FALLING - by Maria Love (a Negan fanfic)

Chapter 4

This morning I woke up earlier than usual, after deciding to take advantage of my spare time I chose to sit on the stairs of my porch with a warm cup of tea before prepping myself for the day. Sometime before the apocalypse had started, someone had grown a tea plant here in Alexandria back when it was a normal habitable neighbourhood. And so generously one of the locals took it upon themselves to ground them up, and put them into little handmade cotton pouches to make it easier to steep. It was nice way to start my day, especially with what today had to offer.

Before leaving I decide to give myself a little cognitive pep-talk, adamant that I wasn't about to let Negan get to me. I knew that when he would provoke me he wanted retaliation, he liked getting a rise out of people. As someone who had spent most of her life with horses I was aware that when they would misbehave, instead of getting angry with them, we put them in their place. And Negan was a man who definitely needed putting in his place, it was a win win in my eyes.
The best course of action was to not tell him that I was, by definition, attempting to rehabilitate him. He would padlock his vulnerability quicker than warp speed. I could tell that he was the type of man who didn't like showing his emotions, despite yesterday's performance.
After I threw the small amount of brewed water left in my cup into the grass, I got myself up and grabbed a few things I'd need for when I was at the stables. When I walked into the morning sun the sound of crunching gravel trailed behind me, the noise reminded me of home when I'd walk to the local farmers market every Sunday with my mom. To anyone else it would just be a sound they wouldn't think twice about, but to me the defined short crunch of my footsteps gave me a warm feeling of nostalgia that I could carry everywhere with me.
Moments after arriving at the pen, I saw Negan being walked out of his cell in cuffs with several guards as if it were a category A prisoner transport. I mean it might as well have been.
Alarmingly, I truly believe Negan is the only person to have come out on the other side of this cataclysm cleaner than any other living being. If he had committed the types of murders he did pre-apocalypse, he'd have been locked up in a maximum security prison long ago.

"Morning partner" he said in his best southern accent as he tipped an invisible cowboys hat at me.

"Good morning Negan" I say turning my back to him, as though I was pretending to be busy with something. But in reality, I didn't want him to see that he was able to crack a smile out of me. As troubled as he was, he had a great sense of humour.

"So, what's on today's agenda?" he asks once he was inside the enclosure with me.

"Well, today I was hoping to take Chestnut out here into the pen and get him to try and do a controlled two- beat gate with a saddle on. If he doesn't start bucking, I'll add a little mass to his back using sand bags so he can get used to the feeling of a persons weight".

"Okay, this time maybe in English doll" he said with a lost expression.

"Trot, I'm going to get him to trot" I say a little more black and white. "But first they need their breakfast, so I'd like you to refill each horses feeding bag with a scoop and a half of grains, and then attach the bags to their heads" I say pointing to the large bag of horse feed on the ground.

"These fuckin' things don't bite do they?" he asks with a substantial amount of apprehension.

"The big bad Negan isn't afraid of a few ponies is he?" I say sarcastically, which earned a deliberate laugh from him.

"Look" I begin as I walk him up to the other horses, "just be sure you don't make sudden movements around them, they're jumpy animals at the best of times. Pick up a bag and fill it up, once you've done that put their noses into the bags and tuck the trap behind their ears. Done". I explain with a demonstration, looking back up at him I noticed he was staring at me with a soft (one could almost say sad) expression. Like he was looking at someone he missed dearly. Immediately shifting his gaze, he grabbed one of the bags and started his task. There it was again, his vulnerability. It was almost like the human part of him was trying to break free, but kept getting pushed back and suppressed by his egomaniac alter.