Chapter 34 - Ella

Two days after I'd come home the Saviors arrived.

They didn't knock.

They just walked in—boots thudding against our floor, rifles slung like they were accessories, those smug-ass smirks plastered on their faces like it was a show. Like this was some performance and we were the audience. Or the punchline.

I didn't say a word.

I stood by the window with Ruby on my hip and Ian clinging to my leg like my shadow. My jaw was locked. My chest was tight. But I didn't speak. Couldn't. If I opened my mouth, I wasn't sure what would come out.

Not when they took the couch.

Not when they yanked up the armchair like it belonged to them.

Not even when one of them kicked over the kitchen stool and muttered, "Cheap shit anyway."

Daryl stood there like stone—no crossbow, no say. Just pure, boiling rage.

One of the others started unscrewing the legs from our table. Another rifled through the drawers, grabbing anything that sparkled like a magpie with a gun.

I shifted Ruby higher on my hip. Her little hand curled into my shirt.

When they carried the mattress right out the front door, I squeezed Ian's shoulder a little tighter.

When they unplugged the lamp from the corner and said, "Gonna look real nice in my place," I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it nearly bled.

And then I heard them upstairs.

Footsteps.

Furniture shifting.

I turned to Daryl. No words. Just a look.

Then I moved.

I didn't ask if I could. I didn't wait to be stopped.

I climbed those stairs like I was marching into a storm.

Two of them were already in our bedroom.

One had stripped the sheets. The other was leaning over Ruby's crib.

Her crib.

I stepped into the doorway and my whole body went cold.

"That's a baby's crib," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You don't need it."

The man didn't even look at me. Just grunted, "My niece just had a kid. Needs stuff."

"You can't take it."

He looked up then. Met my eyes. Smirked.

"You gonna stop me, little thing?"

He reached for it again.

And that's when something inside me snapped.

"No."

My voice cracked through the room, loud and sharp. I stepped between him and the crib like I was made of steel.

"You don't get to take my daughter's bed."

"Don't make this hard," he said, straightening up.

"It already is," I hissed. "You've taken everything else. Our food. Our beds. Our fucking spoons. You don't get this. You don't get to walk into my house, look at my baby's crib, and decide it belongs to you."

I felt Daryl move behind me, his hand landing lightly on my back, grounding me. But I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

Because I was staring the bastard down like I could light him on fire just by willing it.

And then—

That voice.

Smooth.

Rotten.

Lazy as sin.

"Well, damn, sounds like someone here's got a little spark."

I turned.

And there he was.

Negan.

Lucille slung across his shoulders like a crown of nails. That fucking grin already spreading as he looked me over like I was the most exciting thing he'd seen all day.

"Don't tell me we got ourselves a mama grizzly," he said, all teeth. "Because that? That I love."

I didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

I adjusted Ruby on my hip and stepped even closer to the crib.

Negan tilted his head like a curious dog. "You don't like sharing? Come on now, darlin'. That ain't very neighborly."

"Funny," I snapped. "You broke into my house, stole my bed, stole my table, threatened my husband—and now you want to play polite?"

He let out a low whistle, like I'd surprised him.

"Ooooh, that mouth. You married her, huh, Daryl?"

Daryl didn't answer. Didn't have to.

I took a step forward, the baby still warm against my ribs, her weight grounding me like an anchor.

"You want to take from people? Fine. Take our food. Take the couch. Take the damn forks. But you touch my kids' beds? You're crossing a line."

Negan walked closer, slow and grinning, like he was circling something he couldn't quite believe was real.

"Well shit, you're tiny. I could probably pick you up with one hand."

"Try it," I growled. "I bite."

He laughed. Loud and unfiltered. Clapped once like he couldn't help himself.

"You got a hell of a woman here, Daryl," he said. "Brave. Mouthy. Real fun."

I didn't break eye contact.

"If you're looking for fun, you can keep walking."

His eyes glittered. That grin never faded.

"I like her," he said.

"She's not for you," Daryl cut in, his voice low.

Negan looked at him, still grinning. "Relax, Daryl. I'm not here to take your wife."

Then he looked at me again. Slower.

"Just enjoying the view."

I raised a brow. "Glad to know sexual harassment's part of the Savior handbook."

He cackled, pointing at me like I'd just told a great joke.

"Shit," he said, looking to his guy. "Leave the crib. Let mama keep her claws."

Then he leaned in toward me—just a little. Too close.

"But I'll be thinking about that fire, darlin'. Hope you don't burn the place down."

