Summary: You've been with your family since the outbreak. It's been four hard and painful years before you stubbled across Alexandria and when you finally dared to hope your family found peace, your father had to make a new enemy. And now you have to suffer the consequences.
To The Series
Her Name Is Six Series - Wife No. 6
Summary: You've been on your own since the outbreak and made yourself a home in the ruins of D.C. It was hard, but you managed to survive on your own for years until a group of havily armed men stand in front of your little fortress.
To The Series
House Of The Dragon
Part 1 - Hushed Whispers
Summary: The undeniable attachment between the Rogue Prince and the Kings oldest daughter has always been the cause of hushed whispers but now they get out of hand. Otto Hightower worked too hard to have his plans for the princess foiled by Daemon.
Summary: The Emperor is not used to being denied. He'll come to find even the most beautiful flowers carry thrones. Drawing his intrigue is dangerous and no prickle will stop him.
Summary: Infected were seen in one of the outposts and you decided to aid Joel and Tommy on their scouting trip. Little did you know you'd face worse than Infected - a demon from your past.
Chapter Index:
Chapter 1 (End)
Mass Effect
Part 1 - Reuinons
Summary: 6 months are a long time, they have a lot of catching up to do.
Chapter Index:
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 (End / NSFW)
Part 1 - I'm Sorry
Summary: The last thing Shepard wants is to have her ex boyfriend aboard, but little does she know how much she'll regret what she's said to him.
Chapter Index:
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4
Fallout
Part 1 - The Missing Piece
Summary: Soulmates are bull, big bull. And without a soul this shit won't happen anyway, right?
Chapter Index:
Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9
Chapter Summary: He came to the Colosseum for blood and noise but then he found you again, laughing in the crowd like Rome couldn’t touch you. The moment you don't look up is the one he decides he’ll be the reason you'll do.
Wordcount: 3740
A/N: Written inclusively, no race mentioned or implied.
English is not my fist language.
The air in the Forum is thick with tension. All senators are sitting in their designated seats, their voices low and eyes darting around, almost nervously. Today the proceedings have an unexpected guest, Emperor Geta himself.
It's a rare occasion, as both Emperors tend to avoid the long, tedious affairs within these halls, often letting themselves be represented by scribes. Yet here he is, Geta, sitting on his seat of polished marble, a picture of imperial authority.
But appearances can be deceiving.
Geta might be present, but his mind is far away from the debates unravelling before him. His lounging form betrays his disinterest in the affairs. Proposals, petitions and debates about Jupiter know what washes over him like a wave of monotony. He is hearing but not listening, his fingers drumming idly on his armrest as his gaze occasionally sweeps over the assembly. Every so often they rest on one man especially - Senator Gaius Cassius.
Since the night of the festivities in the palace a moon ago, Geta’s thoughts had been absent more often than not. The senator's eldest daughter has become a constant in his mind. Her beauty was undeniable, almost captivating but what really struck him was the way she had held herself when Verrinus insulted her and later when he himself tried to press her into conversation.
And now the Emperor is curious whether Senator Cassius is just as eloquent as his daughter and if so, could the man be of use.
Commotion catches Getas' attention. Senator Domitianus is standing up, hushing the Senate. “Esteemed Senators, I think we all know, the matter gets some of us a bit heated, so let's finally settle it. It has been said time and again but I shall say it once more: the new baths of the Grand Thermae are not merely a luxury but a necessity. Private pools and attendants at everyone's disposal - these are not indulgences but tools to ensure our minds are sharp and our bodies prepared for the weighty matters of state.”
Geta is about to let his mind wander again, he couldn’t care less about an extension to one of Rome's many bathhouses, when sudden movement catches his eye.
Gaius Cassius rises to his feet, adjusting his toga. “Senator Domitianus, I must challenge the reason behind all of this. This proposal for the baths, while undeniably impressive, serves no one but the most wealthy patricians, almost no one outside these walls. I worry the people of Rome, the very foundation of the empire, would see it not as a symbol of strength but as a monument to excess.”
Domitianus releases a deep sigh, “Cassius, must you always be the voice of disagreement? You don’t seem to understand that these baths would elevate us in the eyes of the people, our image of power and refinement?”
“Elevate us where to exactly?” Gaius smiles faintly. “We are the Senate, how much higher do you intend to reach?”
Domitianus opens his mouth to argue but Gaius continues. “If you want the respect of the people, perhaps consider instead the Temple of Minerva close to the city's heart. It was once a beacon for the faithful but now it’s weathered and neglected. Its restoration would cost but a fraction of the extension to the Grand Thermae and its impact on people's morale would be immeasurable. It would show them that the Senate hears their prayers and sees their struggles.”
A few senators nod in agreement, their whispers approving Cassius' proposal.
Domitianus huffs a laugh, masking his frustration with forced amusement. “Cassius, your suggestion might be noble but hopelessly naive. Surely you’ll understand that-”
“Naive?” Gaius repeats, a small smile on his lips. “No, naive is to believe people will look upon these perfumed baths and cheer while their city crumbles around them. But maybe that’s what you need to tell yourself in order to justify these unnecessary expenses.”
More and more Senators agree with Gaius, their words of approval travelling through the air. Domitianus’s eyes narrow, annoyance clear on his face. He is about to respond, when Verrinus rises from his seat.
“Cassius, always the idealist,” Verrinus sneers, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But this is about Rome’s prestige, not pandering to the common folk. A temple won’t raise our standing in the world.”
“Then perhaps you should stop reaching,” Gaius suggests with a faint smile, “since your sight rarely lifts beyond your own reflection in a polished goblet.”
Emperor Geta leans back in his seat as he watches the interaction with the faintest grin curling on his lips.
“You truly speak like a man who seeks virtue over luxury,” Verrinus observes in a mocking tone, “Tell me, Cassius, do you wear humility like a poor man wears rags - because that’s all he can afford?”
A ripple of laughter spreads through Verrinus' supporters, but Gaius remains unfazed. His voice is steady, “And you, Verrinus, speak as if luxury is a virtue. So tell me, how many baths did it take to wash away your common sense?”
The laughter dies as quickly as it began with Verrinus’s sneer faltering, his eyes narrowing at Gaius.
Their little match ends when Senator Gracchus speaks up. “This is leading nowhere.” The older man is losing patience. “Instead of trading insults, we should settle this matter finally. Let’s start the vote.”
Suddenly Emperor Geta rises from his marble throne, his eyes scanning the men in the Forum. "Before this matter is settled," he begins in a measured tone, "I would like to hear more from Senator Gaius Cassius."
All eyes turn to Gaius, who inclines his head in respect, "Augustus.”
Geta takes a few steps forward, his gaze never leaving Gaius. "You argue for the restoration of a temple but compared to the grandeur of this city, that temple may seem too insignificant for the people to notice.”
He comes to stand in the middle of the room. “So tell me, Senator, why should the Senate focus its resources on this project when there are so many other pressing matters demanding our attention?"
"The Temple of Minerva is just one example, Majesty.” Gaius straightens slightly, meeting the Emperor's gaze without hesitation. “It’s true, the temple of Minerva may not rival the grandeur of Senator Domitianus' baths but its value cannot be measured in plain gold.”
“And why is that?” Geta asks.
“It is a sanctuary for the people”, Gaius continues, “Where they find solace and hope in times of despair. To let it crumble is to let our faith fade and without faith, Your Majesty, what is Rome but an empire of marble and ambition?"
The room is silent, the senators hanging on every word. Verrinus frowns, weighing the interaction.
“Hm.” Geta studies Gaius intently, his expression unreadable. Eventually he speaks again, "Faith is intangible, Senator. How do you propose we measure its worth then? How do we ensure that such an investment will secure the loyalty and unity you claim?"
Gaius inclines his head ever so slightly, ”By showing the people that their leaders see them, hear them and care for them.”
Verrinus makes a sound, not quite a laugh, his contempt is evident.
Gaius doesn’t pay him any mind, his eyes and attention solely on Geta, “Such a gesture could fortify the very foundation of this empire: the trust of its people and the favour of the gods."
“You speak with conviction, Senator Cassius.” Geta crosses his arms with a faint smile on his lips. "It is a rare thing to hear in this chamber."
Domitianus bristles, his mouth opening to interject but a sharp glance from Geta silences him at once. After a long, quiet moment, Geta releases a breath. “Very well.” He swiftly turns on his heels. “Proceed with the vote.”
The men of the Senate discuss their options as their Emperor ascends the stairs, leaving the Chamber. Geta doesn’t care about the outcome of today's proposal, all he was interested in was Senator Cassius and with his curiosity satisfied, there is no need to stay any longer.
It’s clear the senator has caught the Emperor's attention and now perhaps even his respect.
---
The sun is shining high above the Colosseum, painting the arena in beautiful golden light. Slowly the stands are filling with eager spectators. Laughter and excitement can be heard from every corner.
Seated in your usual place, high enough for a perfect view and away from the Senate's section, you are waiting for your father to join you. Lost in thought, you play with the fabric of your stola. It’s been so long since the last games and you have been looking forward to this all week, even asking your brother Marcus to take on your tasks in your family's emporium this evening, so you’d be on time for the game.
A familiar voice draws your attention.
“Ah, already settled in, I see.” Your father smiles as he ascends the stairs to reach you.
You hold out your hand, so he can move more easily down to his seat. He sits down with an inaudible sigh, stretching his legs away and taking a deep breath.
“A long day in the Forum, hm?” You cast him a knowing glance.
Gaius huffs a laugh. “Spent the morning listening to grown men bicker like children over vanity projects.”
You arch an eyebrow. “The Grand Thermae?”
Your father only nods. “A monument of excess, if you ask me. Domitianus argued as though Rome’s survival depended on scented waters and polished marble.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “I challenged them, of course. Suggested restoring the Temple of Minerva instead. Not only would it have been cheaper but also an actual service to the people, but you can imagine how that was received.”
You smirk, “Poorly, I assume.”
“Poorly would be generous,” he mutters, eyes on the grounds. “They called me naive. As if caring for the people is foolish.” You roll your eyes but let your father talk. "Verrinus dared to insult me. Openly. He failed.”
A chuckle leaves your lips. You know your father well enough to imagine the exchange. “I can’t say I’m surprised. These men wouldn’t know decency if it struck them in the face. I suppose self-delusion is easier when inhaling scented steam.”
You had never held illusions about the men who ruled Rome alongside your father. The Senate is a rotting core, corrupted, ugly. These men are greedy, self-serving creatures, more concerned with their own comforts than the empire they claimed to serve. They like to pretend they are better than others, more worthy. But in truth, they are no better than the mobs that are filling the Colosseum right now.
Your father only smiles brightly before he suddenly goes quiet. He doesn’t look at you at first, his gaze fixed on the arena, folding his hands together.
You tilt your head, watching him more closely now. “Was it really that bad today?”
“Yes,” he says simply. Then, after a pause, “And worse than that.”
That draws your attention completely and you turn toward him, studying his profile. “Father?”
He finally looks at you then. His expression doesn’t give away much but you can see the subtle frown of his eyebrows. He leans closer towards you, lowering his voice. “The Emperor was there today, Geta.”
The name lands heavier than it should. You don’t react at first, years of discipline keep your face neutral. But you also lean a bit closer, minding the volume of your voice, “At the Forum?”
Gaius nods. “Seated openly. Listening.” His mouth tightens. “Watching.”
You let out a slow breath. “That is… unfortunate.”
“It is dangerous,” he corrects quietly, looking around the rows of spectators as if discussing the weather.
Your gaze drifts back to the arena, “He hasn't been there in months. What changed?”
“Interest,” Gaius states plainly. “Not at today's petitions - me.”
You feel a chill settle beneath your ribs. "What?"
Gaius folds his arms. “When I argued in favour of the temple, he rose from his seat and wanted me to defend my proposal. I don’t think he was interested in the petition but in the way I’d handle his gaze.”
Silence stretches between you, filled by the rising noise of the stands.
Slowly, you say, “So he was what, assessing?"
“Uh-hm.” Your father’s gaze shifts back to you. “Me. And you.”
Realisation slowly dawns on you, as you look at your father, “That's... because of the festivities."
“Because of the festivities,” he agrees. “You said he noticed your exchange with Verrinus. That he wanted to talk to you.” Gaius scoffs under his breath. "Must think wit like that is rarely learned by accident.”
You have not forgotten the way the Emperor had studied you that night, how he had tested you with words, waiting to see if he could cause your mask of composure to show cracks. It had not been a conversation of mere pleasantries; it truly was an assessment.
With a deep breath, you close your eyes for the briefest moment. “Consequences were to be expected but if I had known-”
Gaius reaches out, placing his hand over yours, “That is why you must listen to me carefully now.” His voice lowers. “Geta does not forget what draws his interest.”
You think of the garden, of his intense gaze, of the way he eventually stepped aside. That was not yielding as much as it was an allowance.
Quietly you say, “I did nothing improper.”
“I know,” your father answers at once. “And that is precisely the problem.”
The crowd erupts suddenly as the first procession enters the arena. Trumpets blare loudly from above your stands. The sound thunders over you, loud enough to swallow thought for a moment.
Gaius leans closer still, his voice nearly lost beneath the noise. “From this moment on, everything you do will be watched more closely. Your words. Your appearances. Even your absence.”
You straighten your shoulders, lifting your chin. “Then I will be careful.”
He studies you, pride and worry both reflecting in his eyes. “You have always been careful, my sweet," he says softly. “Just… remember that attention from a man like him is not a gift. It is a test.”
Below in the sand the games begin. The armour of the gladiators reflecting in the sun, the crowd roaring its approval as they emerge from their gates.
You turn your eyes back to the arena, your expression composed again but your thoughts are far from the spectacle. With a sigh, you lean back into your seat, trying to enjoy the games. After taking a look at the arriving gladiators, you turn your head towards your father again. “I’ll bet on the one with the trident, what about you?”
---
Caracalla watches the arriving gladiators with excitement. “About time, don’t you think? It’s been ages since the last game.”
A small smile finds its way onto Geta's face. "Indeed."
His twin then turns his head to look at him. “Finally!” He claps his hands in joy, smiling at him. “Not brooding for once.”
That comment tempts Geta to roll his eyes but he resists, not wanting to give his brother the satisfaction of a glance. His gaze turns back to the lines of gladiators. The Colosseum roars and swells in waves as the men take position around the ring. Geta leans into his hand, elbow resting on the armrest. A posture loose enough to sell indifference.
But Caracalla isn’t wrong.
Geta’s mood has soured over the past weeks in ways he has not bothered to explain. Even to himself, he had tried to put a name on it. Restlessness, irritation, or even boredom. Anything but the truth.
Lady Cassius.
A woman Geta should have dismissed the moment she slipped away from him in the palace gardens but instead she has lodged in his thoughts. He had ordered her name brought to him the next morning, not because he cared who she was, at least that’s what he told himself, but because he refused to be left with an unanswered question.
He learnt everything about House Cassius.
Not old blood, nor a sacred lineage, by all accounts. No, in their case it's trade, coin, ships, a grandfather who came to Rome young and hungry and built his way into power with shrewd hands and sharper instincts. His son Gaius Cassius reinforced what he inherited and polished it into something respectable.
But nonetheless, a delicate standing.
Even though Cassius secured himself a seat in the Senate and therefore a lifetime of influence, in the end the Cassius’ are a family that could be crushed easily if the wind shifted. A family watched by men like Verrinus, who hated that Cassius' wealth mirrored his own. Trade wrapped in patrician silks.
Their rivalry was common knowledge in the right circles, two houses clawing upward on the same ladder and resenting the other for having hands on the rung. Although it’s noted that Verrinus is the more desperate party, clinging to alliances and promises to undermine the rise of his rival.
Geta has to smile at the thought of Verrinus' face, when Gaius did not falter in the Forum this morning, no matter how hard he tried.
But that is exactly the predicament. Geta had weighed it all the way he weighed everything: usefulness, risk, leverage.
Gaius Cassius could be useful but only perhaps.
They are not worth it - not this.
Not worth the way Geta’s attention kept drifting back to the memory of Gaius’ oldest daughter, her calm as she cut down Verrinus with nothing but words.
Her refusal.
Geta’s jaw is tightening at the memory, as he watches the fight in front of him. The grace she had when denying him. The clean line of it, the boundary she set, as if Emperors were not above such things.
It had angered him at first, purely on principle. But over time, the anger changed its shape.
She was rarely around.
She said that much, that she didn’t attend court often. Geta had hoped it was a lie, a deflection offered to him like everything else that night. But it wasn't. He had waited for her to appear at banquets but she didn’t return.
Each absence had reshaped the anger further into irritation.
Geta lets out a frustrated sigh. He is here to enjoy the games, not to dwell on that woman again. “The one with the trident is too eager”, he comments. “He will stab himself by accident if he keeps that pace up.”
Caracalla nods his head, grinning. “Desperate like all the others.”
She attends the games.
The thought passes Geta's mind so fast, he suddenly sits straighter in his seat. He remembers the way she said it to him. Almost amused that he would find it surprising.
Geta’s fingers tap once against the stone lion head adorning his armrest. He lets his gaze wander again but not over the sand below this time - over the stands.
A habitual sweep at first, just a dismissive glance, boredom.
Then he starts searching. His eyes move over faces and color and movement, ignoring the senators in their assigned section, ignoring the wives angled to be seen, ignoring the merchant princes who laugh too loudly when they think they’re close enough to power to be safe.
He tells himself he won’t find her, the Colosseum is enormous after all. That would be too convenient.
And then - There.
Not too far from the imperial box, not with the other senators but among the common folk. Lady Cassius. She’s sitting beside her father, posture relaxed in a way she’d never allow at court. Her face is bright with genuine enjoyment, the mask of careful distance nowhere to be seen.
She is radiant.
With a shining smile, she leans forward, speaking close to Gaius’ ear as if sharing a prediction. Her father answers, mouth twitching with the faintest hint of amusement.
Caracalla is still talking, saying something about the match, something crude and gleeful. Geta doesn’t hear it.
She lifts her hand briefly, pointing down at the arena and Geta’s eyes follow the gesture automatically. Below, the two remaining gladiators circle. One overcommits and the other takes advantage with brutal efficiency, plunging his trident in his opponent's chest.
The crowd roars.
Her smile is glowing with satisfaction. She says something to her father and he answers with a small nod, as if she was right.
Geta’s gaze remains fixed on her, as if not believing what he’s seeing.
So she wasn’t lying.
The thought does not soothe him the way it should. It actually stirs something more dangerous: the realization that she has a life entirely outside his sight and she guards it fiercely.
He watches her laugh again, head tilting back slightly. The sound is lost in the Colosseum’s roar, but he can still see it in her face - the ease, the warmth. As if the arena, of all places, gives her space to breathe.
Geta clicks his tongue, murmuring under his breath. "Absurd." With a subtle shake of his head, his fingers still on the armrest and his eyes return to the sand. But his mind doesn't want to follow. In his chest it is as if something tightens and locks into place.
He has finally seen her again, not hiding behind composure but with genuineness. Now he understands with unsettling clarity, why his mind has refused to let her go. At the realization, his eyes betray him and land on the woman again.
Her own gaze lifts briefly, as if she feels the weight of being watched. Her eyes move across the tiers, over senators, over merchants, over noblewomen. Then, for a fraction of a heartbeat, it lands close to the imperial box.
Not on him, not exactly.
But near enough that Geta’s chest warms with the irrational certainty that she knows he is there.
