Negan sits on his jet-black couch, a glass of scotch in one hand, wife number 3 in the other. His feet are resting on the glass coffee table the Saviors managed to scavenge a couple of weeks ago. Since then he's been demanding nearly everyone to go up to his room to have a talk – obviously to showcase his new furniture.

The woman under his arm sighs, lifting her head to look up at him, "Are we just going to sit here for the rest of the day?"

Negan grins, amused by her usual loud mouth, "You can suck my dick again, if you want."

She rolls her eyes and puts her head back on his shoulder, feeling the vibration of his chuckle underneath.

Five more minutes pass as he sips on his drink, regarding how good the glass looks between the black couch and chair.

The static of the walkie-talkie on his hip brings some life back into the room. His wife pulls away, relieved that at least now he is going to be distracted by something other than her, and that stupid coffee table.

"Boss, we have a new arrival," Dwight grumbles from the other line. The wife stands up and watches Negan plant his feet back on the ground.

She smiles slightly, half of it fake and the other half genuine. She has better things to do today. He reaches for her hand and kisses her palm before letting her run free.

"Send them up to me," he answers Dwight after the wife leaves, his eyes on the coffee table, his smile wider than ever. One more person to show off to.

The static hisses again but there is no reply for a long time. Negan raises his brow, playing with the antenna. He loses his patience after he counts to ten.

"Dwight, where the fuck is my reply, goddamit-"

The static hisses again and a loud shriek makes him drop his device.

"Fucking shit, holy goddamn!"

He picks up the walkie-talkie and growls, pressing the button to yell at Dwight, but he cuts him off, "Sorry, sir, we're having some trouble containing-"

"Having some trouble?" he growls, "What the fuck are you trying to restrain, a goddamn pig sty?!"

"She won't listen or-"

"She?" Negan's grin returns. Again, he waits for a reply but only the sound of banging and clanging comes. A feisty one, "Jesus, if you pricks can't contain this, then I fucking will."

Shoving his device back in the holster on his hip, he gets up and shrugs on his leather jacket. Lucille is waiting for him beside his bed. He grins before picking her up and walking out of the door.

Negan almost drops Lucille at the sight in front of him.

His men – his six men – are cowering away from the column in the dining hall. It is empty because dinner is over and only the cleaners are lingering around… but his men. Including Dwight. He shakes his head in disbelief.

A couple are hiding under a table. One is sat in the corner of the room, clutching his head in pain. Blood is evident on his temple. Some are starting to circle around the threat behind the column, guns raised.

"Hold your fire!" Negan bellows, swinging Lucille by his side as he steps into the hall. Dwight turns to him and sighs in relief, straightening up.

"She's over there," he points to the column, casting his gaze away from the leader nervously. Negan glares down at him, taking his precious time.

"You wanna fucking explain why my men have turned into a bunch of pussies?" everyone glances over at Negan, the relief in their faces overwhelming.

He looks around the hall again. Simon isn't here. That explains a lot.

"We… we tried t-to-" Dwight starts to speak but Negan walks past him, ignoring his voice. He is curious. And slightly amused. But mostly disappointed.

He stands behind Dave who is aiming his rifle at the girl behind a cement column. Negan smirks slightly and places a hand on his back, moving with him just in case she is one of those crazies from his past, trying to get revenge.

But as closer as he gets, he notices that she does not have a gun. Only a knife. And it is pointed in the general direction of his Saviors.

"You've caused all this fucking trouble?" Negan asks playfully, releasing Dave and stepping closer with no barrier this time. The girl jabs her knife towards him and he jumps back, "Calm down, sweetheart."

"We found her near the gates," Dwight speaks up, more confidently, "Nearly took her down. Thought she was a walker."

"That. I can believe," Negan murmurs.

By the state that she is in, anybody can mistake her as one of the dead ones.

Her messy brown hair is tangled at her waist. There are some leaves buried beneath her locks. Interesting. She put up a fight.

Her vibrant blue eyes glare up at the leader, making him smile more and more. It's as if her anger powers him.

"Tell me again, Dwighty boy," he shouts so that everybody in the hall can hear him, "How did she manage to cause all your balls to shrink and give Chris over there a concussion?"

The girl glances at the man who is clutching his head. Negan bites the inside of his cheek, sensing now that she is not here for revenge. She is just as clueless as he is. And she is soaking up all the new information like a champ. Atta girl.

"With… with a crowbar, sir," Dwight mutters. He is nervous again.

"A crowbar?" Negan raises his eyebrows, never taking his eyes off her. She seems to relax slightly, but her arm is still raised with the knife in her hand.

The leader's eyes wander down her torn jeans and up her muddy sweater. With the vision he was given by the Gods, he outlines the curves of her hips and the hourglass figure beneath the layers. Yes. She will do just fine.

"Well, I'm sure this was just a misunderstanding," Negan props Lucille on his shoulder, and her eyes follow, "Right, darling?"

To his surprise, she answers, "Right." Her voice is firm, yet it trembles.

"Great!" Negan jumps up, raising his hand to wave off his army, "Now. Everyone behind me, go fuck yourselves."

All the men scatter except from Chris, who has to be half-carried out of the hall. The girl starts lowering her weapon, observing how the tall man in front of her steps closer.