I stared him dead in the eye.

"I'll make sure to start with you."

He straightened, all smug and swagger, like I'd made his whole damn week.

I thought they were done.

They'd taken the furniture. The food. The light out of this house.

The crib stayed. Barely.

I thought, maybe—just maybe—that would be it.

But then I heard his boots again.

That damn rhythmic stomp. Heavy. Confident. Too loud for a man who'd already stolen enough.

And there he was. Negan.

Stepping into the front room like it belonged to him.

He looked around like a man on a tour, eyes dragging over the stripped-down space, the corners where furniture used to sit, the dent in the wall where the couch had been dragged too rough.

And then his eyes landed on me.

Or maybe on Ian.

"Now this," he said, spreading his arms, "this is the part I love. The family moment."

Daryl stepped up beside me fast, blocking Ruby completely from view. I tightened my grip on Ian's shoulder and nudged him just behind my leg.

Negan's eyes sparkled like he was watching a show just for him.

"Oooooh. Look at that," he said, pointing at me like I was on stage. "Little mama bear. All teeth and tucked-in cubs."

"Walk away," I said. Quiet, sharp.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, tilting his head. "I came all this way. Shouldn't I introduce myself to the kids?"

Ian looked up at me, confused. "Mama?"

I crouched down fast. "It's okay, baby. Just stay right behind me."

His arms wrapped around my leg tighter. I felt his cheek press into the back of my thigh.

Negan stepped closer.

Daryl moved with him. Never once leaving Ruby's side.

"She got a name?" he asked, nodding toward my girl.

I didn't answer.

But Ruby babbled.

That soft little sound—innocent, sweet—cut through the air like a song in a nightmare.

Negan's smile widened. "Well, she's a peach, huh?"

"You don't talk to them," I said, rising back to my feet.

He laughed. "Relax, darlin'. I'm just bein' friendly."

I didn't blink. "Friendly doesn't break down doors."

"Ooooh," he purred. "Still got that fire. I love it."

He moved closer again, and this time I felt Daryl's hand on the small of my back, steadying me—but I didn't move.

"You know what?" Negan said, clapping his hands once. "I think we should keep this good energy goin'. I'd love for you to join me and Rick for a little stroll."

I stared at him.

"No."

He smiled like I'd just flirted with him. "C'mon now. Don't be like that. Walkin' through the streets with the Queen of Sass and her baby girl? That's a picture I need today."

I held Ruby a little tighter.

"You want me to walk with you," I said slowly. "While you take stock of everything you've stolen. With a baby on my hip."

His grin widened. "Exactly. Look at you, catchin' on."

"Why?" I snapped. "You want the people to see me smile and nod while you pick the bones off this town?"

He chuckled. "Nah. I want them to see that I like you."

"You like watching me bleed."

"Not true," he said. "I like watchin' you bite. And you? You got teeth, darlin'."

I swallowed the scream in my throat.

My grip on Ruby was starting to ache.

Daryl's hand slid lower on my back. A silent question. Are you okay?

I nodded once.

Just once.

Then I looked back at Negan.

"Fine," I said, biting off every syllable. "Let's walk."

He clapped again. "Now that's the spirit."

Ruby gurgled, her tiny fingers grabbing at my collar.

Negan looked downright giddy.

I didn't flinch.

I just stepped forward.

Because if I was going to burn, I'd make damn sure he burned with me.

I hated the way it felt.

The sun on my face. The weight of Ruby against my hip. The gravel crunching beneath my boots.

Because this walk?This wasn't a stroll.It was a parade. And I was the float.

Negan walked beside me, grinning like the goddamn king of the end of the world, Lucille slung across his shoulder like a badge of honor. Rick walked on my other side, silent and hollowed out, like he'd already buried half his soul.

And me?I smiled.

Not a real smile.Not the soft one I gave my babies.Not the crooked one Daryl loved.

No—this one was made of razors.

"Y'know," Negan said, loud enough for every porch in Alexandria to hear, "I gotta say... you clean up real nice, darlin'."

I turned to him, smile still carved into place. "Thanks. I dressed up for my captors."

He laughed, full belly and too many teeth. "Whew! You are a damn delight. Can't wait to see who else you piss off today."

Ruby shifted in my arms, her little fingers gripping my collar. I adjusted her without thinking.

"You sure that baby don't belong to me?" Negan drawled.

Rick twitched. I stopped walking.

Dead still.

Negan turned toward me, eyes wide with mock innocence.

