Author's Note: Bury My Heart (Rick/OC) and Hide Your Fires (Negan/OC) are AU stories that diverge from Goodnight Love but can be read as standalones, and can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

'I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.'

Sylvia Plath

...'and the love, whatever it was, an infection'...

Anne Sexton

Down This Yellow Brick Road

"Imo, can you handle this order?" Sara said between violent coughs. "Sorry" -

- "Hey, just get yourself a glass of water, alright," Imogen interrupted, going over to Table 3, sidestepping Zoe armed with a plate of waffles. "I'll take this."

"Thanks," Sara said gratefully, rushing off, clamping her hand over her mouth as she moved.

The elegantly dressed old woman occupying Table 3 glanced up as Imogen came over. "Could I have a lemonade with ice, please?" she asked politely, putting the menu down. "I am positively parched."

"Sure, sugar," Imogen chirped, her cheeks aching with having smiled all day, Lula-Mae always ready to lambast her waitresses for wearing less than a fifty-watt smile. "I'll rustle it up, pronto."

"Oh, you're English?" the old woman said with some surprise, assessing Imogen over the edge of her aviators. "What part of London do you hail from?"

Imogen bit her lip. "I used to live in Kent," she said, passing over the old woman's automatic assumption every English person was from London, having encountered this attitude too many times before, "but I was born in GA" -

- "Imo, can you give me a hand with Table 6?" Casey cut in, looking harassed. "Major spillage goin' down – Tiana's gonna mop the floor but the table is a whole other tale." She moved on, coughing harshly into the crook of her elbow, making Imogen frown.

"I'll need to postpone my life-story," Imogen apologized to the old woman, "if you'll excuse me."

"Take your time," the old woman said, picking up the menu to peruse again.

Imogen nodded, tucking her pen in her ponytail, before making her way over to the counter. "Dana," she said, "could you pass me some kitchen roll? Table 6 is currently flooded."

"Sure," Dana said, ringing up the till as she threw Imogen the kitchen roll at the same time, "but I thought Casey was handlin' that order."

"She's coughing her guts up," Imogen answered, "and so's Sara. I hope they're not coming down with something."

"What, that flu?" Dana said darkly. "No point, beatin' about the bush, honey. Say it as it is."

Imogen just raised her eyebrows, before going over to Table 6, making short work of wiping up the table-top, promising the errant family free refills all round. She hurriedly collected their wet plates and cutlery, before beating a retreat, edging her way around Zoe again and the heavily laden tray she was now brandishing.

"Table 6," Imogen said to Tiana as she passed her, "but be careful, floor's slippy."

"Thanks," Tiana said, saluting Imogen with her mop, "don't want to end up on my ass."

"Been there, done that," Imogen sing-songed as Lula-Mae sashayed past, all hairspray and high heels.

"Are my girls workin' hard?" Lula-Mae shot over her shoulder at Imogen as she headed into the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I hope so," Lula-Mae retorted, the double-doors swinging shut behind her.

"Bitch," Imogen muttered under her breath, earning a sympathetic eye-roll from Casey.

"Tell me about it," Casey then said from between coughs, pulling out her notebook, heading over to Table 5. "Thanks for coverin' me, hun."

"Maybe you should see a doctor about that," Imogen suggested, "sounds bad."

"S'alright, I got it under control."

"Yeah and I'm Taylor Swift," Zoe hissed to Imogen as she veered around her, "sounds like she's got the goddamn Black Death from where I'm standin'."

Imogen nodded, but left it that, all too aware of the animosity that existed between Zoe and Casey, not wanting to be seen taking sides.

"Nice lookin' boy," Dana observed as Imogen swept past, dumping the plates and cutlery down on the counter, "I like 'em clean-cut."

"Who's clean-cut?" Imogen said distractedly, filling up three tall boy glasses in quick succession, before setting them down on her tray.

"Sheriff's deputy from King County," Dana said, nodding at the small television perched on the shelf just above Imogen's head, "got shot attendin' a high-speed chase just there."

Imogen glanced up at the television screen, catching a fleeting glimpse of a photograph showing a man wearing the light brown police uniform of King County, along with its traditional cowboy hat. His face was stern; his piercing eyes very blue against the background of his tan, but something about the curve of his mouth suggested a hidden sense of humour.