Then she looks back at her father, attention returning to the next row of arriving gladiators, as if the Emperors are no more significant than the blood on the sand.
Geta’s mouth curves, not with amusement but with resolve.
He came to enjoy the game but instead he has found the one person who was slipping beyond him and for the first time since that night in the gardens, the thought is not merely angering or irritating.
It is exhilarating.
Because if Y/N Cassius can ignore the Emperor, then she is worth the effort of making her look up.
Chapter Summary: The elevator ride toward the Council feels like a countdown. What Shepard doesn’t know is that she won’t find justice - only a vendetta.
This elevator ride takes ages. Shepard releases a deep sigh, leaning her head on the glass of the small cabin, trying to calm down. Her hands are clammy and her nerves fraying. Dread doesn't even come close to describe the ugly tight feeling in her chest. The weight of the looming confrontation with the Council, with Saren, is crushing.
With her arms crossed tightly, she looks out of the window. The slow ride is giving her too much time to dwell on what’s in her head, when all she wants is to get this hearing over with.
Kaidan glances at her, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He offered to accompany her to the council, sensing her unease and Lynette gladly took him on his offer.
After a moment of consideration, Kidan tries to lighten the mood with small talk in his soothingly calm voice. Shepard gives him a faint smile, grateful for the effort, even if it does little to ease her anxiety. Still, she keeps chatting with him about the lush artificial nature on the citadel, the best shopping districts, the best restaurants to find authentic food.
After a few more minutes, the elevator doors finally slide open and Shepard and Kaidan step out, both equally in awe. The towering architecture is just beautiful.
But the moment fades away quickly. Voices from the Council chamber ahead can be heard with Udina's sharp words cutting through. Anderson is already waiting near the stairs, waving at the Commander to come to him.
Shepard turns to Kaidan with a small, genuine smile. "Thank you, Kaidan."
The Mayor nods, offering a small reassuring smile of his own before she jogs ahead.
"Come on," Anderson calls impatiently. "The hearing’s already started!"
Shepard falls into a quick pace next to her Captain as they climb the final steps to the Council’s podium. While looking at her feet, Shepard takes a slow deep breath, readying herself for the confrontation.
Once at the end of the stairs, on the final platform, Shepard eventually raises her gaze. Anderson comes to stand right next to Udina and Shepard mindlessly follows. Across from them, the Council is gathered in their elevated stands.
Lynette's eyes flicker to the left. Saren’s huge hologram towers beside them, a bright projection that's oozing smug confidence.
Her jaw tightened, her eyes not leaving the Spectre. "Coward," she murmurs bitterly under her breath. Of course, he wouldn’t show up in person. She scolds herself for being so naive to think he'd actually show.
The asari councilor Tevos continues to speak, "Again, Ambassador. The Geth attack on Eden Prime is a matter of concern but there is no evidence linking Saren to the events in question."
Shepard’s head snaps towards the asari at once, stunned, wondering if she did hear that correctly. What does she mean, no evidence?
Sparatus, the turian councilor, adds, "C-Sec’s investigation uncovered no proof of treason. Nothing implicates Saren's involvement in this matter."
Do they think we're making this up? In an attempt to keep herself from speaking up, Lynette bites her tongue.
Udina steps forward with a scowl on his face. "Councilors, with all respect, but that is not true. An eyewitness saw him shoot Nihlus in cold blood!"
Councilor Valern, the voice of the salarians, waves dismissively. "We’ve reviewed the Eden Prime reports. The testimony of a traumatized dockworker is hardly compelling."
Then Saren’s voice fills the chamber, smooth and condescending. "I resent these accusations. Nihlus was a fellow Spectre. A friend."
The words hit Shepard like a gut punch, knocking the wind from her lungs. Her fists clench and the taste of blood is spreading in her mouth. How dare he?
But before she can lash out, Anderson steps in. "That just made it easier for you to catch him off guard, Saren."
Saren chuckles, the sound sending a chill down Shepard’s spine. "Captain Anderson. Always so eager to throw baseless accusations my way. It’s almost nostalgic." His piercing eyes shift to Lynette. "And this must be your protégé, Commander Shepard. The one who not only failed to secure but also destroyed the beacon."
That’s it. Shepard steps forward, her voice carrying her anger, "Eden Prime was a top-secret mission. The only way you could know about the beacon is if you were there!"
Sarens just scoffs, shaking his head, "I read the report, human. There’s no mystery here. Only incompetence. With Nihlus gone, his files passed to me. Frankly, I was unimpressed. But I can’t expect much from humanity, can I?" He leans forward, his tone dripping with malice. "It’s a shame Nihlus fell after placing such misguided trust in you. He did speak highly of you once and see where that got him."
Shepard’s breath caught. Saren’s words hit harder than she expected. He’s not just taunting her, he is twisting the knife. This is confirming what she’d so long suspected. Saren had turned Nihlus against her.
The realization makes her blood boil.
Udina speaks up again, "Saren hates us, he despises humanity. That’s why he attacked Eden Prime!"
The turian’s expression hardens, his voice dropping to an almost growl. "Hate? No, Ambassador. Hate requires effort. Humanity doesn’t warrant that much of my time. Your species is reckless. Always grasping for power you haven’t earned. You’re not ready to lead, not even to stand on equal footing with the other races." His glowing eyes flicked back to Shepard. "And neither is your Commander."
Shepard tasks another step forward, her voice cutting through the room. "You’re hiding behind your Spectre status, you’ve sabotaged me before and you’d do it again!"
Anderson places a steadying hand on her arm before Shepard. In a hushed tone, he murmurs, "Stay focused."
Saren mandibles flare into a smirk. "Is that what you believe? Or is that what you need to believe to justify your own failures?" He chuckles again, low and condescending. "You’ve always been too impulsive, haven’t you, Shepard? Nihlus warned me about that."
The room seems to tilt. Shepard’s vision narrows, her anger threatening to explode. She can feel the Council’s eyes on her, waiting for her to snap, to prove Saren right.
Again his mandibles flare slightly in amusement. "Your species needs to learn its place, humans. You’re not ready for the Spectres or the responsibility that comes with it. You had your chance, Shepard and you failed."
Udina’s voice cuts through the tension. "He has no right to say that! That’s not his decision."
The asari councilor raises a hand. "That’s enough, Saren. You’ve made your point."
But Saren isn’t finished yet, waving her off dismissively. "This meeting is pointless. The humans are wasting your time, Councilors and mine. They’re grasping at shadows, trying to pull me down because they know they can’t rise to my level."
Shepard glares at him, seething with anger. "Saren is hiding behind his Spectre status! You need to see him for what he really is!"
Councilor Valern raises a hand for silence. "Enough, Commander. Without concrete evidence, we cannot proceed with these allegations."
“But we have evidence,” Shepard argues, “I’ve evacuated scientists, who all recall seeing a silver turian standing between the Geth lines.”
Councilor Sparatus shakes his head at her, “C-Sec talked with these scientists, they were hardly sane after the attack. Same for the coworker you mentioned.”
Anderson speaks up, his voice calm and measured, " And what about Shepard’s visions? They were triggered by the beacon and-"
"Ah, yes. The dreams." Saren laughs in a mocking tone, cutting the Captain off. "Is that what humanity has resorted to? Fairy tales and delusions?" His attention shifts to the council. "How can I defend my innocence against this kind of testimony?"
Sparatus nods in agreement. "We must rely on facts, not reckless speculation. Do you have anything else to present, Commander?"
Shepard can feel her body slowly deflate. What’s the point? The Council’s minds are already made up. She inhales deeply before stepping back. "You’ve made your decision. I won’t waste my breath."
Tevos speaks, her voice calm but resolute. "Commander Shepard, if you have no further evidence, this hearing is over."
Shepard glances one final time at Saren, before looking at the asari, accepting defeat, "If you don’t care for eyewitnesses then no. I have no further evidence."
Tevos nods. Her eyes exchange brief glances with the other councilors before announcing, "The Council has found no evidence linking Saren to the attack. Ambassador, your petition is denied."
Saren huffs a self-righteous laugh, his tone smug as his hologram flickers slightly. "I’m pleased to see the Council still values fairness over baseless accusations. Good to see justice is served."
Something in Shepard snaps "You bastard!" She rushes right to the edge of the podium. "I’ll kill you!"
Saren’s mandibles twitch slightly, indicating his smug satisfaction before his image vanishes, the connection cut.
Tevos sighs and shakes her head, her disappointment evident. "Commander, threats of violence do not strengthen your case. This meeting is adjourned."
With that, the councilors remove themselves, leaving Shepard standing alone with her anger.
Without a word, the Commander spins on her heel, shoving past Anderson and Udina as she storms toward the elevator. Her hands are trembling from rage. Anderson calls after her but she keeps on moving, not turning back.
The doors of the elevator slide shut behind her, trapping her in the small room. She punches her fist against the console, screaming out her frustration. I’ll fucking kill him!
---
The presidium is buzzing with noise, the artificial sky above glows in golden lights, indicating the timeshift to noon. The air is filled with murmured conversations as below the civilians, diplomats and officers are shuffling around.
But Shepard barely notices any of it.
The Commander is leaning against the railing with her arms folded tightly, one of her hands clinging to the metal railing in frustration. Saren's words are still ringing in her head. His lies, his arrogance, his openly displayed racism, his mockery. And the maddening lack of consequences for any of it.
It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to jump that damned holo right then and there.
Out of her periphery, Lynette notices Anderson approaching her. The Captain comes to stand by her side silently, his forearms resting on the railing casually as well.
"How bad?" Shepard asks without looking at him.
Anderson follows her gaze down to the lower levels of the presidium. His voice colored with a hint of humor, "Nothing I couldn't handle."
Shepard scoffs, finally looking at him. "Udina chewed you out, didn’t he?"
Anderson shrugs his shoulders with a small smile. "Yeah, thats one way to put it. He's not thrilled with how things played out, neither of us is. But knowing Saren, we both expected him to try to undermine you. He wanted to provoke you, make you look bad in front of the Council."
Shepard sighs sharply, her fingers tightening around the cool metal railing. "Yeah and he succeeded. Played me like a damn fiddle."
Anderson turns to face her. He can’t help but notice the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders are drawn back as if ready for another fight. The whole situation is clearly getting to her.
Trying to ease the tension, he says "It's not over, Shepard,"
But she only lets out a humorless laugh. "Feels like it. The council protects him and we don’t even know what he’s after. Those twisted nightmares in my head didn’t help either.” She wipes her hand over her face, sighing deeply. Eventually, she looks back at her Captain. “What about Nihlus?”
Anderson smiles lightly, knowing the news will lift her spirit. "Hackett just authorized new protocols. Top secret. The Alliance passed an official report to the Council - Nihlus is missing in action. As far as they’re concerned, his body got lost in the fires.” Lynette raises an eyebrow, but before she can ask, Anderson continues. “In reality, he’ll stay at the Alliance Healthcare Center here on the Citadel. Guarded around the clock, under the Alliance protection.”
The Commander's eyes blow wide. “Hackett did that?”
“Yes.” Anderson gives her a reassuring smile before letting his eyes wander over the presidium again. “I believe you, Shepard and so does Hackett. He’s backing you on this, no matter what.”
Lynette just blinks, stunned into silence. Nihlus is safe. Once her brain has registered that, she speaks again. “I… That… Anderson, Hackett takes a lot of risks with that.”
“He is,” Anderson agrees. “But with Kryik being stationed on an Alliance vessel under Alliance command, Hackett sees it as his duty to protect him. And after what happened in that chamber today? Let’s just say the Council didn’t do much to change the Admirals mind.”
A tired breath escapes her as she closes her eyes for a moment. Relief. Nihlus has been her biggest concern, despite everything that had happened between them. Knowing he’ll be safe lifts the crushing weight off her shoulders.
She is one-hundred percent certain that If Saren knew Nihlus still survived, he wouldn’t hesitate to finish what he started.
After a moment, Lynette looks back at her Captain. “I really hope Hacketts trust is not misplaced.”
“Come on, Lynette.” Anderson pats her on the shoulder. “We don’t have the luxury of second-guessing. Like always, we play the hand we’re dealt.”
She nods with a small smile, her gaze moving from her Captain back to the Presidium below. After a moment of comfortable silence, a faint smirk finds its way on her face, “I think I owe you a drink, after dealing with Udina. Up for it?”
“I won’t argue with that.” Anderson chuckles, pushing off the railing. “Lead the way.”
During the last three years I went through a lot of hardships and I feel like it was showing in my writing. In the last two years I was growing increasingly unsatisfied with my stories. Whenever I revisited my fanfics, especially my Negan x Rick's Daughter Story I felt unbelievably unhappy and frustrated.
A lot of times I'd start new ships/francies but it never helped with the feeling that I could do better, it never helped with the insane writer's block.
During the last 8 months, I just wrote for myself, completely ignoring my open fanfictions.
In that time I managed to write a 303 pages long Ramsay Snow/Bolton x Reader fanfiction from the Game Of Thrones TV Series. I don't know if I ever post it as it's a blatant self-insert and it was just something for me, to get my head away from personal troubles.
What I'm trying to say is, I am still here, still active, reading every single comment. I just needed the time to get my head free and write something that had no deadline, with no one waiting for it.
I WILL continue to write for my open fics, The Walking Dead, House Of Dragons, Gladiator 2(...), you name it.
Or in other words:
Just a heads up, there are bots going around on AO3 accusing people of using AI. Considering the timing, this is likely AI bros' retaliation for AO3 users calling them out for scraping their work. Examples of what you might be sent:
Screenshots from here.
If you get a comment like this, just report for spam and delete.
I am very serious about my stories. Some chapters take up to a month to write, because I want it to be as good as it gets. Getting accused of using AI, while I and many other writers pour their hearts into their stories is just vile. 😡
I am currently writing on the next part!
My Geta x Reader Chapter is the most well received fanfic I've ever posted and not gonna lie, it's putting me under a lot of stress to write another chapter that's just as good. The first chapter already took me about a month to finish because I wanted to make it as good as possible, after I haven't really written for almost a whole year.
There will be another part but It might take a while.
Chapter Summary: The Emperor is not used to being denied. He'll come to find even the most beautiful flowers carry thorns. Drawing his intrigue is dangerous and no prickle will stop him.
Wordcount: 4k.
A/N: Written inclusively, no race mentioned or implied.
The air of the Imperial Palaces is buzzing with laughter and music. Expensive wine is flowing freely between Rome's Elite, a parade of wealth and charm where every guest is competing for attention in the glittering spectacle. From their golden dais, the twin emperors oversee the festivities, though each is engrossed in his own way.
Caracalla lounges lazily in his gilded seat, the lack of enthusiasm evident. He is barely paying attention, too focused on his beloved monkey that is sitting on the armrest. While taking long, careless sips of wine he occasionally fed Dundus with grapes.
Geta on the other hand is sitting upright but his face is mirroring the boredom of his brother, his dark eyes observing the crowd with mild interest.
These elaborate displays of power and wealth had quickly lost their appeal and soon became tiresome rituals of their rule. Necessary evils, as even Emperors have to maintain appearances.
Caracalla throws a grape in the air, watching Dundus catch it mid-air. His eyes momentarily move towards the crowd before returning back to his monkey. With a sigh, he breaks the silence, gesturing toward a group of dancers performing in the center of the hall. “Do you ever wonder why we bother with all this? I’d wager most of them don’t even remember why we are holding these festivities.”
Geta glances at his brother, with a hint of humor in his voice he asks, “Do you?” Caracalla narrows his eyes at the teasing but keeps silent, his attention back to the monkey.
“It’s necessary,” Geta continues, his eyes resuming to oversee the guests. “The spectacle reminds them of our power.”
“Power,” Caracalla echoes with a grimace. “If they were truly loyal, we wouldn’t need to remind them at all. Loyalty bought with wine and music isn’t loyalty. It’s theater.”
“Perhaps,” Geta shrugs his shoulders. “But the people thrive on theater. It keeps them entertained and compliant.”
Caracalla sighs, swirling his goblet, “We should have asked Macrinus to send some of his gladiators.”
Geta tilts his head, amusement coloring his features. “We can’t have people die at every festive occasion, brother.”
Caracalla’s grin turns wicked as he strokes Dundus’s fur, “Says who?”
That elicits a faint chuckle from his brother. Geta reaches for a new goblet of wine, with his lips curved into a half smile. “The night’s still young, Caracalla. Let’s see what this evening brings before you write it off entirely.”
As if on cue, the grand doors of the atrium swing open, catching both brothers’ attention. A new set of guests enters the hall. Another senator with his family, but something about them is different, their arrival causes a subtle shift in the room. Heads turn and hushed whispers travel through the crowd.
“More senators,” Caracalla releases a tired breath, his attention already elsewhere.
Geta is about to dismiss them as well but then the senator steps aside, revealing two young women trailing behind him. Geta straights in his chair lightly, his attention sharpening.
The elder of the two wears a pale bluish almost lavender colored dress that shimmers in the light of the chandeliers. Her hair is pinned up, exposing her neck and shoulders. An air of quiet confidence surrounds her as she walks, her head held high as she speaks with her father. The younger one, in a soft, rose-colored gown, clings to her sister’s arm. Her movements try to mimic the elder’s, though she lacks the sisters' confidence. They exchange a few words with their father before he drifts off with their brother, leaving the two to stand at the entrance.
Caracalla notices Geta’s interest and raises an eyebrow. “Something worth noting?” But Geta doesn’t reply right away. Caracalla follows his brother’s line of sight, observing the young women briefly before turning back to Dundus. “They’re pretty, I’ll give them that. But half the women here are pretty.”
“True,” Geta murmurs softly.
Caracalla has to smirk, to him they look like every other noble daughter. “Careful, Geta. You seem interested. Should I have them sent up?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geta scoffs at his brother, before leaning back in his chair, his eyes moving over the crowd again.
Caracalla chuckles softly, tossing another grape to Dundus. “The night’s young, indeed.”
The air smells like flowers and honey. Your eyes dart between the crowd, as you take a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves. The practiced mask of composure quickly slips into place. With a pet of your sister's hand on your arm, you smile at her, “Shall we?”
Sabina nods, giving you a faint smile of her own. Her calm exterior is just an act and you know that. You can feel the unease radiating from her. The court is a beautiful prison, a place where every glance and every word carries meaning. Tonight, the eyes of friends and foes will be on you. A dance you’ve learned long ago but it's still new to your little sister.
With Sabina’s hand securely around your arm, you lead her through the hall, exchanging brief pleasantries with the various nobles and acquaintances you encounter. The conversations are fleeting and filled with hollow friendliness. Not wishing to spend the night with unhonest smiles alone, you two continue moving through the crowd.
When a servant approaches with trays of wine, you take two cups, handing one to Sabina with a quiet instruction. “Drink slowly. It keeps your hands occupied.”
Sabina accepts her cup, taking a quick sip. “It’s impressive how you do it.”
You cast her a small reassuring smile, petting her hand on your arm. “All practice, Sabi. Trust me, soon it’ll come as naturally to you as it does to me.”
She shakes her head softly, moving forward through the guests. “No, it’s not that. When you do it, it looks simple. Like you were born for this.”
With your eyes on the nobles around you, you say, “Thank you for the compliment, but I am born into this and so are you. Soon enough, you’ll handle it with ease. Just watch Marcus and me.”