"Joking," he grinned. "Mostly."

I stared him down. "You so desperate for a family you gotta fantasize about someone else's?"

Negan blinked.

Then he laughed. "Ooooh, that one hit deep. Keep 'em coming, sweetheart. I'm startin' to think you like me."

"I don't."

He leaned closer. "Then why walk with me?"

I took one more step.

"Because if I didn't, you'd knock on my door again. And this time, you might touch my kids."

Negan made a low sound, something like amusement but darker.

"That a threat?"

I smiled sweetly. "That's a promise."

We passed Rosita's place. Then Aaron's.

People were peeking out windows. Standing on porches. No one spoke.

But their eyes were locked on me—on the woman standing between a fallen sheriff and a man with a bat covered in blood.

Ruby babbled again. Her voice was too pure for this world.

Negan looked at her, just for a moment, and said, almost soft, "She got no idea how lucky she is."

"No," I said. "She doesn't."

He tilted his head. "You mean 'cause she's alive?"

I met his gaze. Held it.

"I mean because she'll never remember you."

And that?

That made him laugh the hardest yet.

"You," he said, wiping his eyes. "You are gonna make this so much fun."

I kept walking.

Because if he thought this was fun?

He hadn't seen what came next.

I hated the sound of his voice.

That smooth, cocky drawl sliding through the streets of my home like it belonged there. Like he belonged.

"Y'know," Negan said, tossing Lucille up into the air and catching her lazily, "if the world hadn't gone to shit, I bet you'd be working some high-power job, snapping at underpaid assistants and makin' grown men cry in meetings."

"I was a waitress," I said flatly.

He stopped walking for half a beat. Turned to me with genuine surprise.

"No shit?"

"No shit."

Negan laughed, all sharp teeth and gleam. "Even better. That means you already know how to deal with assholes."

I smiled. Sweet as poison. "Still waiting for the tip, though."

He howled. Literally. Head thrown back, booming through the streets like he was the goddamn mayor of Hell.

Rick walked beside us in silence, jaw tight, hands curled. He looked like he wanted to sink into the pavement.

And me?

I kept my steps steady. Ruby's weight against my ribs. Every bounce of her on my hip was a reminder—I was doing this for her. For Ian. For Daryl. For everyone.

Negan kept talking.

"And you walk like you run the place. I like that. There's power in posture, darlin'. You? You're straight-backed, chin up. Baby on one hip, verbal knives on the other. You're a damn sight better than Rick here."

"I'm better than you," I muttered.

He leaned toward me, grinning. "You're not wrong."

I stopped walking.

Negan stopped, too.

I looked up at him. "You keep flirting with me like you're forgetting I have a husband."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he said easily. "I just don't give a shit."

My grip on Ruby tightened.

He saw that.

He liked it.

"I'm not trying to get in your pants, darlin'," he went on, voice dropping an octave. "I'm tryin' to get in your head."

"Good luck," I shot back. "There's a 'No Trespassing' sign and a guard dog named Daryl."

Negan chuckled. "Daryl ain't barkin'. He's back there broodin'. You? You're out here with me. Walkin'. Talkin'. Spittin' fire. You think I don't notice when a woman lights up like this?"

"I think you've confused fire with loathing."

"Oh baby," he said, "I ain't confused at all."

I was about to answer—some sharp remark already sitting on my tongue—when the air cracked with the sound of a gunshot.

Everything stopped.

Negan turned.

Rick flinched.

And I felt Ruby jolt in my arms.

Another shot.

From the direction of the infirmary.

Negan's smile faded. "The hell—?"

One of his men came running, frantic. "Kid in the infirmary! Armed. Got a gun on Davie—won't let us touch the meds!"

My heart sank.

Carl.

Negan blinked once. "Well, shit."

I was already moving.

"Ella—" Rick called after me.

"I've got it!" I shouted, bolting toward the sound of trouble with Ruby still clutched tight. My shoulder ached from the weight, but I didn't stop.

I could already picture it.

Carl. Pissed. Hurt. Gun raised. The Saviors pushing him, taking too much.

And I could feel it in my gut—this was going to end badly if someone didn't stop it.

If I didn't stop it.

I stormed into the infirmary like the goddamn building was on fire.

Carl stood there, legs planted, gun cocked, aimed dead at two Saviors rifling through the meds like it was a goddamn shopping spree. His eyes were blazing. No fear. Just righteous fury.

Rick and Negan were right behind me.

