My Heart Is An Empty Gun

"Well, what the hell do we have here?" Negan drawled, slowing the people-carrier down to a crawl. Up ahead was a small juncture, with two cars caught in a collision, smoke issuing from the hoods. Standing by the side of the road was Terry and a young couple, the man cradling a crying baby swaddled in a pink blanket, his face ashen. Terry had obviously purloined a vehicle to aid his escape, but his wild flight had been cut short, almost ending in tragedy.

"We need to stop," Imogen said abruptly, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"We don't need to do anything, darling," Negan said lazily. "New world order and all that jazz."

"I can't go back without Terry," Imogen said through gritted teeth, "whether I want to or not."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

"Well, if you can't, I most certainly can."

"You fucking most certainly won't."

"What would have happened if we hadn't run into him right now after he's just ran these fucking fine people off the road, huh?" Negan pointed out, gesturing at the sorry scene before them with a large hand. "You would have gone back without him, that's what, so what's the difference if you go back without him now?"

"I have to take him back to his people, alright?" Imogen snapped, thinking of Michonne, how she inexplicably held Terry in too high regard, Terry being the brother she never had. "Plus there's those so called fine people you're so suddenly enamored with – they obviously need help."

"I'm only enamored with you, Imogen," Negan said mockingly, "nobody else, just you and your little heroic, hypocritical heart. Just look at you, all ready to save some souls, fighting the fucking good fight! Makes a nice change from saving your own skin, doesn't it?"

Imogen exhaled sharply. "Just stop the car, please, alright?" she tried and failed to say reasonably, turning to Negan as she spoke, eyes almost pleading.

"No."

"I can't go back without him!"

"Just tell a porky pie," Negan snapped back, green eyes suddenly alight with insidious intent, "say he skipped town or that he bit the bullet" -

- "I just can't," Imogen hissed. "Now stop the bloody car!"

Negan braked out of the blue, sending Anya flying back in her seat, Imogen almost smashing her face off the dashboard. Ignoring Imogen's curses, Negan sank back in his own seat, brows drawing together dangerously. "Don't trust Terry, kid," he said, staring straight ahead, "he's a fucking snake in the grass."

"I don't give two flying fucks about Terry," Imogen said with great difficulty, pushing the hair out of her eyes, fighting the urge to deck Negan, "but I give a shit about somebody else, which is why I am doing this. If you can't understand that, well, that's your problem, not mine."

Without another word, she flung herself out of the people-carrier, Negan watching as she marched right up to Terry, who held his hands up, signaling surrender. She proceeded to give him an earful, before shoving him hard in the chest, making Terry stagger, then she turned to the frightened looking couple, her interest mostly focused on the baby, its crying carrying through the air.

"You're interested in her, aren't you?" Anya said in a dead voice, knowing Negan too well, that he was a predator ever on the prowl for fresh flesh.

"I'm intrigued," Negan said nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side, his green gaze traveling over Imogen, "there's a difference."

"What about my sister?" Anya spat. "Don't you love her?"

"What about you?" Negan said, rounding on her. "You made the first move on me, sweetheart. It's not my fault I couldn't find it in myself to resist your amorous advances."

Anya's jaw tightened. "You haven't answered my question," she said stiffly, "don't you love Lucille?"

"Of course I love Lucy," Negan said coldly, leaning casually on the steering wheel, contradicting the tense cast of his frame, "but the grass is always greener, isn't it? Onwards and upwards, to fucking pastures anew" -

- "Whatever, Negan," Anya said, her voice cracking, "you're just a bastard. I thought you were misunderstood, that Ben was wrong about you, but he wasn't" -

- "Bender's dead, in case you've forgotten," Negan said dryly, making Anya flinch, "and the world's going to pot, but every cloud has a silver lining, hasn't it?" He let his gaze drift downwards again, dwelling on Imogen's long limbs encased in tight denim, clinging to every curve. "Seems like I've found mine," he muttered as Imogen came stalking back over, arms folded across the front of her bloodied shirt, Terry and the young couple trailing nervously at her heels. "What is it, princess?" Negan said coolly, rolling down the window. "You're looking a trifle agitated."