Sabina nods silently, her steps quickening to match your pace as you lead her further into the hall. You come to stand before one of today's entertainments, beautiful exotic dancers. Their bodies move like water as they glide across the floor in a swirl of colors. As you two watch them, servants continue to offer delicacies, exotic fruits, pastries filled with honey, roasted meats sliced finely. You sample a bit of everything, savoring the fleeting pleasure of it.
As you take a small piece of a fruit you haven't heard from before, you nod subtly toward a woman standing near a pillar. "See Lady Amagus, the one in green? She’ll divorce her husband soon. He fathered a bastard with her youngest sister.”
Sabina’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth, momentarily forgetting to conceal her reaction. The shock fades quickly again. "By Jupiter... the humiliation."
You nod, your gaze following the woman. "I can’t imagine it. But she’s holding herself with outstanding grace despite it."
The two of you continue your way through the crowd, gossiping quietly as you walk. Eventually you stop near the archways leading to one of the many palace gardens. The fresh cool evening air is a welcome gift. You turn your back to the arches, enjoying the air brushing over your shoulders, your little sister quickly following suit.
Sabina leans in, her voice lowered as she speaks. “I’ve heard Julia Meranius will marry into House Heras. Not the son, but the father. Lady Heras just died and they’re already making wedding plans.”
You shake your head, your jaw tightening in disgust. "Tasteless. Makes you wonder if her illness was more than just a coincidence.” Sabina glares at you but you just shrug your shoulders. “Unfortunate, no less.”
The music changes and you allow yourself to breathe, savoring the cooling breeze that drifts through the heated hall. Unfortunately, the peace is short-lived, as from the corner of your eye, you catch Sabina’s gaze wandering, drifting upward to the side, to the golden dais.
The Emperors.
“Stop it.” You admonish her quietly, the calm mask on your face intact despite the warning in your tone. “It’s unwise to draw their notice.”
Sabina startles slightly, her eyes snapping back to the crowd immediately. “They look-”
“Don’t.” You cut her off with a sharper edge, casting her a quick warning glare.
Your sister exhales softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she lifts her cup, sipping in silence.
Shortly after your arrival, you’ve stolen a quick glance at them yourself, when moving through the crowd. You know what she was going to say.
That the twin emperors might as well be statues - cold, motionless, carved from arrogance itself. They can’t even bring themselves to feign interest in the spectacle before them.
You glance at Sabina, ensuring her focus remains elsewhere while your own thoughts betray you. War, death and bloodshed are known to be your ruler's true passions and it seems neither music nor wine can compare. True to their title, the mad twins. A name only uttered in the smallest of whispers in the darkest of Rome's corners.
With a slight shake of your head, you try to banish these traitorous thoughts. You’re not here to dwell on politics, that is reserved for your brother and father. You are here to enjoy the evening.
Sabinas' sudden firm grip on your arm quickly demands your attention. She leans closer to you. “Senator Domitianus just arrived.”
You take another slow sip of your wine, eyes flicking over to where the elderly senator stands. “Pay him no mind. He’s toothless. A few years left to live and even fewer alliances to call his own. In a few months, he’ll be nothing more than a whisper in the wind."
Sabina smiles faintly, her fingers tightening just slightly around your arm. It’s comforting in a way, this quiet understanding between you two. “Hold your head up high, Sabina. He will be soon forgotten, while we are still standing despite his efforts. We are proud and everyone shall see it.”
Up on the golden dais, the emperors still watch the growing crowd. Dundus is squeaking happily, performing tricks for his master, much to his delight.
Geta rolls his eyes, annoyed by the loud, little creature. Resting his head on his hand, he suppresses a sigh. This night really does feel endless, the music and chatter blending into a monotonous hum. His eyes wander over the dancers without much interest. He watches their performance for a moment, before a flicker of blue in his periphery catches his attention. At once his gaze shifts again, landing on the sisters he noticed earlier tonight.
The older sister stands out, not only in her appearance but in her demeanor. The woman in blue carries herself with effortless elegance, a composure that sets her apart from the peacocks who parade themselves before him and his brother. Unlike the other women in the hall, she seems unconcerned with drawing attention to herself, oozing quiet confidence as though she has nothing to prove.
“What do you think of them?” Geta asks, his voice low as he turns to his brother, though his gaze never leaves the sisters. “They seem out of place.”
Caracalla glances over at them, his face twisting into a smirk. “Which one caught your attention, the proud dove or the trembling chick?”
Geta’s lips twitch slightly but he didn’t look away. “The one in blue. There is something about her.”
“That so? And what would that be?” Caracalla asks, his eyes landing on the girls briefly again before looking back at the monkey. “She’s just some noble’s daughter, here to remind us that her family still exists. Probably hoping to secure a good match for herself or the skittish one by her side. And if you’re not careful, she’ll think you’re interested.”
As if sensing their eyes on her, the woman in blue turns her head slowly, her eyes sweeping the room until they nearly meet Geta’s. But before their gazes can lock, a familiar figure strides into the hall, stealing the emperor's attention.
“Fabius Verrinus.” Geta observes quietly, looking at his brother with a knowing grin. He straightens in lazy anticipation. “Finally, some entertainment.”
The brothers share a look of amusement. Senator Verrinus is infamous, known for his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. A man of the kind that thrives on attention and over the time the emperors have become eager spectators.
“Let’s see who he targets tonight,” Caracalla says, leaning forward with rekindled interest.
Verrinus exchanges a few words with a fellow senator when his gaze finds the two sisters. He pauses mid-sentence, his lips curving into a predatory smile. Geta's brows knit together, it seems the sisters haven’t only captured his interest.
The senator excuses himself, making his way towards the two women in purposeful strides. By the looks of it, the elder one notices him first, her posture tensing lightly in anticipation.
Verrinus' voice breaks though the music, loud enough to draw attention of the close by nobles. “Ah, the daughters of House Cassius! A vision, as always.”
The crowd parts slightly as he approaches the sisters. Fabius' voice is laced with honey but his smile fails to reach his eyes. “I must say it's quite surprising to see you in attendance tonight. I’ve heard your family is facing hard times. I heard your father struggles to keep his trading routes safe. Perhaps he should take notes from more capable men.”
His words are calculated, insults cloaked in feigned civility. The younger girl stiffens visibly, her wide eyes darting nervously between her sister and Fabius.
Caracalla chuckles quietly from his seat, leaning in to watch the exchange. “The little one looks like she’s about to cry.”
Geta ignores him, his eyes focused on the elder one. She is completely unmoved by Verrinus' words.
With a small step, she positions herself between the man and her sister, regarding the senator with a calm expression. “It is said that true nobility lies in enduring challenges with grace, my lord. Perhaps that is why my father commands respect, while others must resort to empty words to make themselves feel important.”
Geta arches an eyebrow, surprise evident in his face. Her boldness gains even more attention, subtle murmurs carry through the crowd of onlookers.
Verrinus' smile falters for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing at her. “Lady Y/N, surely you’ve heard about the rumors that your father-”
“Rumors,” she interrupts him, her tone smooth but direct. “Are like smoke, Senator. They may cloud the air for a time, but they vanish quickly when met with light. Only fools grasp at shadows in their search for relevance. It’s truly a blessing to know my family is above such things.”
The crowd’s whispers grow louder, encouraged by her eloquent retort. Verrinus opens his mouth to respond but before he can so much as utter a word, she silences him with a brilliant smile. “If you’ll excuse us, Senator. My sister and I would rather enjoy the tranquility of the garden than linger in such smoke.”
Without waiting for a response, she takes her sister’s arm and guides her through the archway to the garden, leaving Verrinus to stew in the bitter humiliation.
Caracalla bursts into laughter, clapping his hands once. “Oh, she’s good! Did you see his face? Like a fish gasping for air.”
Geta huffs a laugh, his gaze shifting briefly to his brother, then back to the archway where the sisters disappeared. Caracalla leans back, clapping his hands again. “That was entertaining. What did he say her name was?”
Geta gestures to a nearby squire. “The woman in blue, who is she?”
The squire bows deeply before answering. “That is Lady Y/N Cassius, Your Majesty. The oldest daughter of Senator Gaius Cassius. Their grandfather was a merchant who built the family’s fortune. Senator Cassius expanded their influence further before securing a seat in the Senate.”
“Merchants elevated to Patricians,” Caracalla sneers, his earlier respect dimming by the family's status. “Hardly remarkable.”
With his eyes lingeing on the archway to the gardens, Geta points out, “Remarkable enough to silence Verrinus,”
The squire explains further, “House Cassius faced challenges of late, but they are still highly respected by many.”
“Respected,” Geta repeats, deep in thought. “Yes, I see why.” He dismisses the squire with a wave of his hand. Leaning back slowly in his seat again, his expression turns unreadable.
He was no stranger to the name Cassius, the family isn’t unfamiliar but the woman herself is. Geta realizes now that he’s never truly encountered that woman before tonight. That in itself feels like a peculiar oversight on his part. How had he overlooked someone like her, surely he would have noticed her before tonight.
Caracalla's mind is already distracted again as he leans against the armrest, his little Dundus sitting on his shoulder. “You see that one over there?” He gestured idly toward a group of noblewomen, his voice dripping with indifference. “She’s been staring at me for the last hour. Desperate for attention, like the rest of them.”
Geta doesn't reply, his focus still drawn toward the garden. Verrinus' still standing off to the side, his face still flushed from embarrassment or rage, likely a combination of both. The man’s pride is clearly wounded and yet Geta feels no pity nor amusement. There is only a quiet, growing curiosity about the woman who had so effortlessly dismantled the most vicious man of the city.
“Are you even listening, brother?” Caracalla asks, tossing a grape towards him.
“Hm?” Geta responds absently.
Caracalla frowns at him, “Brooding about the girls, are you? Don’t waste your time.”
Geta’s expression remains impassive as he keeps silent, his mind still working. Their father is a senator and by the looks of it, his eldest daughter has more wit than half the Senate combined.
Eventually his eyes shortly move back to his brother before returning to the archways, “If her father’s political acumen matches her wit, House Cassius might prove useful.”
Caracalla laughs, loud enough to make a few nearby guests glance their way. “You always think in terms of politics, brother. Sometimes a woman is just a woman.”
“Sometimes, yes,” Geta agrees quietly. “But not this one.”
Caracalla laughs again, even louder this time. “And what of it? Haven’t you seen that little sister? That girl looked like a frightened fawn. I’ll take her, she seems easy to break. You can have the sharp-tongued one.”
Geta rolls his eyes, his tone dry. “How magnanimous of you.”
Caracalla only grins. “Her tongue will be the death of her. Verrinus won’t forget this. A shame, really. She’d make an entertaining court jester.”
“Or a useful ally,” Geta muses, swirling his wine thoughtfully.
“So? Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or are you going to follow her?” Caracalla teases lightly before tossing a grape into his mouth. “You look like a dog sniffing after a bone.”
“Unlike you, brother,” Geta finally tears his gaze away to meet Caracalla’s amused expression, “I don’t make a habit of chasing every pretty face. And I certainly don’t declare my intentions aloud in the presence of the entire court.”
Caracalla laughs, unbothered by the bait. “Oh, come now, Geta. Admit it - you’re intrigued. The noble merchant’s daughter, standing tall amidst the wolves. It’s practically a tale out of one of those tragic love poems you pretend not to enjoy.”
Geta ignores the jab about poetry, but his curiosity is undeniable. Caracalla's eyes met him again. “But don’t let it distract you from the reality of who we are.”
“And what’s that?” Geta asks, his annoyance clear in his tone.
“Gods,” Caracalla states simply, flashing a sharp grin. “And gods don’t chase mortal girls, no matter how clever they are.”
Geta drains his goblet, setting it down with a decisive clink. Rising from his seat, he adjusts the folds of his imperial robe.
“Oh, so you are going after her,” Caracalla drawls, leaning back with a smug grin. “Be careful, Geta. That rose seems to have thorns.”
Geta doesn’t spare his brother another glance, as he descends the dais. “I’d rather deal with thorns than another evening listening to you.”
The moon is rising behind the horizon, casting its brilliant silver glow across the sprawling opulent gardens of the imperial palace.
You dare to take a deep breath, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. Verrinus is such a coward. Instead of searching the confrontation he so clearly wished for with your father he chose the assumed easier opponent.
A mistake, clearly. Your father was a good teacher and you an even better student. Still, the confrontation was nerve racking and unnecessary. The rivalry between your two families shouldn't be so open on display.
“That was impressive.” Your little sister beams at you, awe reflecting in her eyes. “He was stunned into silence.”
You two come to stand in front of a marble fountain. You lean against the cool stone lightly, before addressing your concerns. “Father will have a wonderful time in the Forum next time.”
Sabina looks at you with a small smile, petting your shoulder. “But what else could we have done? Ignore him? Surly Father will understand.”
Of course he will but that doesn’t make it any easier. Verrinus is a man who holds grudges. Father will not be thrilled. This will have consequences.
“On another note,” Sabina’s smile grows, “Did mother tell you about her recent encounter with Verrinus' ex-wife?”
Getas' feet take him slowly through the garden, following where the sisters had disappeared earlier. The feast is still lively, the music and laughter echoing in the distance but the Emperor doesn’t take notice. His eyes are set onto the two figures in the middle of the garden.
His pace slows down as he watches the sisters. The younger one is grinning brightly, gesturing wildly as she tells a story. The older one, Y/N as he has learned, listens attentively. The soft blue seems more lavender now, shimmering in the pale light. Her face, shining with a genuine smile, looks like a painting brought to life. Beautiful.
She seems to notice eyes on her, her head turning towards him. In an instant the smile is gone, replaced by the expression of careful composure he came to admire earlier tonight.
“Lady Y/N,” Geta greets, his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. “A word?”
You dip into a respectful curtsy, your heart taking on speed again. Sabina quickly follows suit, though her gaze carefully darts around, as though searching for potential onlookers.
“Your Majesty,” you greet him back, tone carefully measured despite the storm in your chest. “I hope you are enjoying your feast.”
“I was,” Geta lies, his expression unreadable. “But I couldn’t help but notice you earlier. Not many would dare speak to Verrinus in such a way. You have a sharp tongue, though you wield it well. It’s rare to see such grace under pressure.”
Your heart keeps pounding violently in your chest, fearing guests might taking note of this exchange. With a tight smile on your lips, you reply, “Your Majesty is too kind.”
Geta steps closer, his attention fully on the woman in front of him. “And now I find myself wondering why I have not seen you before tonight.”
“You have, Your Majesty,” you dare to correct him carefully, “I am a rare attendant to the court but we were introduced at the Colosseum some years ago, though I wouldn’t expect you to remember. There are many faces demanding your attention. It would be understandable if mine was forgotten.”
Geta’s brow arches, the response only deepening his curiosity. “I assure you, Lady Y/N, your face is not one I would forget.”
His tone is almost playful but there is a weight behind his words that makes you feel even more on edge. “I am honored by your kindness, Your Majesty, but it is likely true. After all, I am one of many.”
Sabinas' eyes move toward a group of men lingering near the garden entrance, Fabius Verrinus among them. She subtly touches your wrist, a silent warning.
Your expression hardened ever so slightly, as you caught the men in the corner of your eye as well. Quickly you return your focus back to the Emperor. “I am honored to have spoken to you, Augustus, but I don’t want to keep you from the feast for too long. Surely you have more pressing matters than to concern yourself with a mere daughter of House Cassius.”
Geta’s eyes narrow subtly. Why does he get the feeling she is trying to leave? At the realization, his voice hardens, “I decide what matters concern me, Lady Y/N. And at this moment, you do.”
Your sister shifts nervously and you place a reassuring hand on her arm. “I am flattered by your attention, but surely it is misplaced.” You attempt a soft laugh. “I doubt I am deserving of it.”
Getas' jaw clenches faintly, “I disagree. You’ve spoken of the arena, do you attend often?”
“Always.” You tell him, a genuine small smile cracking through your mask. “I have never missed a game since my father became senator. I find the games to be fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” The Emperor repeats, intrigued. “Most noblewomen I know prefer the banquets to the arena. Why do you favor the games?”
You hesitate, sensing the weight of his curiosity. “The arena is a place of stories, of triumphs and tragedies. It shows the strength and spirit of Rome and it reminds us of the cost of greatness.”
Slowly Sabina takes your arm, applying soft pressure. A few nobles decided to take a stroll in the garde as well, although they are out of earshot, their discreet glances don't escape the young Cassius.
Your back straightens instinctively. “The hour grows late and I fear we’ve already taken too much of your time, Augustus. With your permission, my sister and I will return to the palace to find our father.”
“You seem eager to leave.” Geta observes, his voice calm but with an edge of suspicion. He steps forward, blocking her path slowly, a silent challenge. He watches her for any crumb of reaction, anything that might shatter her controlled composure.
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” You sling your arm around your sisters, offering a casual smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “But my sister tires easily. It would be remiss of me not to see her safely back to our father.”
Sabina is about to open her mouth to speak, ready to elaborate on the excuse but you subtly squeeze her arm, silencing her before she can undo your carefully chosen words.
Geta’s jaw tightens as he considers the women, his piercing gaze flickering between the two. That little one didn’t look the least bit tired only a few moments ago. A very poor excuse, one Geta recognizes for what it is: a dismissal.
He is the emperor. He does not get dismissed.
Hot frustration blooms in Geta’s chest at her defiance. He considers insisting her to stay, forcing her to remain in his presence, but something about her makes him hesitate.
He has the power to make her yield, to bend her will with a single order. Yet, for now, he lets it go. With a controlled breath, he eventually steps aside, allowing them to pass. “Good night, Lady Cassius.”
The two sisters bow down again in unison, wishing him a good night as well, before walking towards the palace.
The moment you move past him, your grip on your sister’s arm tightens like a vice. With swift, elaborate steps, you steer her back towards the archways. She is about to look back over her shoulder but you tug her forward.
“Move,” you almost bark under your breath, the pressure of the night’s interactions finally catching up to you.
Sabina, despite it, leans in closer, her voice teasingly soft, “He’s handsome.”
With slightly hurried steps, you return to the Atrium, your grip is unrelenting, “I’ve noticed.”
Geta stands still, rooted in place with his mood souring as he watches the women leave. The bitter taste of rejection lingering on his tongue. All the women in the atrium would fall over themselves for his attention, desperate for any scrap of it, but not her.
She evadied him at every turn, so politely and as elegantly, it wasn’t just frustrating - this was fascinating. For a brief, aching moment, Geta is consumed by the thought. But then it shifts into something darker, something sharper. He knows he will see her again. And when he does, he’ll make sure she won't slip through his grasp again so easily.
Shepard enters the cargo hold in full gear, her Mantis slung across her back. Leisurely she leans against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for Anderson and Nihlus to arrive. Her mind is already focused on the mission ahead. Secure the beacon.
The hiss of the elevator draws her attention, making her head turn. Instead of Anderson or Nihlus are Kaidan and Jenkins stepping into the hold, also suited up.
"Hey, Shep," Kaidan greets casually, offering her a nod. "Ready to go?"
She frowns at him in confusion. "Wait, what? Why are you two here? Anderson said it was just me and the Spectre."
Jenkins salutes crisply. "A distress call, ma'am. Captain Anderson and Spectre Kryik agreed to send a small group instead."
Shepard’s frown deepens. A what now? Annoyance creeps into her features, why hadn’t she been briefed on this?
Irritated, she pushes off the wall. ”Okay, hold on, I've got to talk with them," Quickly she heads for the elevator. This is her team, her mission. She deserves to know what’s going on.