"Put some back," Carl snarled. "Or the next one goes in you."

My heart seized.

"Carl," I said, low and steady, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Put the gun down, honey."

One of the Saviors actually chuckled. "Kid, what do you think happens next?"

"You die." Carl snapped. No hesitation. No bluff.

"Carl Grimes, you put that gun down. Now." I warned, taking a step closer. He looked at me, just a flick of his eyes, but didn't move.

"They're taking all of our medicine!" he barked, jerking the barrel toward the bastard clutching our painkillers. "They said they'd only take half!"

"Of course we did," Negan drawled, finally stepping into the room with a smirk like this was all just dinner theater for him.

Carl didn't even blink.

He locked eyes with Negan. Fire meeting gasoline.

"You should go," Carl said, voice sharp. "Before you find out how dangerous we really are."

Negan actually laughed.

"Well pardon me, young man," he chuckled, practically gleaming with delight. "Excuse the shit outta my goddamn French, but... did you just threaten me?"

He pointed lazily toward the Savior with the meds. "Look, I get threatening Davie here. He's got one of those punchable faces. But me? I can't have that."

"Carl," I hissed through clenched teeth, stepping in closer. "Put the fucking gun down."

Negan wagged a finger at me without looking. "Whoa, whoa there, Mama Bear. Let's not be rude. Me and the kid are just having ourselves a little heart to heart."

He turned back to Carl, eyes lit with interest, not fury. Like Carl was a science experiment.

"Now where were we?" he mused, stroking his chin like this was all some casual debate. "Oh yeah. Your giant, man-sized balls."

He stepped closer.

Carl's aim didn't waver. Not an inch.

My heart dropped into my stomach. Ruby squirmed against my hip.

If he laid a hand on Carl—I'd kill him. I didn't care if it cost me everything. That boy was mine. Maybe not by blood, but by choice. And I'd go down swinging.

"No threatening us, alright?" Negan said, still grinning. "Now I like you, kid. I do. So I don't want to go too hard proving a point here, 'cause you really don't want that. I said half your shit, and half is what the hell I say it is. I'm serious."

Then he smiled wider—showing teeth. "You want me to prove how serious? Again?"

"Carl," I said quietly, extending my hand. "Give it to me."

He looked at me.

Then at Ruby.

And slowly—so slowly—he lowered the gun and handed it to me with a heavy, soul-deep sigh.

I took it without pause and immediately handed it to Negan before stepping between them like a shield.

"There. He's sorry. Now get the hell out of the infirmary."

Negan took the gun with a low whistle. "Hot damn. You are efficient."

He glanced between me and Carl, eyes sparkling with a little too much interest.

"Don't tell me he's one of yours too?" he asked, lips curling into a smirk. "You been fuckin' Rick and Daryl? That's badass."

I rolled my eyes so hard it gave me a headache. "Keep your nose in your own sex life, Negan."

"She's not my mom," Carl muttered, still tense.

I elbowed him in the ribs—gently, but enough to make him grunt.

"You've done enough," I whispered through clenched teeth.

Negan just beamed. Like we were all on some fun little reality show.

Negan turned the gun over in his hands like it was a toy. Like he was thinking.

Which meant we were screwed.

And then he said it. So casual it made my skin crawl.

"You know... this reminds me."

Rick looked up like he already knew where this was going.

"That little visit y'all made to one of our outposts," Negan said, turning the pistol in his hand like he was stirring a memory. "Guns blazing, people dyin'—ring any bells? I believe you took our guns. And I think it's time we got 'em back."

Rick's jaw clenched.

Negan smiled wider.

"Let's hit the armory, boys. Bring me everything. Every. Single. One."

He tossed me a wink. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'll bring this little one back to you safe and sound."

He waved the pistol, then sauntered out like the king of jackals, Rick trailing behind him.

The second the door swung shut behind Negan, I turned on Carl so fast he barely had time to blink.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I hissed.

He straightened up like he was bracing for impact, but that just made it worse—he stood a good ten inches taller than me now. The nerve.

"I—"

"No. No. You don't get to talk first."

I adjusted Ruby on my hip and marched right up to him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"You pulled a gun on the Saviors. In front of Negan. Over our medicine. Did you forget who we're dealing with? Did you forget what he did to Glenn and Abraham? Because I didn't. And I sure as hell haven't forgotten what he'd do to you."

Carl's eyes flicked away, but I wasn't done.

