment those with influence smelled blood in the water. How mothers and fathers called for blood for their dead sons, siblings crying as they learned they'd never see their loved ones again.
''And then you and Rick and the rest came along,'' said Negan darkly. There was bitterness to his tone, and sadness. ''Conflict. It brewed right beneath me and by the time I learned of it I had no choice but to try and snuff it out. I saw the looks in your faces, the malice in the eyes of Rick and the rest.''
Ford…
''You people were like us. You were confident, sure as shit you'd kill us all so long as the smallest of opportunities came your way. Always be looking for that loophole. My people hurt yours, yours hurt mine. Your people wanted blood. Mine wanted blood. I mean what the hell was I supposed to do, Maggie. Give you all cookies and a free pass? Conflict. It brings out the worst.
''Simon and them all started to play fast and loose once the retaliation began. One too many times they didn't fucking listen. That shit at the Hilltop? The Garbage People? Simon. Him and his men. The order I kept was unraveling at the seams, and so I had no choice, Maggie. I had to do bad shit if I wanted to keep everything I worked and sacrificed for from slipping away. With my bare hands I crushed the throat of a man I knew, shared food and drinks with. I put on a show not to just deter you and your people, but mine as well. I should have known then that it was all over. When betrayal occurs and you're killing men on your own side, that's when you know…''
Negan took a deep breath. He felt his nerves wounded tightly just thinking about the absurdity of it all.
''Part of me kept saying the right choice would have been to kill you all right then and there. Everything that followed could have been prevented. But what the hell does that say then, if the right choice was massacre?''
He thought about that night more than once. How everything might have gone differently had he done things differently. No matter how he played it in his mind, Negan couldn't find a choice that ended without blood. That of them or the blood of his people.
''You think me a monster Maggie, but I hesitated to pull the trigger. I made a different choice that night, and it cost me everything. It cost the lives of people who knew nothing of that night, woman and children who knew nothing of the horrors outside of Sanctuary and the storm that was coming to them because I chose differently.''
Negan didn't say anything for a long time after that, but in the end he broke the silence with a shallow laugh.
''I am a monster, but I've tried for the longest not to be. Lucille told me there was good in me, but I never could see it. Even now I'm trying to see it,'' said Negan almost imperceptibly. He thought of her eyes that shined in the light, of honeyed amber that made all the pain go away.
''I didn't want to kill every single one of you, and I didn't want to hunt you down after I had learned you were pregnant. I knew you weren't dead, Maggie. Rick would try and have me believe otherwise, but I knew. I knew that if I saw you again, it would be with a storm at your back and with it my fate. Even so, I let it go. I let you go…''
Negan was relieved to have finally said his piece even knowing Maggie would know nothing of it. He never explained his side of things. Not to Rick or Gabriel, not even to Judith. And had he believed Maggie was conscious or had a chance of remembering things, he'd never explain it to her either.
It may be the truth of how things were and what I believed, but I don't want anyone to think I'm making excuses. I don't care to argue or try and paint myself as anything other than what they believe me to be. What I know myself to be.
''Point is, I hate conflict. I've been through it all my life, and ever since all I've ever wanted was peace. I saw the other communities as a threat to that, and so I had them all pay tribute. You might see it differently – wrong – but you haven't seen what I've seen, Maggie. The things people do when they're desperate. How quick people are to turn on one another.''
Negan wasn't thinking of the world as it stood now when he spoke, but of the world before.
The wars overseas. Bodies stacked so high one could mistake them as mountains. Even before the world went to shit, I'd seen what one man could do to another. How little it took to make a man rage and lash out. The atrocities…children faced against the wall before being shot to death. Mothers and their daughters taken away, forced and broken before being murdered.
''Tribute was my answer,'' he said hoarsely. ''It was better than killing them all or taking over. Instead, keep them weakened just enough so that they could never threaten the peace, but not to the extent that they grew desperate enough to rebel. It appeased the hunger of my men, and in turn they followed the rules I set. No woman or children, no rape. People are a resource. My plans weren't harsh, but the people under me were too many. I couldn't keep eyes everywhere; I couldn't enforce that they didn't take more than intended.''
They all became unbridled the moment they realized they could hide away their crimes. That so long as they kept it a secret from me, nothing would happen. They wouldn't be punished. Internal bribes, hush money.
''The foundation was rotten, but I was blind to it. I didn't want to accept that I was in the wrong, that I had failed. I didn't want to admit that I failed the moment I took a bat and stupidly named it after my late wife Lucille.''
I became no better than the men who tortured and killed me all those years ago. I lined Maggie and the rest on their knees just like they did me. I took a page out of their book without even realizing it.
Negan freed a hand to hold Maggie's. He brushed his thumb along her knuckles to calm himself. He knew he shouldn't, but he had already done so much more. These stained hands of his had long known every part of Maggie, left no stone unturned, and he couldn't help but take solace in her warmth.
''You and your people were just like us, but you also weren't. I had loyalty in the beginning, but it was lost. There was a man I considered family – one I called brother – but that too was gone with the wind. In the end I was alone. Unable to trust those around me. Yours on the other hand…I saw the love and care you all had for one another. The trust and loyalty…'' Negan trailed off as he thought of what the Saviors were meant to be, what he was meant to be.