When she pushes the button, the elevator doors open revealing Nihlus. His calm demeanor does nothing to temper her frustration. "Good, you’re already here," he says, his tone brisk as he moves to pass her.
"Wait." Shepard places a hand on his carapace, halting him. She pulls away in an instand, realizing the intimacy of the gesture. "What’s this about a distress call? What’s going on?"
Nihlus motions to a quiet corner of the hold, his expression unreadable. Shepard follows him, her irritation simmering beneath the surface.
In the secluded area, he activates his omnitool, pulling up a grainy video feed. It shows panicked colonists, explosions in the background, Alliance soldiers running around and then a massive, ominous structure descending, cutting through the clouds.
"There’s been no comm traffic since this footage was transmitted twenty minutes ago," Nihlus explains, his tone even but serious. "Anderson and I decided a small strike team would be more efficient, quick without drawing attention. We still need to secure the beacon, but this changes the stakes."
Shepard exhales sharply, crossing her arms. This is already getting complicated. "Okay. And the survivors? Are we evacuating them?"
Nihlus rewinds the footage to the structure's descent. His mandibles tighten. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
Shepard leans in, squinting at the screen. "No, but it looks massive. Kinda looks like a giant tick."
"I don’t know what a ‘tick’ is," Nihlus says dryly. "But with a structure like that down there and no comm traffic, I doubt we’ll find any survivors."
Her gaze snaps to him. "We? So you’re coming with me?" Us. Damn it. She means us.
Before he can answer, Anderson’s voice calls out, "Alright, team! Gather up!" Shepard hadn’t even noticed the Captain entering the hold. She casts one last glance at Nihlus before moving toward her Captain and her team. Anderson orders Joker to go down before focusing his attention on the ground team.
"Okay, Shepard. Your team's muscles in this operation. Go in heavy and head straight for the dig site."
Joker’s voice rings over the speakers. "Approaching drop point one."
Nihlus only nods, moving toward the opening hangar without hesitation.
"Hey!" Shepard calls after him. "You’re not going alone!"
"I’m faster on my own," Nihlus replies without looking back.
"Come on, Kryik! Going alone is su-" The Spectre leaps from the hangar, disappearing into the horizon.
"-icide," Shepard mutters, rolling her eyes. "Perfect."
Anderson steps up beside her, his tone steady. "Nihlus will scout ahead and send status updates. Otherwise, radio silence unless it’s urgent during this mission."
She takes a deep breath, adjusting her gear. "Understood. Ready and able, sir.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The team touched down minutes later, only to face immediate tragedy. A wave of drones claimed Jenkins’ life before they even had a chance to gather their barrings. Shepard had to pressed forward with Kaidan. Despite everything, she couldn't help but to worry about Nihlus. He is well trained and experienced but he is alone.
After clearing the second wave of drones, Nihlus finally radioed in. “Shepard, I’ve found burned-out buildings and... bodies. I’ll investigate and catch up with you at the dig site.”
She wanted to respond, to ask if he was okay, but Anderson’s orders for radio silence held her back. The faint hum of static from his channel was her only reassurance.
The mission then further escalated. After rescuing Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams from Geth troops and hearing her grim report, the team pushed toward the dig site, finding more and more bodies. The colonists were impaled on spikes. The Commander forced herself not to look too closely. It was horrible.
When the team finally arrived at the digsite, the beacon was gone. Frustration took over as Shepard weighed their options. After a short time of consideration, Shepards orders the team to move forward to the camp once Nihlus has arrived as well.
And as if on cue, Nihlus radioed again. “Change of plans, Shepard. I’m heading to a small spaceport up ahead.”
Shepard swore under her breath. He just can’t stick to the plan, can he?
The team moved on, cutting through waves of drones and grotesque husks. Once-human victims reanimated into monstrosities. Each encounter tested their resolve.
At the camp, the team found a handful of survivors, trembling and battered. They confirmed a turian passed through earlier. Relief blossomed in Lynette's chest but they had to keep moving.
When they eventually reached the spaceport, the team took a moment to overlook the area. Kaidan stopped in his tracks. "What is that? Off in the distance." That's the structure Nihlus showed Shepard before they moved. It's indeed gigantic.
"Nihlus showed me." Shepard explained, "It landed here during the atta-"
A shoot in the distance. Suddenly the low white noise from Nihlus radio was gone.
Shepard felt her heart racing. “Kryik?” she called urgently over the radio. “Do you copy?”
Silence.
“Damn it,” she muttered, dread pumping through her veins. “Okay, move!” Shepard broke into a sprint, leading her team towards the port.
When they reached it, more Geth and twisted husks attacked, but the team fought through them with fierce determination. Using crates for cover, the team returned fire, the machines proving more aggressive than before. The beacon had to be nearby.
Crouched behind a stack of crates, Shepard fired precise shots, her sniper rifle cutting through the enemy ranks. She changed her position multiple times, seeking better angles, when a streak of blue caught her eye. Blood. Turian blood.
Her stomach dropped. “No, no, no…”
Abandoning her cover, Shepard pushed forward, darting toward the bloodstained crates. Her heart sunk as she rounded the corner to find Nihlus sprawled on the ground, motionless. She screamed his name in terror, dropping to her knees beside him. “No! Damn it, Nihlus. Come one, stay with me!” His pulse was faint, his breathing shallow. “Don’t you dare die on me now, Nihlus.”
Ignoring Anderson’s orders, Shepard radioed Joker. “Normandy, I need evac ASAP! We’ve lost Jenkins, and Nihlus is critical!” Joker rogered that and Anderson granted permission for the pick-up. Meanwhile, Kaidan and Ashley finished off the remaining enemies and hurried to Shepard’s side. Shepard was so focused on the turian, trying to stabilize him, she barely noticed a survivor of the attack explaining what happened. He spoke of another turian, of Saren’s betrayal. Fury sparked within her at the mention of the name.
But they still had to find the beacon, if Saren was really the mastermind behind all this, they have to get it before he does. If he was willing to commit murder for it, to kill his own protegé, it must have been an important artefact.
Reluctantly Shepard had to move on and leave Nihilus' side. She ordered Williams to stay with Nihlus until the Normandy came, while she and Kaidan went after the Geth.
Sick with worry, she and Kaidan made their way through the port. They sprinted towards the next platform, fighting through waves of Geth as they advanced. The metallic clanking of their boots mixed with the crackle of gunfire. When they reached the transport platform, Shepard’s breath hitched at the sight of blinking red lights.
Demolition charges.
"Five minutes," Kaidan said grimly, pointing to the timer on the nearest charge.
Shepard let out a frustrated breath but didn’t waste time. “Cover me while I disarm them!”
Her fingers worked swiftly, her former engineering training kicking in. As Kaidan laid down suppressing fire, she moved from charger to charger, dismantling the Geth’s traps while dodging their attacks.
Relief washed over her, when she worked on the last one. The timer stopped at five seconds. “Bombs are disarmed,” she called, rising to her feet.
They pressed forward to the final platform, where the beacon loomed, pulsating faintly with an eerie green light. A small Geth squad stood guard, but Shepard and Kaidan took them down with ruthless efficiency.
“All clear, Commander,” Kaidan said, lowering his weapon.
Shepard nodded, stepping closer to the artifact. So much trouble for that thing? She activated her comm. “Normandy, the beacon is secure. We are ready for evac- Kaidan, stop!”
Kaidan had wandered too close to the beacon, which began to glow and hum with unsettling intensity. Before he could react, a green tendril of energy lashed out, pulling him toward it.
Without thinking, Shepard lunged at him, shoving him out of harm's way. Suddenly the energy engulfed her instead.
She felt herself lifting off the ground, weightless yet immobilized. Her mind erupted with chaotic visions. Flashes of destruction, screaming figures, and planets consumed by fire. Death. The images were vivid and incomprehensible, each one more horrifying than the last.
Her body trembled as the beacon’s energy reached a crescendo and then snapped. The visions stopped abruptly as a searing pain shot through her head, and everything went dark.
The last thing she heard was Kaidan’s panicked voice calling her name, became faint and distant as she slipped into unconsciousness.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
This must be the worst headache ever.
Groaning, Shepard forces her eyes open, the light stabbing through her skull. Slowly she tries to sit up but her body protest at every movement.
“Easy there,” Dr. Chakwas says gently, coming to stand next to her to help. “You’ve been through a lot, Commander. You had us worried there. How are you feeling?”
Shepard rests her pounding head in her hand, looking at the Doctor. “Like I’ve been hit by a shuttle. What happened?”
“The beacon,” the doctor tries to explain, typing away on her omnitool. “You’ve been out for about fifteen hours.”
“It’s my fault”, Kaidan suddenly chimes in, startling Shepard. Guild is written all over his face as he comes into view. “I must have triggered some kind of security field when I approached it. You pushed me out of the way."
Right, there was green light. Lynette's memory slowly comes back. There was that light, the pull of energy, the chaotic and overwhelming images.
Shepard turns to her head slightly towards the Sentinel, her voice soft. “Kaidan, you couldn’t have known what would happen.”
His guilt ridden expression slowly melts, the tension in his shoulders easing. Shepard can tell he’s been agonizing over it.
Chakwas shakes her head slightly. “Whatever happened, unfortunately, we’ll never fully understand.”
Lynette frowons at her but before she can ask, Kaidan explains the situation. “The beacon exploded and the blast knocked you out cold. I had to carry you back to the ship.”
Shepard exhales slowly, the memory of the impact becomes clearer now. “Thanks, Kaidan. I appreciate it.” She offers him a small, grateful smile, and he returns it, shy but genuine.
Suddenly a thought strikes her like a hammer. “Where is Nihlus?”
Chakwas hesitates for a moment, calculating her next words. “He’s alive. For now. But it’s not looking good. Captain Anderson ordered us to get him to the Citadel as quickly as possible. He’s in a coma.” Karin releases a deep breath, “he lost a lot of blood.”
Shepard’s chest tightens as she takes the doctors words in. Damn it. She warned him going alone was reckless, and in a moment of anger, she told him to die. A wave of shame and regret crashes over her.
“Don’t blame yourself, Shepard,” Chakwas speaks softly, sensing her turmoil. But the words don't reach Lynette.
Suddenly the med bay door hisses open and Captain Anderson strides in. He dismisses everyone with a firm nod, signaling he wants to speak to Shepard privately. Once the others leave, Anderson turns to the Commander, his face neutral. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll live,” Shepard replies, forcing the words out.
Anderson crosses his arms behind his back, his tone heavy with concern. “I won’t sugarcoat it. Things are bad. Kryik’s life is hanging by a thread, the beacon’s destroyed. And now we’re facing a Geth invasion. The Council’s going to demand answers.”
“Of course they will.” Shepard carefully raises her head off her hand to properly look at her Captain. “I did what I could, Anderson. I really did.”
Anderson exhales deeply. “I know, Lynette. And I’ll back you all the way. You’re a damn hero in my book but that’s not why I’m here. I need to know about Saren.”
Over the next hour, Shepard recounts everything: the events on Eden Prime, the survivors’ testimonies, and the horrifying images the beacon burned into her mind.
Anderson listens intently, not once questioning her report. When she’s done, he places a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make Saren answer for this. When we get to the Citadel, I’ll need you to testify. Are you ready for that?”
“Absolutely,” Shepard says without hesitation.
Anderson nods, satisfied. He orders her to rest and leaves to attend to his duties.
For a moment, Shepard remains seated on the cot, letting the silence settle over her. Her mind feels like a storm, too many emotions swirling at once. Aimlessly her gaze wanders until it drifts to the locked door leading to the lab.
A part of her wants to walk away, avoiding whatever there is behind that door. But the pull to stay is stronger. Slowly, she rises from the cot and walks to the door, entering the access code with trembling hands. The door hisses open. With deep breaths she steels herself before stepping inside.
The air inside feels heavier, colder. Her breath catches as her eyes land on Nihlus.
He’s stretched out on the medical bed, surrounded by machines that beep and hum, their lights casting faint glows across his battered form. His carapace is cracked in places and tubes and wires snake around him.
Shepard steps closer, her throat tightening. She’s seen plenty of injuries in her career, plenty of soldiers downed in the field but this is different. This is him.
Tears sting her eyes, blurring her vision. The guilt is crushing, a lead weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. “I told you not to go alone,” she whispers. “Why didn’t you listen?”
Slowly she reaches out, hesitating for a moment before taking his hand in hers. His skin is warm, but he doesn’t stir. The first tear falls, then another. She wipes them away quickly, as though ashamed of them.
"Please don’t die," her voice is breaking. "Don’t leave me here to deal with this mess alone. I need you."
More tears come, streaming down her face but this time, she is unable to stop them. She presses her free hand to her face, trying to steady her breathing.
“By your damn spirits, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, gripping his hand tighter. “I shouldn’t have said what I’ve said.” The realization of the vile things she told him feels like a punch in her guts. “Damn it, Nihlus, I’m sorry.”
With quick steps, Shepard strides toward the cockpit. Joker’s announcement about the jump through the mass relay sparked her excitement, she wouldn’t miss this for anything. She passes Pressly with a big smile on her lips.
Suddenly she stops dead in her tracks and her smile vanishes. A tall figure is standing behind the pilot seat.
Suppressing a groan, Shepard rolls her eyes and steps into position beside Joker, completely ignoring the turian standing nearby. Nihlus glances at her for a moment before returning his attention back on the screens in front of the pilot.
“Hey, Shep,” Joker greets with a grin, knowing she wouldn’t miss the jump. But his grin also is short lived and soon disappears. The turian's looming presence unsettles him. Joker hates being watched and the turian breathing down his neck is making him nervous. “Coming for the show?” he asks, his voice a little strained.
Shepard chuckles. “Always.”
Joker adjusts his cap and announces, “Alright, fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen. We’re going through.” His fingers fly over the console as the Normandy accelerates toward the mass relay. The sheer scale of the relays never fails to impress Shepard, who watches intently as Joker counts down. The cockpit bathes in brilliant blue light as the Normandy launches into the relay’s energy field.
Suddenly the blue sigts into a stunning sea of millions of stars flashes before them, painting the cockpit in a tranquil glow. Shepard’s lips twitch into a small smile as awe briefly replaces her earlier irritation. The sight is simply beautiful.
Moments later, the Normandy slows down, the stars of their destination stretching out before them. Joker’s hands fly over the controls as he runs post-jump diagnostics. “Thrusters check, navigation check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift just under 1500k.”
Nihlus nods approvingly. “1500 is good, your captain will be pleased.” He turns around to take his leave, glancing at Shepard for one final time before exiting the cockpit.
Joker quickly looks over his shoulder, waiting until the turian is out of earshot. “I hate this guy.” Shepard smirks, holding back laughter at Joker’s visible frustration.
Kaidan, who is sitting at the co-pilot console, is shaking his head. “Joker, come one. He just gave you a compliment.”
“Compliment my ass.” The pilot girths through his teeth, “I just jumped us halfway across the whole galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead. That’s not good, that's incredible.” While grumbling some curses, Joker's focus returns to his displays. “Besides Spectres are trouble. I don't like having him around.”
Neither do I, Shepard thinks to herself. Nihlus belongs on the Citadel, not Andersons ship. Kaidan argues, “The council helped fund this project. They have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment. You’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Joker sighs as he enters in new codes. “That's the official story. But only an idiot believes the official story, right, Shep?”
The Commander finally relaxes her posture, letting out a deep sigh. "Honestly? The Council could have sent anyone to supervise the operation, yet they not only sent a Spectre, but him out of all people. They are not truly concerned about the Normandy. The sooner he’s off my ship the better.”
Joker looks at her with a shit-eating grin, “Well, technically it’s Captain Anderson's ship.”
“And technically-” Shepard whispers as she pushes Joker's cap down, right into his face. “You know what I meant.”
“Hey, that's mean!” He complains. He takes his cap off to readjust it properly. “Since when are you sensitive? Pissed you two can't share your bunks anymore?”
Shepard’s glare could set fire to steel. “Don’t test my tamper, Mr. Moreau.” As much as she loves Joker, sometimes he doesn’t know when he’s going too far.
Irritated by Shepards sudden bad mood, Kaidan turns his chair to look at the Commander. “Okay, I feel like I’m missing something. What’s going on?”
Joker just huffs a laugh. “Yeah sure, Aleko. As if you don’t know about it.”
“About what?” He asks, raising his brows in question.
Joker stays quiet, leaving Shepard to decide whether she wants to tell Kaidan or not. After a moment of consideration, Shepard explains what’s been going on. “You’ll probably learn it from the others anyway, so I might as well tell you. Kryik and I were involved… romantically.”
Kaidan’s jaw drops to the ground. “What?”
“Yep.” She sighs. “Have been just until a few months ago actually.”
“Well, given your mood, I guess it didn’t end well?” Kaiden asks carefully.
“That’s one way to put it.” Shepard crosses her arms in front of her chest. “We’ve been dating for some time and then things moved quite quickly. Everything was peachy until, from one day to another, he changed. Suddenly he treated me like a stranger and when I confronted him about it, he told me that it was all a big mistake, that turians and humans shouldn’t be together and that he regrets it.”
Kaidan looks at her with wide blown eyes, stunned into silence.
Shepard casts him a sad smile. “That’s exactly the look I had, when he told me all of this.” A ping on her omni tool announces a new message. “For fuck sake.”
“Speaking of the devil, huh?” Joker asks.
“Yup.” Shepard deletes Nihlus message without even bothering to read it. “It’s bad enough to see him strolling through the ship the whole day, can’t he just have the decency to not annoy me even further?”
Suddenly Anderson's voice sounds over the speakers. “Commander Shapard, I need to speak to you in my cabin.”
“Uh!” Joker smiles brightly at her. “Someone’s in trouble.”
Shepard just rolls her eyes, tempted to mess with his cap again. “Bite me, Jeff.”
Quickly the Commander makes her way to the elevator. Once inside, she hits the button for the mess hall a bit harder than necessary. She lets out an irritated sigh before rubbing her eyes. Whatever Nihlus is actually here for, she’s just hoping it will be done as soon as possible.
Eventually the elevator doors open again, releasing her. Shepard goes straight for the Captain's cabin. She knocks on the door before it wooshes open. “How can I be of service?” She asks, while entering.
Captain Anderson is sitting at his desk. He turns around to face her. “Lynette.” is all he says in greeting. He signs for Shepard to sit on the seat across from him. “I have to talk to you.”
“Of course.” She says as she’s taking a seat, crossing her legs.
The captain sighs deeply. He is visibly uncomfortable. “Lynette, I’ll be blunt, this conversation isn’t easy for me and I doubt it will be for you either.”
Shepard tilts her head slightly, her brow furrowing.
Anderson takes a deep breath. “You’re familiar with Alliance regulations about fraternization aboard a ship, I assume?”
Shepard groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Anderson, please don’t.”
“I have to,” Anderson says, his tone almost contrite. “Look, I’m not here to pry into your personal life. But with Nihlus aboard, I need your assurance that… whatever happened between you two won’t interfere with missions or ship operations.”
“Of course not, Anderson.” Shepard affirms. She might hate Nihlus guts but she won’t act on her ill feelings, she’s too professional for anything else. “I promise.”
Anderson nods slightly in approval. “Good to hear.”
“Allow me a question, sir?” Shepard crosses her arms casually. “What’s the actual reason for a Spectre to be here?”
Anderson falls back into his chair. “That’s classified.”