"What was your plan, huh? Shoot one of them and then what? Go full action movie? You'd be dead before the clip hit the ground. And me? I'd be right behind you, Carl. Because there's no world where I let them touch you without taking a few down with me."

He looked down, jaw locked, and muttered, "I was just trying to help."

"By getting yourself killed?"

Silence.

I paced once, breath hot in my chest, then stopped and looked up at him—really looked at him. His face was still set in that stubborn teenager scowl, but his hands were trembling.

I sighed, rubbing the heel of my hand across my forehead.

Then I reached out and grabbed him by the waist, tugging him down—hard.

"Get your tall ass down here."

He blinked, confused, but bent slightly.

I reached up, still on my damn toes, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"You absolute menace," I muttered against his hair.

Carl made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "Did you just manhandle me?"

"You're damn right I did," I said, still holding onto his waist with one arm. "I brought you into this apocalypse, I can sure as hell drag you through it."

"I'm taller than you."

"Not in authority."

He snorted, eyes flicking to Ruby. "You elbowed me in the ribs."

"I went easy on you."

"Didn't feel easy."

"I'm carrying a baby, Carl. You should count yourself lucky."

His mouth twitched—almost a smile.

I eased back, letting my hand linger against his side for one more second before stepping away.

"Don't scare me like that again."

"I'll try."

"No," I said, giving him the look. The one that makes Ian freeze mid-cookie theft. "Don't."

He nodded.

And for just a moment, I forgot about Negan. The guns. The storm still coming.

Because Carl was here.

He was safe.

He was mine.

Even if he could rest his chin on my head without trying.

I barely had time to exhale before the door slammed open.

"ELLA—!"

Daryl's voice hit the walls like a shotgun blast, and then he was there—charging into the room, boots heavy, panic carved into every line of his face.

He had Ian on his hip, the kid wide-eyed and gripping Daryl's vest with both hands. Ruby squealed softly from my arms, kicking her little feet at the sight of her brother.

"Jesus," Daryl breathed when he saw me. Saw all of us still standing. His eyes flicked over me, Ruby, Carl—searching for blood, for pain, for the worst.

"We're okay," I said quickly, stepping toward him. "We're okay, baby."

He looked at me like he didn't believe it—like he couldn't—and then he surged forward, wrapping one arm around my waist and the other around Ian and Ruby at once.

He held all three of us.

Pressed his face into my neck and just breathed.

"Thought—fuck—I thought—" he whispered.

"I know." I stroked the back of his hair, kissed his temple. "It's okay."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, then turned to Carl.

"You wanna tell me why the hell there was a gunshot in the middle of town?" he asked, voice low and tight.

I stepped aside.

Carl stood there, jaw clenched, already bracing.

Daryl narrowed his eyes.

And I said, "He pulled a gun on two Saviors. Over the medicine."

Daryl blinked once.

Then without hesitation, he reached out and smacked the back of Carl's head.

Not hard—but loud. Sharp. A classic "what the hell were you thinking" southern-dad-style thwack.

"HEY!" Carl barked, stepping back, rubbing his skull.

"That's for makin' me think I was about to bury you," Daryl snapped. "You ever pull that shit again, you better be damn sure it's worth dying for."

Carl looked at me like do you see this shit? and I just shrugged.

"You're lucky that's all you got," I said. "I was ready to throw a shoe."

"Y'all are violent," Carl muttered.

"You're reckless," I fired back. "And in this house? That gets corrected real quick."

Ian tugged on Daryl's vest. "Why'd Uncle Carl do a bad thing?"

Carl groaned.

Daryl looked down at Ian, softening just a touch. "He forgot to use his brain."

Ian gasped. "He forgot his whole brain?!"

"Looks like it," I said.

Carl glared at us both.

But he was smiling.

Just barely.

I reached up—on my damn toes again—and swatted at his messy hair.

"Go back to our place," I said. "And next time you try to be the hero, maybe think twice."

Carl rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom."

He left.

And Daryl?

Daryl stayed right there, arms still around me, still breathing like he hadn't quite recovered.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded. Then shook his head.

"Don't do that again," he whispered.

I kissed his cheek. "Wasn't me this time."

He grunted. "Still counts."

I thought it was over.

I hoped it was over.

The air was starting to cool, the sun drifting lower in the sky. Ruby was curled up against my chest, eyelids heavy. Daryl's hand was warm on my back. Ian had one arm wrapped around Daryl's neck and the other clinging to my sleeve like Velcro.

Home was ten steps away.

Just ten goddamn steps.