"We've got company," Imogen snapped, gesturing for the others to get in the back of the people-carrier, her order being instantly obeyed, Terry's face mutinous as he slid into the back-seat beside the young couple, forcing Anya to edge over, crushed against the booster seat.

"Do I look like I'm running a fucking taxi service?" Negan snapped back. "You better be paying for the petrol."

"Screw your petrol," Imogen said, throwing herself down in the front seat again. "We need to take these people to the hospital. It's on the way to the art gallery so we can just drop them off."

"Why don't you just fucking call 911?" Negan snapped, turning the ignition on, only for the engine to refuse to start.

"Signal's down again."

"That's fucking great, isn't it?"

"Don't blame me," Imogen hissed, "blame bloody Terry back there. He just pranged our new friends' car, hence this little detour to the hospital."

"Well, could you tell them to keep the fucking volume down?" Negan demanded as he finally managed to kickstart the engine back to life, cringing as the baby began to cry again, the sound echoing around the now cramped people-carrier.

"Yes, the baby's fine, thanks for asking," Imogen said sarcastically, "but the sooner you get to the hospital, the better."

"I'm working on it," Negan retorted, swinging the steering wheel round, before glancing over his shoulder at the strangers in the back-seat, a mocking grin now tugging on his lips, seeming to relish the sight of their strained faces. "I should really sort out the seating arrangements," he said lightly, jerking his chin at the folded-down seats that formed the third row at the very back of the people-carrier, "but it's kinda cosy this way, isn't it?"

His gaze deliberately lingered on the woman the longest, her plain face colouring hotly under his studied scrutiny, making her shift awkwardly in her seat, uncomfortable with his attention. "Thanks," she said brokenly to Imogen, averting her eyes from Imogen's bloodstained attire, obviously thinking it expedient not to ask questions, "we really appreciate this."

Imogen didn't answer her, facing the window instead, arms still folded across her chest. Her conscience went by contraries, her heart hypocritical, just as Negan had observed, Imogen a walking contradiction he was only on the edge of understanding.

"Hey, you need to buckle up," Negan said, lightly touching Imogen's knee, only for her to flinch violently. "Whoa, calm the hell down," he snapped, "I was only trying to get your attention."

"Fuck you," Imogen retorted, fumbling with her belt, "just bloody drive."

"You know, I'm really getting tired of having these kind of conversations with you," Negan said in an undertone, "there is such a thing as fucking civilized discourse."

"Not with you there isn't," Imogen said abruptly.

"Great, what the fuck now!?" Negan exclaimed, slowing the people-carrier down again, the tyres screeching in protest. Up ahead, in the near distance, a long line of vehicles had formed, honking horns and revving engines.

"It's a military roadblock – that stop and search crap," Imogen said, before suddenly booting the dashboard, cursing loudly. "Shit-fucking-hell!" she screamed, doubling up, wrapping her arms around her head. In that moment, everything that had been threatening to overwhelm her finally did so, and she broke down, sobbing and screaming, kicking every solid surface within reach.

"Damn," Negan said quietly, looking at Imogen for a long moment, before swinging the steering wheel round, cringing again as the baby immediately started bawling afresh as well. He parked the people-carrier in a stranger's driveway, out of sight of the snaking queue of vehicles, before cutting the engine, resting his wrists atop the steering wheel.

"Uh, Imogen," Terry said, raising his voice above the racket, "this isn't exactly the time" -

Imogen's answer was to fling herself out of the people-carrier again, Negan raising his eyes heavenwards before following her. "Hey, kid," he said, ramming his hands into his trouser pockets, "Terence might have a point" -

- "FUCK OFF!" Imogen screeched, pushing the hair out of her swollen eyes, "I don't care. Do I look like I fucking care!?"