"What's happenin'?" Zoe asked, following the path of Imogen's stare, setting her tray down upon the counter.

"Breakin' news," Dana drawled, taking the tray, "sexy sheriff's deputy has just been shot in the line of duty."

"Shame on you," Zoe said, rolling her eyes, "poor guy's wife must be beside herself."

"Must be excitin' though," Dana said as Imogen hurriedly poured out the lemonade, "bein' married to a man of the law."

"Wouldn't be me," Imogen said abruptly, unceremoniously chucking some ice cubes into the glass, before picking up her trays, "now if you'll excuse me, I've got tables to see to."

"Hello baby girl," Imogen said, taking a long drag, "how's my little chicken?" She exhaled the smoke out of the corner of her mouth as Tess babbled on, Imogen making out something about a picture she was drawing. "A house?" she said, glancing up as somebody went past, coughing violently, making her draw back from them. "Is it our house? No? Oh, it's a Barbie house?"

As Tess talked on, Imogen leant against the wall, switching her cell to her other ear, struggling to keep up with Tess's stream of consciousness. "You're a meow-meow now?" she said, brow furrowing. "A big meow-meow?" She glanced at her watch, seeing she only had five minutes of her break left. "Mama has to go now, chicken," she said, her voice cracking. "I'll see you later, okay? No, Dada won't be there. Be a good girl. Mama loves you lots and lots."

She hung up on Tess's protests, closing her eyes as she did. Tess was beginning to question the way they were living, why her father didn't stay in the same house as them, why he disappeared for weeks at a time. So far Imogen had been able to evade giving a straight answer, but the time would soon come when only the truth would suffice.

Her cell pinged, Imogen checking the screen, only to see Ciara, her child-minder, had texted her a photograph of Tess with her face painted like a cat's, her small hand clutching Sparkles, the stuffed unicorn she'd had since she was a baby. For a long moment, Imogen just stood there, studying Tess's face, seeing nothing of herself, only Negan. When she'd been born, she'd looked exactly like a baby pirate, dark-haired and sallow-skinned, her green eyes crinkling roguishly at the corners. But when she smiled, the resemblance between father and daughter became pronounced, Tess inheriting his dimples and wide grin. But Tess was worth all the guilt and deceit, the only good thing she and Negan had ever done.

After hastily texting a smiley face back to Ciara in lieu of thanks for the photo, Imogen hesitated, before suddenly forwarding the picture onto Negan. He was on one of his disappearing streaks, only turning up out of the blue to see Tess, before vanishing into the void once more. To her surprise, her cell suddenly started ringing, Negan's number flashing up on the screen. Again, she hesitated before answering it, bracing herself as she did.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"I thought you would be teaching at this time."

"Free period."

"Oh."

"Nice picture."

"Yeah."

"What the fuck is she meant to be though? A tiger? Like Tess the Tiger?"

"No, she's meant to be a cat, or a meow-meow as she calls it."

"What else did she say?"

"That she was drawing a picture of a Barbie house."

"It's all she fucking talks about, Barbie this, Barbie that."

"She's only a toddler. She's hardly going to discuss world politics with you."

"Keep your fucking hair on, I was just messing."

"Okay, fine, whatever you say."

"Oh, c'mon don't be like that, Imo."

"Be like what?"

"Getting on your fucking high horse, that's what."

"And screw you too."

"Lighten up, kid. Jeesh, what is it with women?"

"What is it with men? Or more specifically, what is it with you?" There was a long silence, Negan exhaling sharply, making Imogen lean her forehead against the wall. "It's been weeks, Negan," she said abruptly. "What's the deal?"

"You seen me on Saturday when I picked up Tess."

"You know what I mean."

"I... I can't get away, kid, not just now."

"Why the hell not!?"

"Lucille..."

Imogen tilted her head back, fighting the sudden tears threatening to fall. Lucille was usually off-limits, Negan almost always never talking about her, but she was always present regardless. "Oh, it's Lucille, is it," she hissed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, "why her all of a sudden" -

- "She's my wife" -

- "Yeah, and I'm just your whore" -

- "She's sick, okay!? So I had to fucking be there for her, not screwing around with you!"

Imogen closed her eyes, exhausted by his emotional bullshit. Despite his denials, he had probably been seeing yet another piece of skirt on the side, only coming back to her bed when he got bored. "What do you mean she's ill?" she said wearily, checking her watch again.