And then I heard him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa now," Negan called, his voice slick and sweet like oil on gravel. "Where do you think you're going?"

I froze.

Daryl tensed beside me, every muscle pulled tight like he was one breath from snapping.

"We're going home," I said without turning around.

"But why?" Negan drawled, sauntering up like he had all the time in the world. "I thought we were having so much fun. You, me, the little firecracker there,"—he nodded at Ian—"hell, let's keep the show going. One more stroll."

"I said we're going home," I repeated, this time more forcefully.

I had Ruby cradled in one arm, Daryl at my side, Ian perched on his hip with that familiar pout twisting his little face. Carl had already peeled off, heading back toward our street—but Ian? Ian wasn't letting go.

Not even a little.

"No!" Ian shrieked, sudden and loud. "No no no! I want Mommy!"

He started wriggling, fighting, feet kicking hard against Daryl's thighs.

My heart snapped in two.

Daryl tried to soothe him, tried to calm him down, but Ian's voice just got louder.

"Don't leave me, Mommy! Don't leave!"

"Ian, baby, I'm right here," I said, my voice trembling.

He reached for me like he was drowning.

"I need you!"

And I broke.

I turned to Daryl, gently pressing Ruby into his arms, and then stepped forward, crouching just enough to pull Ian into me.

The second I touched him, his little arms locked around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist like he was trying to climb inside my chest.

He was shaking. Sobbing. Eyes red and wild.

"You're okay," I whispered, over and over. "I've got you, baby. I've got you."

His little fists curled in the back of my shirt. "Don't leave me!"

Daryl looked at me, stricken. Torn between fury and heartbreak.

And then, of course—Negan.

"Well, shit," he grinned from behind us, tone all silk and sin. "Didn't know we were getting a whole family portrait today."

I didn't answer.

I kept my head bent toward Ian, brushing his hair back, whispering soft things just for him. His breath hitched in my ear.

Negan stepped closer.

"I'll say it again, darlin'," he said. "Come walk with me. Show the town how tight we are. Hell, bring the cub. I'm feeling generous."

Daryl shifted forward like he was going to rip the man's throat out.

"Back. Off," he growled.

Negan just smiled.

"Easy, Daddy Dixon. Ain't looking to start a fight," he drawled. "Just wanna take a stroll with Mama Bear and the little growler here. That so bad?"

I didn't look at him. Not yet.

But I felt Ian's grip loosen, just a little. His voice was raw.

"Mommy?"

"I'm here," I said again, softer now. "I'm right here."

He nodded against my shoulder, tears still clinging to his lashes.

And I turned.

Squarely.

To face Negan.

"Fine," I said through clenched teeth. "Let's walk."

He grinned wide enough to split his face in half. "Atta girl."

So we walked.

Just me, Negan, and Ian—his little hand still wrapped tight around mine, his tiny legs doing their best to keep up.

Negan kept up the commentary.

"Y'know," he said as we strolled past the garden beds, "I like this version of you. Still fiery. Still bitey. But now you got a kid at your hip? That's a look. That's real power."

I didn't answer.

He looked over at me, grin curling. "You ever think about trading up?"

I snorted. "Is this the part where you insult my husband again?"

He laughed. "No, darlin'. This is the part where I make you an offer."

I paused.

"An offer?" I echoed, deadpan.

"Mhmm," he said, stepping a little closer, voice lower now. "Join me. Be one of my wives."

I blinked.

Then I laughed.

Loud. Sharp. Like glass breaking.

It echoed across the street.

"Oh, fuck," I said, wiping a tear from my eye. "That was serious?"

Negan grinned. "Dead serious."

I shook my head, still chuckling. "You want a wife that threatens to stab you every time you breathe too loud?"

"Oh honey," he purred, "you have no idea how into that I am."

Ian tugged on my hand.

"Mommy," he said, confused, "you're already married."

"I am," I said, smiling down at him. "To your dad. Who I actually like."

Ian frowned up at Negan. "You can't marry her. She's ours."

Negan howled. Hands on his knees, doubled over laughing.

"Ours, he says!" he roared. "Oh, shit. Kid's already better at claiming than your man."

"He's five," I said flatly. "What's your excuse?"

Negan wiped his eyes, still grinning.

"I like you," he said again, voice smooth as ever. "I really like you."

I looked him straight in the eye.

"And I'd rather chew off my own leg."

We walked past what used to be Olivia's porch.

Ian was glued to my side, clinging like my shadow. Every so often, his little fingers twitched in my grip—like he was still afraid I might vanish if he blinked too long.