“Oh?” Lynette’s eyebrows raise, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “So there is another reason?”
The Captain narrows his eyes for a moment as he realizes his slip. “That’s something we will discuss tomorrow, Shepard. That’s all I can tell you at the moment.”
“Very well.” She says. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”
Anderson hesitates again, his voice softening. “Actually, yes. It might not be my place to ask, but… have you and Nihlus ever talked about what happened? Afterward, I mean.”
“Nope.” Shepard shakes her head.“ After he blew on me, I packed my things and left. Haven't seen or heard from him ever since and as far as I'm concerned, I'd like to keep it that way.”
Certainly she knows the space on the ship is limited and therefore the chance of running into him is pretty high but that doesn't mean she can't at least try to avoid him.
Anderson just nods silently. “Just do me the favor and keep it low, okay? This is not meant to anger you.”
“Yeah, sure.” She whispers to herself when she stands up. “Sir.” She salutes casually at her Captain before leaving his cabin again.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
A new cycle has started on the Normandy. Breakfast has started to be giving out in the mess, which is slowly starting to get crowded. Soldiers shuffle through the line, grabbing trays of rations, some exchanging groggy greetings while others simply nurse their coffee in silence.
Kaidan sits at a corner table, chatting with Doctor Chakwas. Anticipating the morning rush, he’s already picked up an extra tray for their Commander, placing it at the empty seat beside him. He hopes the small gesture will help lift her mood, which has been notably sour since Nihlus arrived.
The tables conversation drifts between topics, focusing on Kaidan’s latest episode of headaches, when Shepard finally appears. “Morning, Commander!” Kaidan calls, spotting Shepard as she strides into the mess.
Mid-yawn, Shepard perks up slightly at the sound of his voice. Her eyes dart to the tray waiting for her, and she gives him a tired but genuine smile. “Kaidan, you’re too good to me,” she says with a tired smile, sliding into the seat.
“I live to serve,” he replies, the corners of his mouth quirking into a small grin.
“Good morning, Commander.” Doctor Chakwas her kindly. “Slept well?”
“Well enough,” Shepard replies, though she’s already diving into her breakfast.
The conversation between Kaidan and Chakwas resumes with Shepard not contributing much, her focus is entirely on her meal. The calm is short-lived though, as a familiar voice breaks through the low hum of the mess.
“Lynette, do you have a minute?”
Shepard freezes mid-bite, suppressing a groan. It’s far too early to deal with him. Without looking up, she responds in a clipped tone, “Good morning, Spectre. The correct form of address is Commander Shepard, and no, I don’t.”
In an instant the air is becoming tense. The surrounding tables go quiet, soldiers suddenly finding reasons to focus on their food or shuffle away. Kaidan shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Chakwas raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Both share a quick uncomfortable glance. Nihlus pauses, clearly weighing his options. Finally, the turian straightens. “Commander,” he says simply, before turning on his heel and walking away toward the elevator.
Once he’s gone, Chakwas sighs as she looks at Shepard. Her voice carries a hint of disapproval. “Was that really necessary?”
“No,” Shepard admits, spearing a piece of food. “But a fork to his eyes might be.”
“Shepard!” Chakwas scolds, her eyes wide blown. “You’re an adult woman, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’m kidding, Karin." Lynette replies, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Probably.”
Before Chakwas can retort, Joker’s voice crackles over the speakers. “Commander Shepard, you’re needed in the comm room.”
Shepard exhales heavily, dropping her fork onto the tray with a clatter. “Of course I am.”
Quickly she rises to her feet. While gesturing to the tray, she’s giving Kidan a nod. “Thanks for grabbing this, Alenko.”
“Anytime,” he smiles, watching her retreat toward the elevator.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
It was late in the morning, almost midday, when the Commander returned from the meeting she had with Anderson and Nihlus. Seeing Joker was the first thing she did. As annoying as the Pilot can be at times, he is still one of Shepards closest friends. He was the first and only one she broke the news to.
“Spectre, I can't believe it.” She says while looking at the stars, swaying gently from side to side in the chair, her tone softening. “I really can’t believe it.”
It’s an honor, that’s for sure. Becoming the first human Spectre is nothing Lynette could have ever imagined would happen in her career. She’ll definitely have to give her mother a call later.
“Yeah, about time, huh?” Joker asks, his voice full of sarcasm. “About time the Council added humans to their puppet show. You know, gotta make sure every species gets tangled in their strings” The Commander frowns at him. “Sorry, Shep. I really don’t mean to shit on your accomplishments. It's just…”
“You’re not fond of the council. I know.” She smiles lightly.
“One way to put it. My point is I don’t like you being dragged into their political bullshit. I mean, see what they did. They could have sent about any Spectre to test you, yet they’ve sent King Asshole.”
“Yeah, I know.” The woman agrees. “Let’s put her under a real stress test. Why don’t we force her and her racist ex into a small tin can of a ship for a week?”
That elicits a laugh from the Pilot. "Exactly. Politicians, man. Bunch of jerks in fancy robes.”
Lynette snickers in return, shaking her head. She’s not too fond of politicians either. After stretching her arms, she leans back into the co-pilot seat more comfortably, hr eyes fixated on the stars outside the window. The tension in her shoulders begins to ease, but the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor snaps her out of it.
“Commander Shepard, I need to talk to you.” Nihlus comes to stand right at the entrance of the cockpit.
Shepard glances at him quickly, before replying. “I'm busy.”
But Nihlus is not having her defiance right now. “That is not a request.”
Joker looks at the both of them. Sensing trouble, he quickly decides to remove himself from this situation. Carefully he stands up from his beloved seat. “Know what, I was just about to grab some coffee in the mess. My cockpit is all yours.”
Lynette glares at him for abandoning her but Joker just gives her a knowing, apologetic smile before disappearing down the corridor.
Once Joker is out of earshot, Lynette stands up as well. “Alright, what do you want?”
Nihlus stands tall, his hands clasped behind his back, the picture of turian discipline but the subtle flare of his mandibles betrays him. “Shepard, believe it or not, this situation is just as unpleasant for me as it is for you.”
“Oh, ‘s that so?” Her voice is full of sarcasm as she's leaning against her seat.
Nihlus marbles flare again. His eyes leave her for a second, before he calmly states, “This is temporary. Just until the mission is complete. Once it’s done, I’ll file my report, inform the Council and take my leave.
Deciding to reduce the hostility, Shepard reflexes her arms again. “Well, sounds good.”
After a long and silent moment, the turian straightens up. “Shepard, despite what happened between us, I need you to stay focused once we’re planetside.”
Lynette can’t help but to narrow her eyes at him. “What?”
“Your ill manners towards me on board the ship are one thing but we can’t have your feelings interfere with the mission.” Nihlus’ voices lacks any emotion,“ We have to-”
“Stop.” Shepard cuts him off, visibly getting angry. “Are you really doubting me and my capability to keep my emotions in check?”
“I am just giving you well ment advice, Commander.” Nihlus states dryly. “This mission and the opportunity for you is way too important to be risk by emotional breakdowns.”
That’s it. Now it’s getting insulting. “Don't you fucking dare to tell me how I should feel and act.” Shepard hisses through gritted teeth. “You're not in the position!”
Nihlus’s voice drops, cold and clipped. “You think this is easy for me? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be caught between your feelings and your duty?”
She takes a step closer, her voice icy cold, “Don’t you dare play the victim, Kryik.”
Nihlus just shakes his head lightly, “Lynette, look-”
“Don't you Lynette me!” Shepherd's voice rises in volume, gaining attention from nearby standing officers.
“Spirits, woman.” Nihlus exhales, visibly frustrated. “I know I’ve hurt you,” he says, his tone gentler now, “I know I’ve hurt you, I know you’re still angry and by the stars, you have every right to. I am sorry-”
The speakers on the bridge light up. Captain Anderson orders the ship to prepare for entering the planet's orbit and for the ground team to gear up.
Following the command, Shepard pushes past the turian to get away. Her voice is dripping with venom, when she glares at him one final time, “For all I care, Nihlus, you can just drop fucking dead.”
Chapter Summary: In the Red Keep, dignitaries prepare for a big Tournament and the royal family's impending birth. The princess greets the guests dutifully, unaware of a secret guest, who is waiting for her.
The Red Keep is buzzing with noise. More and more lords, noblemen and other dignitaries arrive in King's Landing, preparing for the fast approaching festivals. A big tournament will be held and the King called all important houses of the realm to join the royal family in celebration of the impending birth of the son. Maids and servants bustle along the hallways, taking care of everyone's needs.
You ascend the stairs of the castle, the long skirts of your dress held in your hand, preventing you from tripping over them at your fast pace. The urgency to finally remove yourself from the chaos after the long day quickens your steps. Once at your destination, you let the dress fall and catch your breath, before opening the big wooden door.
“Mother,” you announce your presence with a bright smile, the tension off the day already easing.
Queen Aemma looks up from the book resting on her lap. Her tired eyes soften in an instant. “Y/N!” She calls you warmly. “Come, my dear. Come, sit with me.”
You’re already half across the room. With a soft smile, you carefully sink onto the plush lounger opposite her. Your eyes flicker for a brief moment to her rounded belly before swiftly focusing back on her face. With genuine concern, you ask, “How are you feeling, Mother?”
The queen exhales deeply, closing the book before shifting to get a bit more comptable. “I’ll manage, dear.” Her faint smile can’t hide the exhaustion in her voice. “But I cannot lie, I’m looking forward to the end of this most unpleasant pregnancy.”
Your brows knit with sympathy. It has been her most difficult pregnancy by far. Everyday has been a battle with overwhelming sickness and the relentless fatigue bound her to her bed more times than not, her usual vitality sapped. You’ve tried to help where you could, though your mother’s stubborn independence often made it challenging.
“How are our guests, dear?” she asks, shifting in her chair again for comfort. “Have you greeted them?”
Now it’s your time to sigh. “Yes, mother.” Hosting guests from so many noble houses had been exhausting. The endless pleasantries had been draining. “My cheeks still ache from all the forced smiles.” This elicits a faint chuckle from the Queen. You glance at your hands, hesitantly admitting, “I wish Father had let go of the idea of the tourney.”
Aemma raises an eyebrow at that. With a teasing grin tugging at her lips, she says, “You sound like you’ve been sentenced to some dreadful punishment. This tourney is in celebration of your brother, dear. Surely you don’t begrudge him that?”
Your head snaps up at the accusation. “Mother, no. Of course not.” Leaning forward, you take her hand in yours. “I am worried, mother. My little brother has yet to be born, and with all the stress surrounding the pregnancy and the preparation for the tournament... I can't help but to worry for him but especially for you.”
“I’m lucky to have such a devoted daughter,” she smiles warmly at you before brushing her knuckles against your cheek. Her hand moves to a loose strand of your hair hanging in front of your face, slowly her eyes wander to your hair. “Your braids are coming loose.”
“It’s been a long day,” you admit, shifting slightly to give her better access. The Queen changes sets, coming to sit next to you. She undoes one of the braids, her fingers carefully running through your hair. A soft sight escapes you. “The sons of Lord Baratheon were relentless.” You let her know, looking at your hands. “They spent the morning showering me with compliments and little gifts. If I’d taken a drink for every time one of them called me beautiful, I’d have passed out before noon.”
Aemma chuckles softly, shaking her head. Her fingers weave your hair with care when she asks. “Ah, to be admired by young men. Surly it’s been flattering, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose.” You shrug nonchalantly. “But their compliments felt hollow, forced. I’d prefer sincerity.”
Aemmas hands pause as she is leaning slightly to the side to see your face. “But Y/N, what makes you say that? You are beautiful.”
You turn your head around, looking over your shoulder to meet her eyes. With a slight hint of suspicion in your voice, you tell her. “Even so. It felt like they were saying it not because they meant it, but because they had to.”
Aemma’s eyes travel through the chambers, looking at the servants walking through the room. Her attention turns back to you before speaking to you in your ancestors' tongue. “You are a smart girl, Y/N. You knew this tournament was not just for your brother.”
The weight of her words makes your shoulders sag slightly. Unable to hide the disappointment in your eyes, you look back at your hands again. “I assumed as much, but I was still hoping.”
Aemma continues with the braid, her voice soft as she says, “You’re of age, dear. In only a few moons, we will be celebrating your twentieth name day.” Your eyes fall to the ground while you force yourself to stay quiet. “Your father and I invited houses from all the Seven Kingdoms. We want your husband to be someone of your own choosing.”
A bitter snort escapes you. “So I get to pick my own cage?”
Aemma sighs deeply, her hands stilling again. When you turn to meet her gaze again, your heart clenches at the hurt you find in her eyes. “Mother, I’m sorry. I… I just wish you’d give me more time.”
Aemma ties off the braid, her fingers lingering briefly before laying it over your shoulder. “We’ve given you time, Y/N.” Her voice is gentle, almost wistful. “Nine years more than your father and I ever had.”
“I know, Mother,” You reach for her hand, holding it gently in yours. “And I’ll always be grateful for every single one of those years.”
Your mother caresses your hand, not meeting your eyes. Slowly, her knitted brows are easing as a soft grin. “Am I right to assume you haven’t greeted all of our guests yet?”
You blink at her, your brow furrowing in confusion as you quickly run through the names and houses in your head. “No, Mother. I don’t think I’ve missed anyone.”
“Oh, my dear, you most certainly have. You’d be in much higher spirits if you hadn’t.” She huffs a small laugh, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Would you do me a favor, my sweet?”
You nod, waiting expectantly. “Of course, Mother.”
“The dragons seem rather restless today,” she says, her grin widening. “Why don’t you visit the dragonpit?”
“The dragonpit?” you repeat, puzzled. “What kind of guest would-”
But your words trail off as realization dawns.
Your mother chuckles, clearly delighted by your reaction. She gives your arm a playful tap. “Go, dear. Don’t keep him waiting.”
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The afternoon sun is slowly dipping behind the horizon, painting the sky bright red and orange when you are descending the Red Keeps halls. Your heart races as you hurry through the corridors. It’s been months since your uncle left for the Vale and thought he'd be gone for even longer.
Hiking up your skirts, you make your way towards the dragonpit. The guards recognize you as once and step aside, letting you through without questioning. Your heart takes on speed as you near the pit. Your ears catch Caraxes before your eyes do.
There he is.
The rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen stood near his beast. His Blood Wyrm is roaring loudly, as if announcing the prince's return to the court. Daemon's hand glides along the dragon's scales, calming it. But his attention shifted immediately when he noticed someone approaching him.
“Daemon!” You call out, your voice ringing with joy. Ignoring all etiquette, you break into a run.
When his eyes find you, his expression softens in a way reserved for no one else. With a wide grin on his face, your uncle lets go of his dragon. At once he closes the remaining distance between you. “There’s my princess.” His voice carries across the courtyard. He opens his arms just in time to catch you as you flung yourself into him.
His arms wrap tightly around you, lifting you from the ground as he’s spinning you in a wide circle. Your laughter fills the air as you cling to him. When he finally sets you down again, his hands linger on your waist. His purple eyes drink you in as if he’d spent a lifetime away.
“How is the most beautiful woman in the kingdom feeling today?” The prince asks in a playful voice.
The warmth on your cheeks spreads, your heart’s skipping a beat at the way he looks at you. With mischief in your eyes, you tell him. “Mother is doing better these days.”
Daemon arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused smirk. “And what about the most beautiful princess?”
While smiling from ear to ear, you say. “You should ask that Rhaenyra.”
Daemon’s laughs loudly at your games. The sound only intensifies the fluttering in your stomach. “Well done, Y/N.” His thumbs rub small circles on your waist. “And what about you?”
Finally you answer his question. Still holding his arms lightly, you smile softly at him. “I’m well, Uncle. Better now that you’re here.”
His expression on his face falters momentarily, the playful edge melting into something deeper. He lifts a hand to brush a strand of your hair back, his touch lingering just a moment too long. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to think I’d left you in misery for too long.”
“Oh, you overestimate your importance,” you tease, your voice carrying humor and no bite.
Daemon let out a deep chuckle, “Do I?” He asked you with amusement in his voice. “I’ve missed you, Y/N.”
Your breath hitches slightly at the intensity of his gaze. Eventually releasing his arms, you clasp your hands in front of you and step back, giving yourself the space to breathe. “And what about you? How was your journey?”
Daemon shrugged his shoulders, his softened demeanor changing back into his usual confident charm. “Tedious. Dull. But all worth it to see you again.”
You roll your eyes at him, though you can't suppress the need to tease. “You’re hopeless."
“Hopelessly devoted, perhaps,” Daemon shots back, the corner of his mouth moving upward. “How was the court life during my absence?”
“Dreadful,” you admit truthfully. “If not for Lady Rhaenys Velaryons visits every now and then, I might have flung myself off the Keep.” Your eyes drift to Caraxes, the beast's eyes are also on you. His head moves closer, his snout almost nudging your arm. You accept the invitation to pet him. A low growl of approval rumbles through the air.
“Without you stirring up chaos, it’s all pretense and pleasantries.” You recall, "The same empty conversations, the same dull faces. No scandals, no rumors, no uproar. Just endless monotony.”
Daemon huffs a laugh. “So you missed me for keeping the court on their toes?” He holds his hand to his cest in feigning offense. “Not for my charm or my wits?”
“Oh, of course, Uncle,” you tease him with your voice in a soft mocking tone, “The most charming prince there ever was.”
“You wounded me, dear niece,” he exclaims dramatically. “But I’ll take the compliment, even if it’s buried under mockery.”
You two look at each other for a quiet moment. His eyes carry a softness you barely recognize. A small smile grows on your lips, you’ve truly missed him. Daemon takes a step towards you, offering you his arm and you take it without hesitation. “Come, walk with me to the Keep, princess.”
As the two of you move towards the gates of the dragonpit, the stablehands approach Caraxes with caution. They share a knowing glance, not daring to speak, saying the obvious out loud. The bond between the Rogue Prince and his niece has always been close but for a long time now, the air around them seemed even more intimate.
The rumors the princess wished for will spread faster than she anticipated.
It's early in the morning. The Sanctuary is still asleep and the whole factory is peacefully quiet.
You’re already on your feet. Slowly but surely you waddle your way down the stairs, all the way down to the last level of the building. Even after a whole week of almost nonstop sleeping, you still feel drained and lightheaded at times. After every managed staircase you need to take a second and catch your breath to fight the dizziness.
Whether it's still the blood loss or the opioids, you can tell. It’s tiring but you’re determined. Today's your final examination with the doctor and you want to make a good impression.
Carson would have come to Negan’s quarters, but you quickly declined. After a whole week of lying in the bed you were dying to get back up on your feet again.
You have to cover a yawn with your hand, it really is way too early.
“Come on, Sweet Thing,” Negan’s voice sounds from the floor below. “You almost made it.”
Still yawning, you move on to the next flight of stairs. Negan’s waiting for you, looking up at you with his big, hazel eyes and a faint smile of exhilaration on his lips. It’s almost adorable.
He’s already in uniform, wearing his leather jacket, glove and scarf. He’ll head out to Alexandria after your appointment with Carson and depending on today's results, you will either stay at the factory for another week or join him and go back home.
The excitement is hard to miss as Negan watches you ascending the stairs. He thought he was subtle about wanting you to stay a little while longer - he was anything but, and seeing you this tired just from walking stairs got his hopes up again.
When you’re just about at the end of the stairs, he reaches out for your hand. You look at him for a quick second, before letting him help you down.