"I'm Negan," he smirks, gesturing to his bat, "This is Lucille."

The girl stares at him blankly. He waves his hand towards her.

"And you are…?"

She licks her dry lips and hugs the column with one arm, hiding half of her body, "Ali."

"What is Ali short for?"

She pauses, glancing at his bat again, "I want to go."

Negan pinches the bridge of his nose, "You're not staying for dessert?"

Ali does not seem to find him amusing. Which sort of pisses him off. He steps back slowly, gesturing around him.

"Dwighty-boy over there thought you were a corpse," his smile falters slightly, "Why were you lurking near our gates, doll? Did you need some help?"

His forehead fills with lines as he waits for his reply. Ali shakes her head timidly, looking over at the nearest door. Already planning her escape.

"Now, I don't know where the fuck you were raised, sweetheart… but around here, you speak when you're spoken to."

Ali widens her eyes momentarily, casting his expletives as threats.

Negan sighs loudly, running a hand down his face which makes him close his eyes. She takes this as an opportunity to look him over. Shiny boots. Slim jeans. Belt slightly undone. Black hair visible beneath his white shirt.

Their eyes meet again.

"Ali," he slurs lazily, his smile crawling back onto his face, "Would you like to have a hot meal? Maybe a shower? We have running water here. And you look like you need our help. So, don't tell me no."

Her hand is completely lowered by this point. She tucks the knife into her waist band. Negan watches her, smiling slightly.

"Yes, please."

He places a hand on his heart comically, letting out a grunt, "Oh, darling. It would be my pleasure."

The halls are quiet at this time of day. So, when Negan leads Ali up to his room, she only sees glimpses of men and some women walking in and out of her view.

The leader whistles in front of her, swinging his most prized possession around carelessly. Ali nearly stumbles into his back when he stops abruptly, "Here we are, doll."

Her arms wrap around her middle as Negan opens a door, gesturing with his head.

"After you, sugar."

Gingerly, she saunters in, her eyes glued to the floor. Negan seems almost disappointed as he slams the door behind him, "Well, take a goddamn look!" There is a long pause, "Look at my new table."

She hears a smile in his voice so she does. It's made of glass, the edges framed with a wooden plait. It's… nice. But she does not know what he wants her to say.

When she feels his breath on the back of her neck, her legs bring her to the middle of the room. He nods slowly.

"Yeah… okay," he sets Lucille down on the biggest armchair she has ever seen, "Welcome. Take a fucking seat. Make yourself feel at fucking home."

Ali flinches, but when she looks over her shoulder he is smiling. Right. He just swears when he's happy?

"What would you like to eat, darling?"

She moistens her lips, feeling her stomach clench at the word, "Anything."

"Well, you can pick," he shrugs, his jacket falling into his hands. He throws it over the back of his armchair, "Anything, doll. Don't be shy."

Ali glances at her fingers. Most of her fingernails have red beneath them, "Spaghetti?"

Just when she thinks he is going to deny her the choice, he grabs his walkie-talkie, "Darling, I feel like you were made especially for me."

She doesn't know how to take that, so she sits down on the big couch, face neutral. Negan orders somebody on the other line to bring one serving of spaghetti up to his room, and she thinks she hears him say something along the lines of 'fucking ice for the scotch'.

She feels him sit right beside her, legs touching. Her heart clenches in her chest and she scoots away, feeling something stir within her. Why is she here? She is so stupid. These people could be murderers.

"How about a shower?" she glances over at him. He is leaning forward to try and see her face behind the thick curtains on her head.

Ali wants to nod or shake her head, but all that she can do is focus on her breathing. This could be a trap. He could be a pervert. He could rape her.

When a warm finger touches her chin, all hell breaks loose. Automatically, she slaps his hand away, earning a confused look from the man, "Stop it."

"Woah, woah, it's alright, darling," his eyebrows knit together. The last thing she needs is for him to get mad.

Tears prick at her eyeballs and the sound of his voice becomes muffled by the ringing in her ears. She was desperate. She needed food. And shelter. And that made her stupid. Why is she here?

"Stop it!" she shrieks as his hand cups the bone of her knee.

Negan raises his hands, moving over to the other side of the couch. Well, at least he is not one of those people.

"Doll, you're safe," he is confused, wondering what could possibly have caused that reaction, "It's alright, I'm not trying to hurt you. Am I hurting you?"

His eyes scan over her face for bruises or anything that could suggest why she became a blubbering mess on his couch.

For a second, he thinks about putting an arm around her shoulders but it does not sit well with him. He settles for intertwining his fingers together, glancing over to the crying girl. She calms down quickly, wiping at her face.

"Jesus, okay," he sighs, closing his eyes briefly. She feels him getting up off the couch and standing right in front of her. She looks up once her eyes are dry. His face softens, "Go and take a shower. There's a towel and a robe you can put on for now in the bathroom, alright?"

Ali nods slightly, watching him consider offering her his hand, but he steps away at the last second.

"I'll be out here. Wait," he pauses, "Do you have any injuries? Because we have a doctor."

He starts looking for any bleeding on her body, still slightly confused by her outburst. Politely, she shakes her head and thanks him, walking over to the door he is pointing at.

As she disappears from his view, he puckers his lips. She didn't even comment on his new table.