Negan, meanwhile?

Negan was living his best life.

He strolled beside me like we were just out enjoying the weather, Lucille slung lazy across his shoulders, smile carved deep into his smug face.

"You know," he said, like we were mid-flirt and not trapped in a warlord's victory lap, "I wasn't kiddin' back there."

"Oh, I know," I muttered.

"I'd take good care of you," he went on, voice dipping a notch. "Real good."

"Right."

"I mean it, darlin'. You wouldn't have to worry about food. Or safety. Or the rugrats. Hell, I'd treat you like a queen."

I arched a brow. "And in return, what? I just have to pretend I'm impressed?"

Negan grinned wider.

"Nah. No pretending. I think you are impressed," he said, dropping his voice to a murmur. "You just don't want to admit it."

I snorted. "You're confusing shock with nausea."

He chuckled. "You sure? You're not just a little curious? I mean, I am good at a lotta things. Real good. And I got a huge—"

"Negan." I cut him off before he could finish, nodding toward Ian. "Little ears."

Negan smirked, not even a little sorry. "Right, right. My bad."

I looked down at Ian.

He was scowling at the ground, quiet now, but I could feel the way he kept inching closer—trying to put more space between me and the man walking beside us.

Negan caught the look.

"Aww," he said. "Look at that. The kid's jealous."

"He's protective," I corrected. "Unlike some people."

"Protective, huh? You teach him that?"

"No," I said. "He was born that way."

I squeezed Ian's hand.

He squeezed back.

Negan clicked his tongue. "You know, you've got a thing, darlin'. I mean, really—you're fire, bite, motherly instincts, a killer glare... It's working for me."

"You're barking up the wrong tree," I muttered.

"You sure? What's so bad about being my wife?" he asked, genuinely curious now. "You'd be safe. Comfortable. Respected. Fed. Worshipped, even."

I looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You think comfort is gonna win me over?"

He shrugged. "That, and maybe my huge—"

"Negan." I shot him another look.

He winked. "Right. Sorry. Just sayin'—you got options, sweetheart."

I stopped walking.

Dead still.

Ian bumped into my side, blinking up at me.

I turned, full-on, and stared Negan down.

"I already have someone who loves me," I said. "Who protects me. Who respects me. And he doesn't have to dangle food or power to keep me. He's just... mine. And I'm his. That's what love looks like, in case you've forgotten."

Negan's grin faltered—but only a little.

"You sure about that?" he asked.

I nodded. "Absolutely."

Ian tugged my sleeve. "She's married," he announced firmly. "To Dad. You can't marry her too. That's weird."

I almost choked.

Negan howled, again.

"Shit," he laughed. "You're raising a little sniper here, darlin'. He's got better aim than some of my men."

I gave Ian a gentle nudge. "That's because he's mine."

Negan tilted his head, still watching me with that sharp, too-interested gleam.

"You keep this up," he said, "and I might just fall in love."

"You keep this up," I said sweetly, "and I might just stab you."

The walk felt like a goddamn century.

Ian didn't let go of my hand once.

We made it to our front steps just as the sun started dipping low, turning Alexandria gold. Ruby was quiet. Daryl stood on the porch like a goddamn statue—arms folded, shoulders coiled like a snake ready to strike.

Ian looked up at me, then at Negan, then back.

"Go inside, baby," I said softly. "Check on your sister."

He hesitated.

"I'm okay," I promised.

Reluctantly, he nodded. Then trotted up the steps and past Daryl, who ruffled his curls with a tight-lipped glance before turning back to us.

I stepped onto the first step.

Negan didn't move.

He just smiled.

"Nice place," he said, glancing around like he was already imagining how it'd look with his boots on the coffee table.

Daryl didn't say a word.

But his jaw ticked.

Negan turned back to me, his eyes bright with that twisted glint he got whenever I talked back, stood tall, bared teeth.

And then—casual as ever—he said, "You know, the offer still stands."

I stared at him.

"You and me," he went on, like this was just some flirty afternoon chat. "No rules. No lines. You can even bring the cubs. Hell, I'll build you a whole house. Fancy one. With a fuckin' swing set. All you gotta do is say yes."

Daryl shifted.

He didn't step forward.

But I felt the way the air changed around him—like every inch of him was screaming to lunge. To end it here.

I raised a hand behind me, small, subtle.

He stopped.

Because he trusted me.