“Someone is in high spirits.” You tease him with a smile. Negan only chuckles in response. “One could assume you’re looking way more forward to the examination than I do.”
“So?” He asks. Once you’re off the last step, he moves your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your skin. “It will be good news either way, for me at least.”
You just shake your head, still smiling at him before moving on towards the clinic. Doctor Carson is already waiting for you outside, greeting the two of you before moving in.
Once inside, he goes straight to work, gathering his equipment. You sit down on a cot, waiting. Negan is leaning against the wall, watching you and the Doc. He really doesn’t know the word privacy.
Before Doctor Carson starts with his examination, he sets up an IV bag, so you can get the fluids and supplements you need in the meantime. Once everything is ready and running, the doctor takes your blood pressure.
“Hm… better.” He whispers to himself before writing down your vitals. “How are you feeling? Still dealing with fatigue?”
“Yeah.” You admit truthfully.
“Hm,” The doctor scribbles away in his notes. Your gaze moves to Negan, who is wiggling his eyebrows at you. Idiot. You fight a small grin to no avail.
“Alright, now to the wound,” Carson says. Carefully you pull up your top, exposing the bandages. The doc cuts them off, removing them before examining the stitches. With a pad drenched in alcohol he cleans the edges. You suck in a breath through your teeth, that shit still stings.
Negan pushes himself from the wall, coming to stand right next to you, checking out the wound.
“The stitching’s still looking good, no signs of inflammation or infection," Doctor Carson affirms, filling in his report.
“Well?” You ask with your eyebrows raised in anticipation, wrapping yourself with new bandages. “What’s your recommendation, am I good to go?”
“Now, Miss Grimes. That depends.” Carson looks up from his clipboard. “Do you know how to remove the sutures?”
Negan’s looking at you quite expectantly. You know what answer he’d like to hear. With your eyes back at Carson, you tell him, “I do-”
“Aw, come on!” Negan complains, frowning with disappointment. “Couldn’t you have said no-”
“But-”, you interrupt Negan with a smile, one of your hands resting on his chest to calm him down. “I’d be way more comfortable if you did that, Doctor.”
Carson doesn’t acknowledge the scene in front of him, his eyes return to his clipboard, “In that case, I recommend more rest. You’re no longer bedridden but you should take it very easy. Some strolls here and there but no physical labor. As soon as you feel dizzy or tired, you have to slow down again.”
You flash him a quick grin. “Napping when needed, got it.”
“Alright”, the doctor starts, moving back to his desk again. “As far as I am concerned, you are good to leave, once the IV’s done. Negan, I’ve made you a list of all used up medications. We are not out yet, but due to Miss Grimes high demand for iron, I need more saline solutions.”
Negan waves a hand dismissively. “Pass the list to Arat, by now she should be waiting at the trucks outside.”
“Of course.” Carson says, before taking his leave. You quickly yell a ‘thank you, doctor’ after him, before he disappears into the hallway.
Negan comes to stand right in front of you, both of his hands on either side of your waist. “So, you really wanna stay?” He leans further down, “You know you can leave anytime you want, right? One word and I’ll take you home, safe ‘n sound.”
You hook your finger around the collar of his shirt, pulling lightly. “I’d love to stay a little while longer.”
Negan chuckles softly, his eyes searching yours for a moment. Then he closes the gap, capturing your lips with his.
The kiss is slow and tender, almost sweet.
You can't help but melt into his touch.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Carl is walking up and down in the courtyard, waiting for his sister. His eyes move towards the hung up walkers around the fence every now and then, their constant gnarling is making him uncomfortable. He can’t wait to finally leave this place.
Saviors are already pulling up their trucks, getting ready for the pickup. Several men and women gather around the vehicles. Everything seems ready, the only ones missing are their boss and his sister.
Then a few of them straighten and conversations die down.
“Good morning, folks!” Negan’s voice sounds over the courtyard.
Carl quickly turns around, finding Negan exiting the factory. He is holding the door open, waiting for his Sunshine to step out before letting it fall shut again.
While Negan walks on to talk with one of his men, Carl hurries towards you.
Once at your side, he bombards you with questions. “How are you feeling? Are you okay? What did the doctor say? Are you hungry? I grabbed a ration from their kitchen-”
You interrupt his rambling with a short laugh. “You need to breathe, Carl.” you joke before explaining today's results. “I have to take it slow, snack some pills and get a few more IVs. Everything's gonna be fine.”
Carl tilts his head, listening to you attentively. “Sounds great. Dad ‘n Daryl will be relieved. The others too.”
Your smile vanishes at their names.
Carl told you what happened, when you passed out in the infirmary.
No matter what he and Sasha did, the bleeding didn’t stop. Your skin had gotten paler and paler by the minute. At this point everyone in the room was crying, afraid of losing you. Daryl's hands were shaking, when he pressed his heated blade against your skin.
You can’t even imagine the horrendous smell.
After Daryl was done, everyone took a moment to breathe, hoping it helped, that the bleeding finally stopped.
Although no more blood was seeping through, it was evident that it was already too late, as even the color of your lips disappeared.
Daryl couldn’t handle it. He took off without a word and Saviors arrived just shortly after that.
Hearing all that broke your heart.
“We two riding with Negan?” Carl asks, pulling your thoughts back.
“No,” you say, “you will, but I’ll stay here.”
Carl frowns at you. “But you’ve said the doctor gave his okay?”
“Yeah,” you rest your hands on your hips, “But the pain is still bad and the wound’s not healed. I’d be way more comfortable with an actual clinic and a doctor around, not just me and my books.”
Carl considers you for a moment, “I mean, I could help. Could manage-”
“No, Carl”, your gaze hardens a bit, trying to make him understand. “This isn’t shards in a leg or a cut under an eye. I don’t want to be on my own with this one.”
Your brother crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I see… but…Dad-”
“I know.” A tired sigh leaves your lips. “I think he’ll understand my reasoning and speaking of Dad-” Your hand disappears into the pocket of your sweatpants, retrieving a folded piece of paper. “I wrote a letter, can you please give it to him?”
Carl is about to take it, when Negan appears behind him. “Jump in, kid. We’re movin’ out.” He quickly takes the note, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.
Confused, you want to ask him what he’s doing, but he doesn’t give you a chance. He hugs you goodbye, mindful of your injury. “I’ll tell Judith you miss her.”
“Please do.” You squeeze his shoulders once before he steps back, moving to Negan’s car.
The head of the Saviors waits for the boy to be gone before moving his attention back to you. “So, my dear. We’ll be gone for a few hours. If you want to, you can take a look around my castle in the meantime.”
You smile at him but shake your head softly. “Thanks for the offer but I think I'll go straight back to bed. The climb up to the fifth floor will probably knock me out anyway.”
He gives a low, amused hum. “Alright.”
He steps closer, resting one of his hands on the small of your back. His eyes fall on your lips. In response, you cup his face, tilting your head up. When he leans down and his lips meet yours, warmth spreads through your abdomen, pleasant and fuzzy. You have half a mind to deepen the kiss, when Negan lifts his head just enough to be able to meet your eyes. “Enjoy your stay, Sunshine.”
His thumb brushes once along the small of your back before he lets you go, already turning toward his men. You catch your lower lip between your teeth without thinking, watching him go.
It still feels strange to be with him in public, in front of his people.
Your gaze drifts across the yard. No curious stares, no smirks, no whispers. The Saviors go about their business like nothing unusual happened. No one is batting an eye.
Negan and Carl finally hop into the car. You wave at them one final time before going back into the factory.
People here don't mind?
The thought lingers. You’ve kissed Negan - their leader - yet it’s no big deal.
A small smile tugs at your lips.
Odd as it feels, you like it. The freedom of it, the lack of judgment.
There is still a light tingle on your skin from where his beard scratched you. He’s so careful with you now, gentle. Your stomach flutters in response, making the smile only grow wider.
You’re on your way to the stairwell, when Doctor Carson calls your name. “Miss Grimes? Miss Grimes, I’m sorry to disturb you but I was wondering if you could give me your input on one of my patients. I was informed you’re a pharmacist?”
Quickly you bring your thoughts back, focusing on Carson. “Yeah, sure.” You move away from the stairs and towards the doctor. “How can I help you?”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The convoy has almost reached its destination.
Carl’s looking out the window, seemingly enjoying the view, as the all too familiar suburb is passing by.
Negan looks at the boy for a second before asking, “Did your sister give you the letter?”
Carl just keeps looking out of the window. Nonchalantly he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Negan snorts. “Sure, buddy. You couldn’t have looked more suspicious if you tried.”
Busted, Carl retrieves the letter from his pocket and holds it out for Negan to take.
Negan looks at it in confusion. “The hell am I supposed to do with it?”
“What do you mean?” Carl asks, just as confused as he is, “Don’t you wanna read it?”
“Nope.” Negan looks at the boy for a quick second before his gaze snaps back at the road ahead of them. “She told me what's in there.”
Carl’s frown only intensifies. “And… you believe her?”
“Yup.” Negan answers. “So far she’s never given me a reason not to trust her. That was your chance to prove me right. That you’re someone I can trust and congrats, Carl. You failed.”
The boy bites his cheeks nervously, looking out of the window again. He really can’t wait to get home.
Negan’s just shaking his head slightly, disappointed.
He was able to read the letter over her shoulder when she was writing it, but Carl doesn’t need to know that and the point is that his Sunshine told him about it without him even having to ask for it. She’s always been upfront and honest.
But Carl? He is the opposite.
That boy still not trusting him is not just disappointing. Given the fact Negan saved his sister's life and allowed that little shit to stay not only in his Sanctuary but his own private quarters is downright insulting.
That kid still has a lot to learn.
Finally Alexandria's walls come into view.
Negan looks back at the boy, “Before we go in, I’ll fill you in on what's gonna happen.” The gate to Alexandria opens and the convoy drives inside. “I want you to go straight to your house and pack new clothes for your sister and come right back. No little chats, no lingering around, no nothin’. You get back to the trucks and stay at the trucks, right where I can see you.”
Carl rolls his eye. With a clear hint of annoyance in his voice, he answers shortly. “Fine.”
Negan can’t stand the attitude but doesn’t have the patience to deal with it right now. There are bigger things to worry about. Rick won't be pleased about his daughter's absence and Negan is not in the mood for a standoff.
When the car comes to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, Negan can already tell today's pickup is going to be different from last time. Alexandria is full of life again, people are already waiting for them.
A small crowd is swarming around the parking lot, waiting for his Sunshine no doubt. Once parked, Negan and Carl jump out of the car. The boy is about to get going, but Negan quickly orders him to stay and wait.
Rick moves through the crowd, making his way towards them. The moment his eyes move between Negan and Carl, his expression shifts - confusion first, then something closer to distress.
“Mornin’, Rick.” Negan greets.
Rick ignores him. “Where’s Y/N?” he asks sharply, getting straight to the point.
“Still at my clinic.” Negan states, displeased by Rick's tone.
Rick keeps on walking towards his son. Despite the order, Carl starts moving, meeting his father halfway.
They hug each other tightly.
Rick looks down at his boy, asking, “Are you alright?” Carl lets go, nodding yes. Relieved, Rick’s looking back at Negan. “I want to talk to her.”
Negan scoffs at that, “Look who’s making demands here. You’ve got a lot of nerve for a guy who was ready to fight me while she was bleeding out on that cot.”
Rick’s eyes quickly move to the ground in shame, before looking back. In hopes of smoothing things out, Carl fetches the letter out of his pocket. “She's alright and wanted me to hand you this.”
Rick takes it. While unfolding the letter, Negan orders Carl to get the stuff for his sister. Rick looks after his son for a moment before reading.
Hey, Dad.
Please stop driving yourself up the walls.I’m fine and well cared for - promise.
The doctor is checking on me three times a day, hooking me on an IV every morning. My wound had to be reopened again, but the doctor did a great job. He installed a drain and stitched me up.
That’s going to be another addition to my ugly scar collection.
Don’t worry, I’ve slept through most of it. The pain is tolerable, too. Been knocked out with opioids most of the time.
And I’m actually following doctor’s orders for once, can you imagine?
I miss you and the others. I’d hug you all, if I could.
Please give Judith a night-night kiss for me.
Love you,
Y/N
Rick’s eyes well as he finishes reading. He sucks in a quick breath, trying to compose himself again.
Negan rolls his eyes in annoyance, though he can’t deny a flicker of sympathy for Rick’s situation. Almost losing his Sunshine drove him crazy, he can’t imagine what it must have been like for her family.
Deciding he’ll let Rick’s defiant behavior fly this time, he slowly comes to stand next to him. “She’ll be back next week.”
Negan’s unfamiliar calm voice makes Rick look up again.
“She wanted to stay until the next pickup”, Negan continues, shrugging lightly. ”She doesn’t trust herself with removing the stitches ‘n stuff. I’ll bring her home once that’s done. Honest.”
Rick takes a long deep breath, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. When he finally looks back at Negan, his voice is quiet. “Thank you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It’s early afternoon when you and doctor Carson are standing in The Sanctuary’s courtyard.
The two of you are going over the Savior's latest delivery. A truck for one of their outposts is getting loaded. The doctor is checking the requested medications, asking for your opinion on several things.
It’s so nice to speak to someone who knows about your field of work as well. Although medicine and pharmacy are not the same, they are still similar enough to provide a foundation for very interesting discussions.
Carson really respects your knowledge and ideas, he is even up for suggestions regarding the treatments of his patients.
“Huh, in that case I’d recommend Clindamycin.” You look at the doctor’s chart. “When she’s allergic to Penicillin, this might be the only option.”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that, too.” Carson agrees. “Thank you, Miss Grimes.”
You smile at the doctor. It’s such a good feeling to be appreciated for the work you do. When you’re about to reply, a yawn forces its way out. Quickly you cover your mouth with your hand.
“Oh, I have to apologize.” The doctor almost gasps. “We were working so nicely, I completely forgot the time. You must be exhausted.”
“Honestly, I am.” You admit. “But it's no big deal, I’ll go for a nap asap once we’re done.”
The doctor is about to admonish you for not telling him earlier, when the guard on the watchtower announces their boss’s return. Saviors hurry to get the gates open in time for the trucks to enter.
Negan's convoy is driving in, coming to a stop further into the courtyard.
A broad smile spreads across your face as the Saviors climb out of their vehicles. Your eyes immediately search for their leader — but something feels off.
No one else is waiting for him.
The realization makes your smile falter. Unease tightens in your chest and you find yourself wondering why none of his wives are there to welcome him back. Come to think of it, they hadn’t been there to see him off this morning either.
Not that you care to come into contact with any of them but their absence still strikes you as odd.
You catch yourself nibbling on your lower lip as the tightness in your chest grows. But the little voice in your head is forgotten, when you finally see the man you've been waiting for rounding the trucks.
Once his eyes meet yours, they seem to light up. He heads straight toward you with the signature smile of his.
“Hello there, Sweet Thing.” He greets you, resting his hands on your waist. “Been waitin’ for me?”
“Oh, don't flatter yourself,” you chuckle. “This was purely a coincidence.”
With an even brighter smile, Negan carefully pulls you closer to him.
Before he can lean down, you sling your arms around his neck to meet him halfway, kissing him. He recovers quickly, one hand tightening at your waist as he returns the kiss with a low sound of approval. Jolts deep in the pit of your belly spread through your whole body, loosening up the tight knot in your chest. He deepens the kiss, entwining his tongue with yours and you become wax in his hands.
You smile into the kiss, completely reveling in the bliss.
Franky observes the scene with watchful eyes, taking a sip from her glass of wine as she's looking out of the window. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. Eventually she turns her head towards Sherry, who is nursing her own glass on a chaise longue. “Guess that must be her.”
(Not my gif - found it on pinterest. If it's urs, contact me for proper credit)
Chapter 1: Little Pig, Little Pig
Chapter Summary:
Despite the rising tension between you and your father, you're keeping your mouth shut and the head ducked, when the Saviors come for their first visit. With Carl on your heels, you try to save some of the supplies, only to have to face off Negan himself.
Wordcount: 3208
Notes:
I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes or wrong spellings, English isn't my first language.
- Part 1 of the The One And Only Series -
Takes place during the beginning of season 7.
"Think about it, Dad." You're leaning against Daryl's bike, trying to get your dad to follow your idea. The Saviors will come in two days for their first pick up. Half of your shit did Negan say but you don't intend to give him that much.
You and Carl came up with the idea of hiding the majority of your supplies in the sewer system. That way it would be safe from them. The less you'd have on display for them, the better. You'd lose not as much in the end.
"I don't know, Y/N. If they find out we are holding stuff back-"
"Dad, come on." You try again. "What are the odds? Also winter is only a few weeks from now. We have to hord what we can."
Darly reaches the two of you, his crossbow on his back. "Ready?" He asks you.
Usually you'd go out with Sasha to scavenge around the area, but Spencer wanted to tag along, so you settled for Daryl and a bit of hunting for today. Something about this guy is just rubbing you the wrong way.
You nod at Daryl before turning your attention back to Rick. "Please at least consider that, Dad. While we still can-"
Aggressive banging against the gate cuts your conversation short. Startled, you look at the source of the noise.
"Little pig, little pig! Let me in."
You recognize that voice immediately and your head snaps back to your father. "They're too early!"
"Quick!" He pulls you from the bike. "Get in the house with Carl and Judith and stay put."
You nod and run towards your home, while Daryl and Rick go for the gate. Carl is playing with Judith on the porch, still oblivious to the threat at the gates.
"They're here!" You warn before lifting Judith up into your arms. "Get in."
Without a word your brother follows you inside. You rush up the stairs to get Judith into her crib. Carefully you lay her down, giving her a kiss on the crown of her head.
"Why now?" Carl asks, standing in the door. "They said ten days, it's been only eight."
"I know." You reply, pushing past him. "Hide as many cans as you can, I'll take care of the meds"
But Carl just keeps standing next to the door. "What? It's too late for that. They'll see us."
You turn on your heels, considering him for a moment. "Gather as much as you can in the kitchen, I'll dig a hole in the backyard, they won't see me there."
Your brother nods and runs down the stairs, while you go back to your room. Luckily you kept a few boxes of medical supplies and medicine nearby. You're one hundred percent sure they'll raid your infirmary as well. With two boxes in hand, you make your way downstairs.
"Oh no." Carl gasps, looking out of the window.
"What is it?"
He turns around to you, gesturing for you to take a look for yourself. "They go into the houses."
"Fuck." You look out with wide open eyes. Several Saviors roam the street, entering the homes. "Shit, we gotta hurry!"
Quickly you put the boxes on the kitchen isle, before running for the shovel. You reach the handle of the utility closet, when you hear the front door open.
A whistle catches you ears, followed by a "Nice house." Damnit, it's too late. With your hand hovering over your throwing knife, you slowly return to the living area.
Two men are standing in your living room, taking in your house. Carl and you share a glance and you silently command him to get over to you with a wave of your hand.
When one of the men notices you, his attention shifts from the room towards you. "Hello there, princess."
Shivers are running down your spine. You take Carl's hand and drag him behind you. Both men smile at you, making your fight or flight instinct kick in.
"Care to give as a tour, beautiful?"
"Your stuff is at the pantry." You hiss at him. "I can show you the way if you get the fuck out of my house."
Both men share a laugh. One resumes to look through the room, while the others eyes stay at you. "Oh, we're gonna get the stuff from your pantry, no worries. But we wondered what kind of treasures we might find within these walls."