"Do I look like I care?" Negan said, striding over to her, making Imogen take a shaking step back. "Am I wearing some sweet little shirt that says so? A little slogan that says I give a goddamn shit? Listen up, sweetheart, and listen well, because I don't give my left nut about what happens to you or Terry. You don't know me and I sure as hell don't know you, but somehow we're all in this shit together and we just have to suck it up."

Imogen stared at Negan, taking in his trembling hands and wild eyes, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. "I just want to go home," she then said in a small voice, "to find my family, that's all."

"Well, I sure as shit don't want to go home to my family," Negan said, his voice cracking, half turning away from her as he spoke, "to tell my daughters the dead are walking, to say to my wife that I just bashed in her brother's skull, that she'll become one of those things" -

- "You should just go to the hospital, Negan," Imogen cut across him, "I'll make my own way back, and Terry can just piss off. I am done with him, with everything" -

- "Look, kid," Negan snapped, rounding on her, "stop fucking about and just get in the goddamn car, okay!?" -

- "She can't," Terry said in a panicked voice, making both Imogen and Negan turn around, only to see Terry standing by the side of the people-carrier, clinging to the half open door, "she can't go anywhere."

Truth is like a loaded gun
You don't wanna point that thing round here
Make all of your skeletons appear
This is real life...

For a moment, Negan just stood there, eyes unreadable. "What the fuck are you on about?" he suddenly demanded, stalking over to Terry, making him back away, crashing into the people-carrier.

"The army is arresting everyone who doesn't hold an American passport," Terry explained agitatedly, "or so they're saying," he finished, jerking his chin at the couple in the back-seat, who were watching the proceedings with wide eyes, Anya hugging her knees, chin trembling.

"Get out," Negan fired at the plain-faced woman, "now!" She hesitated, the man grabbing her arm, stopping her. "Move your ass!" Negan yelled, spit flecking the air. "Or I'll move it for you!" The woman obeyed his order, stumbling out of the people-carrier, legs trembling underneath her, the man making to follow her, only for Negan to block him, something in Negan's face stopping him from trying anything further. "Stay put, buddy," Negan warned him quietly, "there's no fucking need for the theatricals." The man sank weakly back in his seat, holding the baby against his shoulder, trying and failing to curb its crying.

"What the fuck is this!?" Imogen said hysterically, thinking of Kit, now confronted with another way of losing him. "The army are arresting people!?"

"Calm the hell down," Negan said abruptly, before turning to the woman, lips curling downwards. "You want to explain what the hell is going on, sweetheart?" he said, tilting his head to the side. "I don't fancy being picked up by some jumped up G.I Joe, so start talking, or you and your beau can start walking."

The woman let out a slow, shaking breath. "My brother-in-law was taken away last night to an internment camp," she then said, her voice cracking, "the military had already confiscated his passport, and there was talk of stopping his entitlement to food stamps. He's – he's Danish" -

- "I don't care if he's a Danish delight," Negan snapped, "all I care about is my own sorry ass" -

- "Well, so you should," the woman snapped back, suddenly not caring about the consequences of not controlling her temper, "the army is arresting everyone within ten feet of all foreign nationals if they can't prove they hold an American passport."

"What?"

"My niece's boyfriend, Joel, came over for dinner last night," the woman spat, "he lives two blocks away. All his ID was at home. The army rocked up to arrest my brother-in-law, and demanded everyone in the house had to prove they were American citizens. Joel's people are Italian, but he was born here. They wouldn't let him go home to get his paperwork, just took him away."

Negan rubbed his jaw. He had his driver's license, but everybody else had no ID whatsoever. Without Imogen, they probably would have winged it, but not now. "Well, that's us well and royally screwed, isn't it?" he said, Terry turning away, Imogen half closing her eyes again. "And there's me thinking the day couldn't possibly get any better." He ran his hand across his beard, studying Imogen through narrowed eyes, making her stare at him in turn, not understanding his scrutiny. "Heads up, Anya," he then said abruptly, ignoring Imogen's bewildered expression, stalking over to his sister-in-law instead, "change of plans, you're gonna have to play chauffeur. Can't promise you the cute little hat that comes with the job though."