Negan smiled wider. "I'm just sayin', you got options, darlin'. Why waste yourself here?"

I smiled too.

Sweet.

Sharp.

Lethal.

"You want the truth?" I asked.

"Always."

I stepped up onto the second step—eye level now. Close enough to smell the sweat and steel on him.

"If you were the last man alive," I said, "I'd fuck a cactus before I touched you."

Negan blinked once.

Then barked out a laugh—loud, dirty, delighted.

"Jesus Christ," he grinned, backing up slowly. "You're gonna be the death of me, Mama Bear."

"Here's hoping."

He looked at Daryl.

Then at me.

Then down the street.

Negan let out another guttural laugh, doubling over like I'd just delivered the world's filthiest stand-up routine.

"A cactus, huh?" he wheezed. "Oh darlin'... Stars above. You are one cruel little bitch."

"Thank you," I said sweetly.

He wiped a hand down his face, still grinning.

Then his eyes found mine again—hot, dark, and shining with something filthier than a thousand Lucille swings.

"You know what that mouth does to me?" he asked, voice dropping into a low, dirty rasp.

My smile faded.

"You open that pretty little mouth and say shit like that?" He stepped in—just a hair. "It makes me want to bend you over right here on this porch and remind your entire goddamn block what it sounds like when a woman screams my name."

Daryl's boot scraped the wood.

I didn't even blink.

I leaned in, just enough for my voice to slice back like a razor blade.

"You say that again in front of my house, in front of my husband—" I nodded toward Daryl without taking my eyes off him— "and I'll carve your dick off and feed it to the walkers."

Negan exhaled through his nose, shaking with delight.

"Goddamn, Mama Bear. I am gonna be thinking about that all night."

"You do that," I said. "And next time? Dream about getting curb-stomped. Because that's the only fantasy of me you'll ever have."

He laughed again, turning to walk backwards now—eyes still locked on me.

"You're a nasty little thing," he called. "And I fuckin' love it."

He finally turned fully, swaggering back down the street like he owned it.

And me?

I just stood there.

Breathing.

Watching him leave.

The second Negan disappeared around the corner, I turned.

And Daryl?

He was already moving.

Not toward me.

Not toward the house.

He was pacing.

Back and forth on the porch boards, fingers twitching at his sides, breathing hard—like if he stopped moving, he'd snap in half from the pressure coiling through him.

"Daryl," I said softly.

No answer.

His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking like a clock counting down to detonation.

"Daryl."

Still no answer.

And then—right on cue—Carl pushed open the front door.

"What the hell did he say to you?" he asked, already scowling, already halfway out.

That did it.

Daryl's eyes snapped to him, wild and burning.

"Go back inside," he growled.

Carl didn't flinch. "I saw him. From the window. He—"

"I said get back in the fucking house."

"Daryl!" I barked, stepping between them. "No."

Carl looked between us, confused and tense.

"Inside," I said again, softer this time. "Please."

Carl muttered something under his breath, but turned and stepped back in, the door swinging shut behind him.

I turned back to Daryl.

He was still pacing.

Faster now.

One hand tangled in his hair, the other clenching into a fist so tight I could hear his glove creak.

"Baby," I said gently, stepping into his path. "Stop."

He didn't.

So I reached out, took his hand, and forced him to stop.

His eyes locked on mine, wide and cracked with something deep.

"He fuckin' said he wanted to bend you over our porch," he snarled. "Like he fuckin'—like I'm just supposed to stand here while he talks about you like that—"

"Hey." I stepped in closer, both hands on his face now. "He's gone. I'm here. And he can't touch me."

Daryl's breathing was ragged.

"I should've killed him," he muttered. "Should've ripped his fuckin' tongue out. I heard him, El—he wants you. Wants to take you from me."

I pressed my forehead to his.

"No one is taking me from you."

He shook his head. "He don't care. He'll keep pushin'. Tryin'. Saying shit in front of the kids—"

"And I'll keep biting back," I said firmly. "You don't have to fight this one alone."

"I am alone," he whispered. "'Cause if I touch him, if I look at him wrong—he'll kill somebody. One of ours. Carl. Rick. You."

I kissed him. Just once.

Soft.

Fierce.

"I'm yours, Daryl Dixon," I whispered. "In every way that matters. He can talk all he wants. But he's never gonna have me."

He pulled me in then—rough, desperate, forehead to mine, hands buried in my shirt like he needed something to hold or he'd come undone.

And I let him.

Because he wasn't okay.

And I wasn't going anywhere.