"Oi, Davy!" The other guy calls. "Looks like they've been awaiting us."
You and Carl turn towards the kitchen. The guy's looking over your food and your medic-boxes.
"Those are ours!" You yell, still holding Carl's hand. "You can-"
"Let me tell you what we can, princess." Davy grunts at you, annoyed by your attitude. "The Saviors own this place now and everything you have is now ours, too. So we take whatever we want."
"Negan said fifty percent!" Carl argues behind you. He lets go of your hand and takes a stand beside you, glaring at the men. "We already put fifty percent away at the pant-"
Davy raises a finger, making Carl stop. "Uh-huh, that's not how this is working, kid. We take what we want, you don't get to have a say about it."
Both men start going through your boxes, satisfied grins on their faces. These asshols clearly enjoy the power they have. Your hand is itching to grab your knife.
Suddenly Davy holds a bottle of dry syrup up. One you found for Judith, when she got a bad cold. "Jackpot." He jokes, taking out more of your antibiotics.
"No!" You bark, grabbing the handle of your knife. "We need those, you can't have them!"
"Once again, princess." He turns around to face you. "We take what we want."
You're holding his stare, not backing down. Your voice turns to a growl. "No."
In an instant Davy pushes you against the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs. With his own knife against your throat, you don't dare to struggle, slowly releasing the hold on yours.
"Get off of her!" Carl screams, aiming at Davy with his gun. Davy's friend raises his hands in response.
"Carl, lower your gun!" you demand but he doesn't listen. "Carl!"
"Better listen, kid." The other guy says. "Or this will turn pretty ugly real quick."
"Get off of her!" Your brother repeats. You hold up your hands in surrender, showing Davy you'll not be a threat. Finally he lets you go, releasing you from his hold.
"You're not taking our antibiotics!" Carl continues, his gun still up.
You move over to him to stand in front of the barrel. "Stop it." You whisper harshly. Both men return to your boxes, grabbing both.
"Hey!" Carl yells, but both men keep ignoring him. Unable to fight his anger any longer, your brother pushes you aside, firing on the ground right next to Davy's feet.
Shocked you stand by his side, staring with wide open eyes. Both men hold their hands up and while the other one looks concerned, Davy has a smile on his face. "Wrong move."
"Put our boxes back or the next bullet will actually hit."
You snap out of your shocked state, when you hear footsteps behind you. Your dad appears next to Carl, holding his hand out to him. "Carl, please lower your weapon."
"No!" He refuses. "They are taking all our medicine. Negan said he'd take only half of it."
"Oh I did, didn't I?"
You don't dare turning around but you don't have to. Your shoulders go tense when Negan rounds you and your father, stopping right in front of Carl.
"Really, kid?" He chuckles lowly. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, your heart's beating hard against your ribcage.
You plead, "Goddammit, Carl! Stop it!"
"You should listen to her." Negan advises, his eyes not leaving Carl.
"And you should leave", Your brother retorts "Before you find out how dangerous we are."
Negan narrows his eyes, taking one step closer to your brother. "Well, pardon me, young man. Excuse the shit out of my goddamn french but did you just threaten me?"
You're clenching your hands into fits. Carl has to drop this fucking gun.
"Look, I get threatening Davy here but I can't have it. Not him, not me-"
"Carl!" You growl in warning.
"Now don't be rude, sunshine." Negan addresses you. "We're having a conversation here."
He turns back to Carl but you notice his eyes lingering on you for a second longer than necessary.
"So, where were we? Right, your gigant mansize balls. No one's treating us. Listen, I like you, so I don't wanna go hard, proving a point here. You don't want that. I said half your shit and half is what I say it is."
Carl eyes dart between Negan and the boxes, still not giving in.
"I'm serious." Negan snarls. "Do you want me to prove how serious?" His voice drops even lower, "Again?"
That's it. You take hold of your brother's hand, twisting it. He releases the gun, groaning in pain. You're almost snapping his wrists in anger, but manage to let go before you can deal actual damage.
When the gun is in your hand, you try to give it to your father but Negan reaches for it first. "Nope, that's mine now."
You give him the gun without hesitation, glaring at your brother, who is caressing his throbbing wrist.
"Impressive." Negan praises you before moving his attention to your father. "Know what, Rick? This whole thing reminds me that you have a lot of guns. All the guns you got from my outpost, when you wasted all of my people with a shitton of your own guns and I'm betting there's even more, which adds up to an absolute ass load of guns."
Your father's eyes are glued to the floor. There was a time where you'd be heartbroken to see him like this. But he agreed to attack the outpost, no matter how hard you tried to convince him otherwise. It's making it hard for you to feel sympathy, especially now, with your relationship more tense than ever. When this ordeal is over, you two will definitely have another argument.
"And as this little emotional outburst made crystal clear," Negan continues, "I can't allow that. They're all mine now. So, tell me, Rick. Where are my guns?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You're sitting in front of the infirmary, looking over the remaining inventory. From about eight boxes that were filled to the brim with supplies, only three and a half were left for you.
Saying you are angry would be an understatement. You are fuming. Why didn't you just follow up with your plan and hide everything in the sewers? Why did you wait for your father's permission?
You're so done with him and his stupid mistakes. It seems like every decision he's making is adding another nail to your coffin.
You've lost the prison, because he hesitated. You felt forced to take action and captured Michonne so Merle could bring her to the Governor. Of course you would have killed him before he could kill your friend, but Merle had to chicken out. Lucky Michonne did not hold any grudges towards you, unlike your father.
And then there was Terminus, a place that's still giving you nightmares to this day. Thank God you and Carol came before it was too late.
When your group finally got to Alexandria, your practically broken relationship slowly got better. Even though you wanted to make everything work, like Darly and Michonne did, you also felt uncomfortable like your father. The people were too oblivious about the world outside of their walls.
A few weeks later, when you were confronted with an enormous horde of walkers, you two finally got your shit together. It just took getting missing for a while, making him believe you and Darly died when luring the horde, while in the meantime Carl suffered with yet another life-threatening injury.
When you and Daryl finally got back to Alexandria, your father almost crushed you in a hug and did not leave you and Carl's side, when you treated him. It's tragic that it took almost losing your brother again to make you and your father grow back together.
If not for Carl, you'd have left the group long ago.
Afterwards, when you thought you and your father finally worked through your problems, you found out about Hilltop. From the moment Gregory introduced himself to the group, you could not stand that guy.
To be fair, it's been Daryl's idea to free Hilltop from the Saviors. But your father had the final say. We're starving, your father argued and finally you've been overruled by everyone else.
In the beginning Meggie shared your doubts, you both knew actions will always have consequences, but in the end you stood alone against the rest, when they took off to kill everyone at the outpost, which by the time you guys thought was their base.
And now you have to suffer those consequences.
You take a moment to breath, trying to calm your nerves. Anger won't get you anywhere right now. When the Saviors leave, so will you. Two days from here is a mall you hope has not been raided before. And when you come back, you will hide everything you've found there. No matter what your father has to say.
After a few deep breaths you get back to work, sorting the meds by indication. While you're at it, you draw symbols on the containers, stars for antibiotics, lighting for painkillers, trees for vitamins. You're so deep in thought that you did not notice someone approached you.
"Need paper for your drawings?"
You jump in surprise, almost throwing your stuff away. Slowly you look up at Negan, who's looking at you with curiosity in his eyes. "The hell you're doing there?"
"I'm marking the containers, so the others know what to look for, in case I'm not in town."
Negan crouches down next to you, taking the container out of your hand. "Ami… triptyline, and the sun here, what does that mean?"
"It's an antidepressant but can be combined with painkillers to increase the pain relieving effect." You explain.
His eyes go to the box, looking over the other containers you've already marked. "Hm, you look too young to be a Doc."
"I've been a pharmacy technician before the apocalypse." You correct him. He looks back at you, seemingly impressed.
"So you know that shit?"
You nod. "Yeah, I'm in charge of the infirmary supplies. Good thing I chose a job that's still useful now."
"Would you show me the infirmary?"
As if you could say no. You raise to your feet, grabbing the box. "Yeah, sure."
Despite the incident with Carl, Negan seems pretty chill right now. Maybe it's just an act. It's creepy to say the least.
You lead him inside. It's not much and now after the Saviors it's even less. You put your box back onto your desk, while Negan is browsing through your bookshelf.
He takes out a notebook. "Medicine for dummies" he reads out loud, turning the pages. With a frown on his face he turns towards you, confused by the handwriting. "What's that?"
"Um, my notebook. I'm breaking down the books behind you. I'm trying to explain diseases, their treatments and medications for laymen. So the people here know what to do if someone catches something."
Negan's frown only intensives. He grabs another book, turning it to a random page. "So you wanna tell me you understand what all these big words mean, proton pump inhibitors for example?"
You just shrug with your shoulders. "The majority of 'em, yeah. That's what I did for a living, also went to several advanced training sessions. PPI block stomach cells from releasing acid, it's one way to treat severe heart burns, by the way."
"Pretty and intelligent." He comments when he returns the books. A faint blush settles on your cheeks, this should not flatter you as much as it does.
You lean over the box, trying to appear less nervous. His calm attitude is unsettling you. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
He sits down on your roller stool, pushing himself towards the other side of the room and back again. You can't contain a little snort. The highly feared leader of the Saviors, rolling around the room with a big smile on his face. This seems way too innocent for a man like him.
"Dang, with a chair like this in my office, I'd never get any shit done." He jokes, still pushing himself around. "Have you ever done this?"
"More often than I should admit." You say, now smiling yourself. "If you pull the lever on your right side, it'll also spin."
Negan looks for the lever but doesn't push it. "Next time."
He stops at the shelf again, leaning against it and facing you. "You know, I can't help but wonder why you look so familiar."
You debate what you should reply to that. He'll most likely find out anyway, so you confess, "I'm a Grimes."
Negan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Really?"
You nod in affirmation.
"Rick's sister, right?"
"Daughter." You correct him.
"Well, shit." The smile returns and he rests his arms on his knees. "And the trigger friendly boy's your brother? Huh."
He looks like he's thinking about something, after a moment looks back at you, his smile fading. "Wiping out people gotta be like some kind of family trip for you guys."
Your soft smile vanishes and you bite your cheek for a second. "I did not partake in the attack, if you're referring to the satellite station."
Negan's unreadable expression turns into a frown in response. "You really wanna tell me when Rick went to kill my men, you just what, waved him goodbye and went to bed?"
"I was tempted to flip him the bird, but yeah." You reply. "I was against the attack."
That's earning you a doubtful look. "Why?"
"We didn't know who we were messing with, what the consequences would be, thought it's been too much of a risk."
His face splits into a bright smile. "Sucks to be right sometimes, doesn't it? And Rick just left you behind like that?"
You just shrug again. "He had to. We've argued for hours but I've been overruled in the end, so I simply refused to help."
Negan strokes his beard, considering what you've told him. "Sounds like you're the more reasonable part of the family. I'm sorry your father dragged you into this shit."
If you didn't know better, you'd say this actually sounded sincere. Not knowing how to respond to that, you just stay nothing.
After one final look around the room, Negan finally stands up, making his way towards the door. "Well, I'll leave you to your work then. Thank you for your time, it's been a fucking pleasure." He tells you with his wolfish grin on his face.
When he's about to step out he turns around again. "Know what?" He asks you, his voice turning slightly playful. "I think we're gonna be friends, you and I."
Chapter Summary: The doctor of The Sanctuary did everything he could. Anxiety is driving Negan insane, all he can do at the moment is hoping for his Sunshine to wake up.
Everything hurts. Your heart is beating rapidly for a long moment before it feels like it stopped completely, only to hammer violently again. The sound of quick and shallow breathing reaches your ringing ears, it takes you a moment to realize that it's you who’s fighting for breath.
You want to open your eyes but you just can’t. The weight of your eyelids is just too much, they feel so unbelievably heavy. Then you want to move, but you can’t move a muscle either. Everything feels foggy, as if swimming through a sea of clouds. You feel dizzy without even moving.
All you have the strength for is to release a quiet whimper.
Warmth settles on your face and you hear a familiar voice talking. “Y/N? Please, wake up! Please!”
Carl!
The panic in your brother's voice sets you into panic as well. You fight through the fog in your head and then your eyes finally open. You find yourself looking up at him. Your sight is fuzzy on the edges but you recognize him at once. Carl is kneeling in front of you, one of his hands resting on your cheek. Quickly, your eyes search him for any injuries.
“You’re awake?” He asks in a quiet but hopeful tone.
Why would he ask that? Confused, you try to move your head to look around but your body feels like lead. Unable to make your body obey, you search your surroundings, your eyes moving frantically around. That’s not the infirmary. Wherever you are, you don’t recognize the place. Your heartbeat takes up on speed again. Where are we?!
“Doctor Carson!” Carl yells, the volume hurts your ears, making them ring even more. Of their own accord, your eyes start slowly closing again, but your brother begs you to stay awake. A man dressed in a white coat hurries to your side. He forces your eyes open, blinding you with a penlight.
You try to squirm away, groaning before you can stop yourself. Something is pulling violently in your middle. It feels like lightning tearing through your warm, silky clouds. What is that?
“Reacting to external stimuli, that's promising,” The doctor affirms. Carl smiles at him in response before looking back at his sister. “I’ll let Negan know she’s awake.” With that said, the doctor hurries towards the door, ordering the patrolling guard there to fetch their boss.
“You’re safe here.” Carl's voice brings your attention back to him. “You’ve slept for almost three days now. It’s not the first time you woke up but actually the first time you’ve stayed awake.” He’s visibly relieved, beaming brightly down at you.
You try to speak but your throat hurts, as if you’ve swallowed razor blades. Still, you force the words out regardless, “You okay?”
Carl makes a sound, more a sob than a laugh. He dips his chin a bit, “I am." She almost died and still worries more about me than herself. Suddenly Carl’s small smile vanishes. “Y/N, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t be,” you rasp at once. “You’re okay. Then all’s good.”
Carl only nods again, taking your hand. “We’re at the Sanctuary. Negan brought us here as soon as he found out. He-” He stops his explanation, inspecting his sister’s face. Asleep again. Carl sighs, but keeps smiling at you, he is so relieved. That’s been the longest time she'd been awake since they came here. Hopefully she’ll get better soon and stay awake for longer.
Hurried steps from outside can be heard before the door to the clinic opens. Negan rushes inside, instantly looking at the cot.
“She’s asleep again,” Carl says when turning his head towards Negan, believing to see disappointment flashing in the man's eyes.
Negan is clenching his jaw as he walks further into the room, his attention shifting to Carson. “What’ya got for me, doc?”
Doctor Carson picks up a clipboard, showing the head of the Saviors the results of his examinations.
“We avoided a hypovolemic shock by a mere hair's breadth,” he starts. “Also, now I can rule out a concussion as well. Miss Grimes will need more transfusions and supplements but as of right now-” The doctor turns his head towards Carl, “She’s got the worst behind her. She’ll live.”
Negan’s shoulders ease, the weight visibly lifting from his shoulders. He's running a hand through his hair before returning the clipboard to the doctor. “What are the prospects of her recovery?”
“She’s still very frail.” The doctor explains. “The blood loss was almost fatal, but she’s stable now, on OxyContin so she’ll rest without pain.” Carson moves towards his desk, retrieving his notes. “Confusion and fatigue are to be expected for the next few weeks. The stitches look good, but they must not be disturbed. Her blood pressure, as expected, is very low, but will rise to normal levels in time. I recommend strict bed rest for the time being. Red blood cells replenish in about six to eight weeks, if she takes it slow during that time, she’ll make it through just fine.“
“Sounds good.” Negan exhales a deep breath again, to say that he’s been stressed would be an understatement. “Is it safe to relocate her?”
The doctor glances down at the chart before answering, “Yes, intensive care is no longer needed.”
Negan takes one last look at his Sunshine before ordering, “I want her moved to my quarters.”
The doctor places the clipboard back onto his desk, “I’ll see to it.”
Negan is about to leave when he turns around at the threshold. “And Carson? Thank you.”
Carson inclines his head, “Of course, Negan.”
Quickly, Carl packs his things, clearing away his makeshift bed. With a bag in one hand and a small pillow in the other, he waits for the doctor. Carson orders two Saviors to move his sister. Carl follows them closely all the way up to the fifth floor of the factory.
The Saviors place her on Negan's bed and take their leave shortly after. Carl throws his stuff onto one of the armchairs before looking after her. Careful not to disturb her too much, he moves one pillow more comfortably under her head and tugs her in with the comforter.
He takes a quick look at her. She looks so much better now, color is slowly coming back to her skin. A more than welcome sight.
Carl removes his things from the armchair and sits down. He decides making himself comfortable and pulls a blanket out of his bag and one of his favorite comic books. Every so often he looks up from the book towards his sister, just to make sure she’s still okay, still breathing, before continuing to read. Time flies without Carl even noticing it.
Eventually the door to Negan’s quarters opens again. The head of the Saviors walks inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes search his sleeping Sunshine again before moving on to the boy. “Did she wake up again?”
Carl’s shaking his head. “No, not since then.”
After a tired exhale, Negan comes to plop down on the sofa opposite the boy. Carl pretends to read while he tries to watch Negan out of his periphery, but Negan just spreads his legs out, he’s visibly exhausted. He lets his head fall against the back of the sofa for a moment before looking back at his Sunshine.
After a moment, he turns his head back to Carl. “You hungry, kid?”
“No, thanks.” Carl answers, looking up from his book. He notices he can’t recall seeing Negan eat anything today either, so he hesitantly asks, “... are you?”
That earns him a low chuckle from Negan. “Not really, no.”
The room turns silent again for a moment, Carl keeps on reading, while Negan watches her sleep. Eventually, he speaks up again, “You still did not tell me what happened.”
Carl lowers the comic. “You didn't ask.”
“Fair point.” Negan replies, stretching his arms out onto the back of the sofa. “I do now.”
Carl swallows nervously. He places the comic down onto the coffee table, before sitting up straight. “We were scavenging-”
_ _ _
It was early in the morning. The sky outside was just turning pink and yellow. With another scavenger lying six feet under, you had to be reinstated on your old team again. You didn’t complain, as exhausting as scavenging is, you still enjoyed the time with your friends.
That trip your team was accompanied by your father, you were raiding an old apartment complex and could really use another pair of hands. Every apartment worked the same, kick down the door, search the rooms for walkers, loot everything edible or useful and move on to the next unit.
You guys had already spent the night there and only had to clean out the basement before leaving. It was huge, with an underground garage connected to it.You ran into a lot of small walker groups on your way but that was nothing you and your team couldn’t handle.
“Think there’s much in here?” Daryl asked you, throwing away an empty can of baked beans. Not the best breakfast in the world but on the road you can’t be picky.
You just shrugged. “We’ll see. I think it’s better to really check every room, you never know where people stocked up their little hideouts.”
Daryl only grumbled in agreement before moving on. You walked towards your father and brother, who were coming out of one of the utility rooms. “All clear,” your brother smiled at you.
“Yeah,” Rick agreed. “But we’ve gotta be careful. There’s an enormous hole in the floor, it looks like the foundation is giving in.”
You had to grin at that, joking, “Been there, done that,” Rick just shook his head. While still slightly grinning, you patted your brother on the shoulder. “Come on, let's see if we can find anything good.”