"What?" Anya said stupidly through the rolled-down window, a tear trickling down her cheek, followed by another and then another.

"Get out of the car, Anya, and haul your hot little ass upfront," Negan said through gritted teeth, "you're going to take our new friends to the hospital, and our new friends are going to act as if none of this never happened, okay? You never saw us, you never saw anything, nothing, nada. Fucking got it?" he aimed at the woman, rounding on her this time.

"Got it," the woman said stiffly, glancing at the man over her shoulder, the two of them exchanging odd glances. "But here's a heads-up, there's – there's something else going on, something the army is trying to cover up."

"Like what?" Negan said, even if he could give a good guess.

"We saw our neighbour eating his pet dog this morning," the woman said shakily, glancing up as Anya staggered out of the people-carrier, the baby's wails following in her wake, "just tearing out its insides with his bare hands. We just high-tailed it out of there. There was something wrong with his eyes, all white and shit, and he appeared to be injured, but it was like he wasn't even aware of it" -

- "You're preaching to the choir, honey," Negan said dryly, indicating his blood-splattered clothes, "we've had a run-in with such undesirables too."

The woman hesitated, exchanging another glance with the man, almost like she was stalling. "That's what we thought," she then said brokenly, running her hand down the side of her face, "we've ran into a few people that look like you - like they've had a walk-on part in a horror film, said it was those – those...things" -

- "As much as I'd like to chinwag all day, we don't have the time," Negan cut across her, sensing beneath the woman's apparent calm she was about to crack, the words falling from her lips in a wild torrent, "just do as I say and keep your mouth shut. Don't mention one word about those... those things either." He shot a warning look at Anya, who was now clutching the steering wheel for dear life, forcing her to nod in agreement. "Imogen, you and I are going to make tracks," he then said, making to leave, "you too, Terry, unfortunately."

Imogen stared at him, startled. "What?" she said stupidly. "What are you talking about?"

"I am going to escort you home," Negan said mockingly, "like the fine gentleman I am."

"No, you're not," Imogen spat, not believing what she was hearing, "over my bloody dead body you will" -

- "Maybe it will come to that, honey," Negan said brutally. "But before you set off through the Valley of Death, tell me something, do you even know your way from here to the art gallery?"

Imogen's jaw tightened, hating herself for being helpless, completely clueless about where the hell she was. She had been trailing after Terry since the woods, not knowing where she was going, relying on him, then Negan, to get her to the art gallery. "Terry does," she said reluctantly, "he'll take me there" -

- "But Terence might just bail - again" -

- "Then I'll find a bloody map!" -

- "Where? Walmart? I'd like to see you sail into a store looking like you've fell afoul of Freddie Kruger" -

- "Well, I'll just ask for fucking directions, then!" -

- "Or you could just let me escort you home," Negan reiterated, raising his eyes heavenwards, "like I keep fucking trying to tell you."

"Look, I'll walk," Imogen said wildly, making to leave, sensing she was losing what little control she had left of the situation, "just go" -

- "Just shut the hell up and listen," Negan said, rounding on her, grabbing her wrist, "you're not going anywhere, okay? Not alone and especially not with fucking Terry."

Imogen stared at him for the umpteenth time. "What's it to you?" she said in disbelief. "You don't know me, you said it yourself" -

- "Do you know what internment camps are, Imogen?" Negan hissed. "They're just another word for concentration camps. The shit is hitting the fucking fan, kid, and I mean really hitting it."

Imogen backed away from him, tearing her arm out of his grip, all the blood draining from her face, looking like she was going to faint. "What the hell are you doing?" she spat, suddenly rounding on him, her still damp hair whirling behind her. "Your place is with your family, not us, not me!"