''The Savior…what a joke. I couldn't save anyone, but I will with you, Maggie. I'll save you if it's the last thing I do.''
You already have, Negan, thought Maggie as she looked to his hand intertwined with hers, the pad of his thumb brushing softly against her knuckles.
The warmth of him had become her comfort. Somewhere along the way she grew to yearn for it, be it just holding her hand like he was now or when he held her during the day and night. Maggie yearned for it, for him.
Negan…
Her emotions were all over the place when she heard him speak of the past. It took everything in her not to lash out, speak her mind as memories she didn't want to think about came to her.
It was only now that Negan held her hand that she was able to calm down and think properly. His touch soothed her, and she greedily clung to it as she began to think about what he said.
You say you hate conflict, yet you didn't seem to hate it when we were brought to you on our knees, Maggie thought as she remembered that shit eating grin of Negan's as he sauntered towards them from the RV. But then she thought further of what he said.
Conflict. It brings out the worst, and I'm no exception, she recalled him saying.
Maggie understood what Negan meant by that, knew it more than she was comfortable knowing. The war with the Saviors – the conflict that occurred – she saw how her bloodlust towards Negan got the better of her. How incapable she was of letting it go, the lengths she was willing to go to see him dead.
Executing Gregory the way that she did – making it a public hanging – was just a different chorus to the same song that Negan played at the very start when he lined them up. It was one thing when you were on the line to be killed. Maggie could never fathom how the other person could be so cruel and merciless, but then she became the executioner. Negan telling his part, she understood why. It didn't make the pain hurt any less when remembering the past, but she understood why he made the choice that he did.
It was why I made the choice to kill Gregory before everyone at the Hilltop.
It didn't make it right, be it Negan's or hers. She hanged the man in front of everyone young and old. From the children to the elderly, she hung their leader for them all to see and took over Hilltop. And Negan was right about conflict bringing out the worst. She became something else because of it.
And it didn't stop there either. The sanctioning of Oceanside to persecute the Saviors after the war had already ended, causing the rebellion of them and leading to people being killed. My need for Negan to die caused an insurrection, and because of it good people suffered. Rick being killed at the bridge, Michonne disappearing, Judith being left without her parents…
Maggie's need and desire to see the man dead and dying at her feet had changed her, made her unrecognizable even to herself.
I didn't think about his perspective at all, but it wasn't like he made it any easier. She guessed that was the whole point. Negan had his own pride, wouldn't try and have anyone see it any differently.
It made her heart ache to know he only said his side of things because he believed her to be comatose. Part of her wished he had said his piece then when she confronted him, but Maggie also knew that she wasn't like she was now. The old her wouldn't have listened, only grew angrier at thinking he was making excuses for himself.
But he's not. I know that now. More than ever, I know.
It shocked Maggie to learn that he knew she wasn't dead at that time, that Negan had decided to let her go. It changes everything, made her think about the past in a different light now that she acquired that piece of information.
She tried to recall the words he said when she confronted him at the prison. It came to her in fragments, but she remembered how he said he was hoping that it would be her, that his money was on her winning.
He didn't want to kill any more than he had to. I wouldn't have believed that then, but after all I've seen now, of what he just said…but why let me escape? He knew if he saw me again I'd be bringing hell with me, so why?
Maggie knew Negan had hoped to die after being imprisoned for so many years, but his decision to let her go was before then.
Me being pregnant at the time didn't mean Negan had to let me go. The way he said it too, there's more that he isn't saying. Why won't he say? What else don't I know, thought Maggie as she looked out to the blank sea of white that covered their surroundings. What else is he keepin', hiding away from me?
Maggie realized early on that there was a lot more than meets the eye when it came to Negan. More than she'd ever seen in anyone, she now understood after hearing him recall his side of things.
If I hadn't continued to pretend that I wasn't already fully conscious, I'd have never known any of this.
Things like him having considered someone a brother, how he felt about conflict, the man named Simon and why Negan had to kill him.
What did he see that made him believe tribute from the other communities was the right choice? What did Negan go through that made him the man he is today?
The more she learned the less she really knew about the man, and to hear him talk of Lucille – to see how affected he was and how content he looked just by mentioning her name – something hideous in Maggie twisted violently at the mention of his late wife. An emotion she'd never had for the woman flared in her.
Maggie didn't dare to name it, but she knew what it was. Just like everything else she felt when it came to Negan, she knew – just didn't dare to name.
Maggie wasn't Greene or Rhee anymore. Having any of it felt like a chain that held her to the past, and now more than ever the woman just wanted to be free from it. From the bitterness and the hate.
I held on to it for too long, and I didn't cherish what I still had until it was gone. Holding onto the past made me consumed with Negan when I should have been spending that time with Hershel instead.
Letting go of the past was the beginning to her changing, and with it how she felt for the man named Negan.
He let me go all those years ago. He saved me from having to be killed by what was left of my son, and since then the man has done nothing but take care of me all the while believing I'll kill him when it's time.
Maggie didn't know what to think about her changing feelings for Negan, but looking at his hand in hers, she knew in that moment that she wouldn't let him go. Couldn't.
It's crazy to think, but I need him. And I think he needs me too.