"I... I just mean she's ill. It wouldn't be the first time."

"What?"

"I said she's been ill before, so let's just fucking leave it at that" -

- "Yeah, maybe we should. I don't think I can be bothered listening your bullshit anymore" -

- "I'm not fucking lying about my own wife being ill!" -

- "It sure sounds like it" -

- "Oh, does it!?" -

- "If she was so ill before, like she is now, I would know, and we wouldn't be having this conversation" -

- "I didn't tell you before because you'd just come out of the hospital" -

- "Don't bring that up" -

- "I'm not" -

- "You just did" -

- "I'm just trying to fucking explain that my wife is sick" -

- "What does that even mean, Negan, that's she's sick? Is she throwing up sick? Is she broken leg sick" -

- "She – she's just been getting these migraines, okay? It's not serious, it's just" -

- "Oh my God, this takes the fucking biscuit, Negan. Of all the excuses you've ever inflicted upon me, this has to crown them all" -

- "For fuck's sake" -

- "You're actually throwing me over because your wife happens to have a bloody headache" -

- "You're giving me a fucking headache!" -

Imogen cut him off, staring at the screen, waiting for him to call back like he always did.

He didn't.

Me and the baby and you side by side
We all knew we was in for a long hard ride…

"Mama! Mama!"

Imogen turned around, only to see Carol, her daughter Sophia and Tess heading in her direction, the sight making Imogen hastily hide her cell in the front pocket of her denim jacket. She had called Negan repeatedly over the course of the day, her pride going before a fall as it always did. But he hadn't answered, each call going straight to voicemail. "Hey baby," she said as Tess toddled over to her, brandishing a plastic fairy wand held together with sellotape, Sparkles tucked under her arm, "where did you come from?"

"Fwom Faiwyland," Tess said solemnly, tapping Imogen on the knee with her wand, "now you is a pwincess."

"Oh, wow!"

"Now kiss Spawkles," Tess ordered, holding the unicorn aloft. "She missed you."

Imogen obliged. "Ups-a-daisy now, chicken," she sing-songed, lifting Tess up, balancing her on her hip. "Hey," she said to Carol as she drew level, "thanks for picking her up such short notice." She'd had to work late, covering for Casey who'd finally been sent home by Lula-Mae, and Imogen's brother hadn't been able to pick Tess up from the child-minder, having to sort out a burst pipe at the bar he ran.

"No problem," Carol said, adjusting the strap of her handbag, "with Ed away, I'm at a loose end."

Imogen just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Two days away from Ed had already done wonders for Carol, her stance straight instead of hunched, Carol looking Imogen straight in the eye rather than avoiding it. The Peletier family lived across the road, Ed holding himself aloof from everyone, not encouraging his wife to make friends with the neighbours either. But after Carol had stopped Tess from running out in front of a car, an odd friendship had sprung up between the two women despite their disparity of age, finding common ground in their mutual loneliness.

"How are you, Sophia?" Imogen asked, smoothing Sophia's blonde hair back. "How was school today?"

"I'm fine, ma'am," Sophia said, shifting from one foot to the other, "school was okay."

"How's your brother?" Carol asked. "Did he manage to get the pipe get fixed?"

"Yeah," Imogen said distractedly, trying to stop Tess from ramming the wand in her face, "it's sorted out but the bloody idiot didn't wait for me to take a look at it. Now we have to pay for the plumber and I don't know if it will be covered by the insurance."

"Does Kit even have insurance?" Carol frowned, taking the wand from Tess.

"I don't know," Imogen admitted, "but money's bloody tight just now, so I hope so. I told him to find the stop valve and switch the water off until I could get to the bar, but he didn't listen."

"Whewe's Dada?" Tess demanded, glancing about her. "I want Dada!"

"Daddy's at work," Imogen lied, but Tess wasn't having any of it, wriggling impatiently in Imogen's arms.

"I want Dada!" Tess started to scream, kicking her legs. "I want Dada!"

"He's not here" -

- "No! No! I want Dada!"

"Can I owe you that coffee, Carol?" Imogen said with some difficulty. "She's not going to stop now she's started."

"Sure, don't worry about it," Carol said, taking Sophia's hand, "and good luck," she added, nodding at Tess, who was now throwing herself from side to side, "I think you're going to need it."

"If she's anything like her father, I will."