"Let's just say you're my good deed of the day," Negan drawled, towering over her, "so shut the hell up and appreciate all of the warm fuzziness." He turned away from Imogen, face bored. "Anya, honey, throw me my cell," he then said to Anya, jerking his chin at her, "once the signal's back, I'll ring Rae and say I'm caught up in a roadblock. I won't exactly be lying, will I?"

Anya didn't answer him, only rummaging through the glove compartment with trembling fingers, before throwing the cell to Negan, who almost dropped it.

"Nice catch," Terry said sarcastically, "you should try out for the Dodgers."

Negan just flipped him the middle finger, making to stow the cell away in his back pocket, only to freeze at the expression on Imogen's face. "What the fuck is up with you now?" he bellowed. "You break a fucking nail or something?"

"Give me that," Imogen said, making a mad snatch for his cell, "I need to use it!"

"The fucking signal is down!"

"Not completely!"

"You're not fucking using it!"

"I fucking will!"

"What, and bring fucking half the American army down on us!?" Negan snapped, shoving her back, making her stagger. "They could be tapping your fucking calls for all we know! Tracing the signal right back to us! So think first, you stupid little idiot!"

Imogen recovered her balance, breathing heavily, hatred curdling in her eyes.

"Listen to me, and listen real close," Negan said, holding her gaze hostage, roughly tilting her chin upwards with his hand, "you helped me and mine, so I'm gonna help you, but only if you stop being an ass, okay? The way you're acting right now is tantamount to suicide. You need to get a grip and fucking fast. This is the way the world is going to be from now on and you need to be more than ready for it" -

- "Fuck off" -

- "You want to find your family?" Negan hissed, twisting her face further upwards, Imogen brutally breaking his grip by tearing herself out of his hold again. "Because you're not going to with the way you're carrying on, kid."

"What, and you're the man to make sure I will?" Imogen said scornfully, barely glancing up as Anya drove away in a storm of screeching tyres and skid-marks.

"You need somebody to watch your back," Negan grinned wolfishly. "Can you trust Terry to do that?"

Imogen looked at Negan for a long moment, not even sparing Terry a glance. "You can't stop an army singlehandedly," she pointed out coldly. "I don't understand why you're even thinking of trying."

"Really?" Negan said, his green gaze shamelessly raking her up and down. "I would think it was fucking obvious."

Imogen stood her ground, even as she wanted to break his jaw, to wipe that mocking look off his face. "Give me one good reason why I should accept your offer," Imogen said, full lips thinning, desperation driving her to the deed, the art gallery suddenly seeming like a thousand miles away from her. She knew she was staking all her bets on the one horse, but she had to start somewhere, and she knew Kit would want her to find Michonne and Andre first, Kit always putting them before himself, expecting Imogen to follow his example.

"You need to get from A to B without any bullshit," Negan said abruptly, "which means no phones, no hysterics, no nothing. You have to blend in, to be hidden in plain sight, which means we can't walk around like we've just took a fucking detour through an fucking abattoir," he said, indicating their bloodied clothes, "and we also need to find a vehicle, weapons, supplies, canned food, bottled water" -

- "Whoa, hold the hell up," Imogen exclaimed, doing a double-take, "we're not going to war. We're just trying to get to an art gallery."

"Same difference."

"Seriously!?" Imogen said in disbelief.

"Okay, okay," Negan admitted, holding his hands up, "I may have played one too many video games. Let's just stick with cleaning ourselves up and scoring ourselves a fucking full stomach." To his surprise, Imogen's lips twitched, and then she was suddenly smiling, amused against her will, the expression altering her face entirely. Negan stared at her, uncharacteristically caught off-guard, before recovering himself, jaw tightening. "I take it we have a deal, then?" he said coldly. "Or has somebody drawn a fucking dick on my face?"

"This is insane," Imogen said, shaking her head, "you're insane."

"It's an insane world now, kid," Negan said tiredly, "so let's hit the trail."