Together the two of you searched the utility rooms. Curious, you moved towards the ledge of the hole in the ground your father warned you about. You shone your flashlight down for a quick look. “Oof. We better keep our distance, Carl. The floor around it doesn’t look too trustworthy.”
Your brother agreed and moved on towards the shelves while you searched the cupboards. Every now and then you checked dark corners and behind doors again.
“We’ve already cleared it.” Carl said from the other side of the room.
“Better safe than sorry, Carl.” you replied, blinding him with your flashlight for a second. He complained, making you chuckle even louder. “I’ll go bring my stuff to Daryl.”
Carl kept going through the shelves. “Okay, I’ll keep on looking around here.”
You had just gone around the corner on your way to Daryl, who was talking to Sasha at your truck, when you heard your brother screaming.
“Carl?!” You quickly dropped the backpack from your shoulders, running back as fast as you could. Back in the room you saw your brother being attacked by a walker. Without a second thought you started sprinting towards them. Carl was pushing him away but the thing wouldn't let go. You tore the walker off of Carl, ready to ram your knife into its skull when you lost your footing.
Carl watched in horror as his sister and the walker fell into the dark pit. “Y/N!”
His father, Daryl and Sasha were beside him in no time. Daryl immediately jumped down after them, shining his flashlight to find them. Rick quickly followed while Sasha stayed with Carl, shining her own flashlight from above.
“She’s here!” Daryl yelled, waving at Rick to come over. “She’s knocked out.”
“Goddamnit.” Rick cursed, slicing his hatchet into the walker's head, making sure it stayed dead. “Help me take her.”
An ear-piercing scream echoed through the basement, when the men tried to move you. “Don't touch me, don’t touch me,” you repeated over and over again, unable to breathe.
“Christ…” Daryl whispered, when he moved his flashlight down to your belly. The whole place turned dead silent except for your shallow, rapid breathing.
When you tore off the walker, the momentum was too great and when you fell, you got impaled by the remains of an old metal railing. A metal rod stuck out of the left side of your abdomen. Lucky, adrenaline was pumping through your system, dulling most of the pain but you had to act quickly.
Afraid, you looked up towards the ledge of the pit. “Carl?”
“He’s alright,” Your father assured you, kneeling down to your side. “We have to get you off of it-” Rick tried to touch you again but you pushed him away.
“Absolutely not!” You panted, “That’s the only thing keeping me from bleeding out right now.” You took in your injury, quickly deliberating if you might have hit critical organs but your mind couldn't focus on anything else, still in shock. “Fuck...”
After a moment of consideration, your team decided using the found tools to cut the metal rod from the railing. After half an hour, you were freed and once your team got you into the truck, they quickly took off.
By the time you arrived in Alexandria, you’ve been screaming almost nonstop. The soothing effect of adrenaline had already worn off, leaving you in excruciating pain. Even the slightest bump on the road shook you to the core, making even breathing unbearable.
Daryl carried you into the infirmary with your team running after him. He laid you down on the cot while Sasha and Carl quickly disinfected their hands and arms. You tried to sit up, your lungs burning from the panting. As you looked down at the rod, you guessed it definitely went through your intestines but most likely nothing else, although it was hard to determine, as it seemed to be at an angle.
“How do we pull it?” Rick asked, concerned yet still soothingly calm. "Quickly or slowly?”
You tried to take a few deep breaths, trying to control your nerves. After a moment, you instructed everyone. “Slowly, while one is pulling, the other has to stuff gauze into the wound, all the way through and press it down.”
"Stitches?" Carl asked, already holding several pads of gauze in his hand.
“May… maybe.” Your world started spinning and your words to slur. “Imma pass out…”
Sasha quickly came to stand behind you, carefully gripping the rod. “You’re ready?” She asked Carl, who nodded at her. “Okay, go!”
You screamed from the top of your lungs, as the rod slowly pushed its way through your flesh. “Fuck it, quick. QUICK!” Sasha did as she’d been told, almost ripping the rod out of your back.
All of Alexandria heard what was going on in the infirmary, it was impossible not to. The screams were blood-curdling, but what was even worse than that was the silence that followed soon after.
_ _ _
Carl wipes a tear away. It still hurts to think about what had happened. “We just couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and then… she didn’t move.” After a quiet sob, Carl tries to continue. “Daryl then decided cauterizing the wound out of desperation.”
That’s why the wound looked as nasty as it did, Negan realizes. “Internal bleeding wasn’t a concern of yours?”
“We were desperate, Negan!” Carl’s voice falters. “We didn’t know what else to do.”
Negan scratches his beard. He really can’t blame them, they did what they could in that situation. It amazes him just how brave that woman is. Commanding people around while having a damn piece of metal sticking out of her body? She really has balls of steel.
“I was so sure the room was clear.” Carl sobs into his sleeve. The boy is plaguing himself with guilt. “It’s all because of me. She almost killed herself protecting me-”
“And I’d do it again.”
"Sunshine!" Negan bolts off the sofa towards his bed. He’s squatting down to be on your eye level. “Now look who's returning to the world of the living?” Carefully he tugs a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Need anything? Water, painkillers?”
“All good.” You tell him, voice still hoarse. “Just… tired.”
“I’ll take that,” He smiles at you but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Concern is too present in his features. “How’s the pain, on a scale from a sweet, peachy one to a gut-wrenching, torturous ten?"
Your answer takes a moment, then you tell him, “ ‘bout… about six.”
“Yeah?” Negan’s glance turns suspicious, he’s not believing a word. “And the real answer?"
After a few, not too deep breaths, you admit, “Eight.”
Negan shakes his head, scoffing. “No need to act brave here, not with me, got it? You’re in pain, you say it. You need pills, you say it. Alright?"
“Alright,” Your eyelids feel heavy again, but you’re not ready to sink back under just yet. “How.. bad was it? Really."
“You wanna know the truth?” Negan asks, searching your clouded eyes. When you hum in agreement, he answers. “Damn, fuckin’ close. That thing hit you just shy of the big hose, only half an inch higher and the game would have been over.”
You figured as much and if you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t think you’d make it. When you saw the rod, you knew that was it. It just had to hit something vital. There was no way in hell or heaven you could survive that. But you did. For whatever reason - a miracle, divine intervention or even fate, you’re still here, still pushing through. “Guess my luck hasn’t run out yet.”
You try to move, but your body rebels at once. White, sharp pain stabs through your middle and you suck in a sharp breath, hand flying toward the wound automatically.
“Uh-uh,” Negan murmurs, his hand catching yours before you can make contact, “Fingers off the souvenir, Sweet Thing. No pokin’ in there, we wanna keep those guts inside.”
“Fine.” Even though you’re only barely moving your head it's spinning. “I… what did you give me? Feels like… like-”
“You’re high as shit.” Negan states with a trace of humor in his voice, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand absentmindedly. “Doc gave you the really good stuff. Oxy-something. You should be floatin’ in another galaxy right now.”
“Something like that,” you admit, the corners of your mouth slightly tuned upward. It feels as if the fog in your head is getting denser, warmer. “ ‘s not bad.”
“I bet.” Negan searches your face again until his eyes eventually travel to your middle.
You can’t see it but you can feel something attached to your body. Bandages maybe? Of course there are bandages. But there is something else. You try to move your head to see, but then your vision gets too fuzzy, your head’s spinning too much.
“Hey, Sunshine.” Negan's voice sounds almost gentle now, coaxing your eyes back to him with a light squeeze of your hand. “Don’t fight it, if the drugs pull you under, let ‘em.”
“They pull me everywhere.” You chuckle softly, closing your eyes for a moment before looking back at Negan again. Even through the thickening fog of opioids, you can notice the tight line of his mouth, the hardness in his eyes, the frown of his brows. He’s serious, for once not playing games and Negan looks somewhat older now, as if the stress has been slowly eating away at him. “You… been worried?”
“Worried?” Negan repeats, sounding as if the word offended him. “Fuck, Sweet Thing. You scared the ever living shit outta me.”
Oh. “I- I’m sorry-”
“No.” He doesn’t give you a chance to blame yourself for what happened. “You don’t have to be sorry about shit, Sunshine. You did what you always do, the world did the rest.”
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. The fog is getting harder to fight. You’re about to let it win, when Negan’s thumb starts stroking your hand again. For a moment you try to keep looking at him but your vision is blurring fast. “Alright,” you whisper before finally drifting off again.
Once certain you’re asleep, Negan lets go of your hand to run it through his hair. He rises to his full height again, jaw clenched so hard, it ticks. He moves into the middle of the room, deep in thought. After a brief moment, he turns to Carl, “Go to your room, kid. It’s late already.”
Carl fiddles with his sleeve nervously. “Actually, I wanted to ask you if I can stay for the night. Just tonight?”
Negan exhales a deep breath through his nose. The kid is just worried about his sister and he sympathizes with him. After a long moment of consideration, he eventually gives in, he’s too worked up to argue anyway. “The sofa’s yours.” Carl quickly moves his belongings, while Negan goes for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The head of the Saviors walks on towards the room he let get prepared for Carl. So far it has remained unused. That boy was so worried about his sister, he refused to leave her side for even a minute. As long as he did not interfere with the doctor’s work, he was allowed to make himself a makeshift bed in the clinic.
Once inside the room, Negan takes a look around. A chair in the corner catches his eyes and he moves towards it to sit down. He wipes his tired eyes before removing the radio from his belt. He is so tired, the last three days were nerve-wracking. It’s not like he had not asked what had happened to his Sunshine because he didn’t care, but because the whole situation was just overwhelming. Seeing her knocking on death's door really hit a spot.
Exhausted, he rests his arms on his knees, looking at the radio for a long moment before pushing the button. “Rick, it’s me. Negan.”
White noise is his only answer until after a quick moment. “I’m listening.”
“Y/N’s woken up.” He informs the other man. “She’ll be fine.”
Silence and more white noise, after a while Negan is certain that Rick had put the radio away until he hears his sobby voice again.
Chapter Summary: It was supposed to be just another pickup day - not a nightmare. Rick is ready to strike against Negan, but all war efforts come to a complete stop, when the life of the woman both men care about the most is on the line.
It’s late in the morning, when a small convoy of trucks makes its way down the deserted roads.
Negan drums his fingers against the steering wheel, watching the suburbs slide past the windshield. Today’s pickup day for his favorite community.
After that damn ordeal last week, Prick’s people better have something decent waiting for him.
Probably not, given the town is three people lighter now. Then again, Rick and especially his Sweet Thing had to deal with even worse and if anyone can get shit done, it’s her.
Negan snorts softly to himself. Spencer really thought he could replace Rick as a leader. What a pathetic waste of air. Asshole didn’t even see it coming when he started running his mouth.
His Sunshine did, though. She’d been watching him the whole time like she already knew he was about to do something incredibly stupid. No doubt she’d have killed him herself if she had the chance.
Probably better he beat her to it. She is already close enough to getting exiled as it is.
Hell, she’d looked ready to tear someone apart that whole damn day. First her getting emotional about his wives, as if they've ever mattered. Then the shit with her little brother sneaking into the Sanctuary, Spencer and that bitch who shot Lucille.
The way Sunshine glared at her when Arat pinned her to the ground? Damn, Negan would be lying if he said that didn’t do something for him. That woman is hot as hell when she’s pissed and she was absolutely seething.
Negan smirks to himself behind the wheel, he can’t wait to see her again.
Their little game of hide-and-seek was fun while it lasted, but now he can really take his time with her. How the hell Alexandria found out about them, he has no idea but he doesn't give a damn. Sunshine is not exiled and they no longer have to hide, sounds like a win. No more rushed quickies whenever they managed to sneak away.
With things the way they are now, Negan decided to retire his RV for the time being and left it in The Sanctuary. There is no need for it anymore and her bedroom will do just fine. The thought alone puts him in a good mood.
Up ahead, Alexandria’s walls come into view. Finally.
The convoy slows a little as they approach the settlement.
As the gate opens, something about the place prickles at the back of Negan's neck. Around this time, Alexandria is usually noisy with voices, footsteps, people watching from windows. Busy in a nervous way.
But not today.
Negan scans the two guards standing on the wall before looking past the gate, the streets beyond seem unusually quiet. The trucks continue onto the parking lot and Negan stops his car right in front of the convoy.
The Saviors gather around their vehicles, ready to go through today's pickup. Negan jumps out but pauses beside the car door.
No one is waiting, there are no curious faces at the windows. No one pretending to be casually sitting on a porch while listening in.
Negan shuts the door and the sound seems to echo.
Something is wrong.
Alexandria is never this quiet. Negan's hand tightens around Lucille out of reflex. He walked into a lot of bad situations before and this feels like one of them.
He scans the area again, even the Saviors behind him stopped talking. The guards on the wall stand too still, not looking at him and his men. No one comes out of their house, no door opening, curtains hang still in the windows. Not a single soul in sight.
Except for one.
“Ah, Rick!” Negan calls, a bright smile forming on his lips.
Rick doesn’t answer. The closer he gets, the more his sorry state becomes visible. The man looks like he’s seen a ghost. His skin is pale which only accentuates the redness of his sunken eyes.
The smile on Negan's face dies instantly. The hell happened to him?
Once he’s reached the Saviors, Rick greets them with a weak jerk of his head. “Negan. Your stuff’s at the pantry.”
Negan’s eyebrows knit together. Rick’s not meeting his eyes, which is odd. Usually he’s glaring at him with so much hate one could think he could burn a hole through him with it. But not now. What the fuck is going on here?
After another quick glance around the area, still not seeing any of Rick’s people, Negan asks, “Where’s Y/N?”
Rick swallows hard. After a moment, he states. “She’s out scouting.”
Yeah, no. That’s bullshit and Rick has to know Negan knows. She would never go out scouting with a different car than her stupid Mini. The Mini that is clearly sitting in the far corner of the parking lot.
Negan takes one step closer to Rick, his eyes narrowing. Before he can confront him about his observations, a woman appears in the corner of his eye. She’s stepping out of the infirmary. That’s one of Sunshine’s team, he realizes.
Sasha is crying, wiping her tears. There’s red on her hands.
Negan’s eyes switch between her and Rick. Something is seriously fucked here. After one last glance at Prick, who’s still not meeting his eyes, Negan gets moving.
He pushes himself past him without a word, heading for the infirmary. Rick’s about to say something but when he sees Sasha standing on the porch, his mouth shuts again. He follows silently with his head down.
Negan keeps walking, his thoughts racing. The woman’s tears, the blood on her hands, Rick’s refusal to look at him.
The pieces click together in his head and Negan’s stomach drops.
No.
His shoulders tense immediately. The only sound in the street is gravel crunching sharply under his boots as he heads straight for the infirmary steps.
Don’t you fucking dare.
Sasha steps aside before they even reach the stairs. She, too, looks like shit. Her eyes are red and puffy, blood smears on her cheeks from wiping tears. She doesn’t look at him at first, only when Rick appears behind him she does. While pressing her lips together, she silently tells Rick no with a small shake of her head.
Negan can’t see Rick's reaction and he doesn’t care. All he wants is to find out what the fuck is happening. His hand stills on the knob for a single beat before he opens the door.
The pungent smell of iron hits him the moment he steps through the door. His nose crinkles of its own accord. Inside he is met with another puffy eye. Rick's boy is sitting on a chair next to a cot, looking up at him with a tear-stained face, holding the hand of-
Negan stops dead in his tracks.
Sunshine.
The air catches in his chest. There is so much blood.
"It's been an accident." Rick's small voice sounds from behind, but he barely registers him. Negan moves forward, coming to stand right next to Carl. The boy doesn’t say a word, only holding the hand of his sister in silence.
Negan’s eyes roam over her. The way she lies there, his Sunshine is almost unrecognizable. Completely still, unconscious. Her skin is so pale, almost gray, ashy. Bandages are wrapped around her exposed middle but there is still so much blood on her, the cot, the equipment.
A rusty metal rod on the cart catches Negan's attention briefly but he swiftly moves his eyes back to the big crimson spot on her belly.
"It happened so fast." Rick tries to explain, "We couldn't-"
"Got a doc or somethin’?" Negan cuts him off immediately, his gaze not leaving the deep red spot.
Rick’s just looking at his daughter. "She… she’s our medic.”
Negan is clenching his jaw. A quiet fuck is leaving his lips as he’s running his ungloved hand through his hair, still taking all of this in.
She’s dying.
Negan snaps out of his spiraling thoughts at once. He turns his attention back to her father, “Prepare her for transport. I’m taking her with us.”
“No-” Rick is about to argue, but there is no room nor time for a debate right now.
“I see you still don't understand what your daughter means to me, Rick.” Negan states in a very serious tone, towering over him. “I’ve got a doc, I’ve got a clinic. She’s coming with me.”
“I'm coming, too.” Surprised, both men look at Carl. “She won't be alone.”
After a quick moment of consideration, Negan agrees with a sharp nod. “Fine. Pack her some things.” Carl carefully places his sisters hand on the cot again, before quickly rushing out of the room. Negan turns his head back towards Rick again. “You get her ready,” he orders, before brushing past him to get his car.
Rick watches him leave before turning his attention back to his daughter again. Slowly he steps closer, taking her hand in his. His eyes well up again as he looks at her. He raises her hand to his lips, praying to any God who cares to listen, to make her stay, to not take her away.
“I love you so much,” he whispers against her skin. It pains him so much to see her like that.
Rick takes a shaking breath, he has to get going. With as much care as he can muster, he puts a blanket around his daughter, wrapping her in a cocoon before slowly lifting her up into his arms.
He hugs her against his chest. “Please don't leave us, Y/N.”
But there is no answer. No roll of her eyes, no annoyed sigh, no grin or witty comeback. Only her head falling against his shoulder.
Rick looks up again, sniffing before he brings his daughter outside.
Sasha is sitting on the railing, still fighting her own tears. When she sees them, she moves, offering to help. Rick doesn't seem to notice her. He passes her without a word, eyes forward.
Negan parked his car right in front of the porch, Carl’s already waiting next to it with two duffel bags in his hands.
Rick slowly descends the steps, careful not to jostle his daughter too much. Negan, who just finished instructing Simon to carry on with the pickup, steps closer, ready to take over but Rick moves past him as well. Carl quickly opens the car doors before helping his father ease his sister down onto the back seat.
Rick tucks her in one more time, pressing his lips to her temple, before he has to reluctantly let go.
No matter how much he hates Negan, how he distrusts him with everything he has, if there is even the smallest chance he can save her, Rick will choke down every bit of it.
Nothing else matters, not right now.
Negan comes to stand next to Rick, looking at him with something close to compassion in his features. He's reaching out his hand, offering the other man a two-way radio, “Whatever happens - either way - I’ll let you know.”
Rick takes the radio but doesn’t answer. His grip tightens around it as his eyes linger on his daughter for a moment longer before he finally steps back.
Negan lets out a sharp whistle, gaining Carl's attention. “Jump in.” The boy does as he’s been told, hopping into the passenger seat while Negan hurries to his own.
The engine roars to life as they hit the road.
Rick can only watch them, his breath hitches when they disappear behind the gate.
Sasha approaches him. She puts her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, but it does little to console him. Rick’s chest clenches, it feels as if his heart is shattering into a million pieces. There is nothing he can do now and the thought is tearing him apart.
Negan is racing down the streets as fast as he can. Adrenaline is rushing through his veins. Please, let it not be too late. It’s dead silent in the car. Now more than ever, he’s afraid of noise.
Dreading to hear the telltale sound of quiet groaning.
