Doctor's Orders

Author's Note: This was for a tumblr challenge. My prompt was to have the opening line of the fic be, "Oh, for fuck's sake, Negan!"

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"Oh, for fuck's sake, Negan!" you exclaimed, staring at him in disdain.

He was dripping blood all over the white tiles, smiling sheepishly at you from the doorway. He had shed his leather jacket, leaving just a dark grey t-shirt, which had even darker grey patches on the left sleeve, thanks to the blood staining it from a cut across his bicep.

You had just finished cleaning up your exam room for the day, and weren't at all happy about him barging in after hours with yet another injury. Sure, you were the most qualified doctor on staff at The Sanctuary at the moment, especially after he had turned Dr. Carson extra crispy a few weeks ago. And, sure, it wasn't like seeing Negan up close and personal was a hardship. Anyone with a proclivity towards the male sex could take one look at the man and see his appeal. He had the whole 'you can't tell if I'm going to fuck you or kill you' style down to an art form, and damned if it didn't turn you on.

However, Mr. High and Mighty wasn't invincible...far from it. While the rest of the compound saw him as this big, unstoppable force, you saw a different side. You were the one who had to deal with all the cuts and scrapes that he seemed to accumulate on a much more frequent basis than anyone else in the compound. Some of his injuries were from battling it out with walkers or other communities...but a lot of them weren't. In fact, everyone else in the community would be surprised to know just how clumsy Negan really was.

You could still remember the first time he came to you, only a few days after you had arrived here. He had a cut across his cheek, just deep enough to need three stitches. You had been too intimidated, at the time, to ask how it had happened, but you didn't need to. He had been forthcoming with the information on his own, joking about how a tree branch had "came out of nowhere" and slapped him in the face, while he was out in the woods.

The next time he came to medical, a little over a week later, he was doing his damnedest not to limp from a sprained ankle. This time, the branch had been "lying in wait" on the ground, and he had snagged his foot on it. It became an almost weekly occurrence for him to show up unexpectedly with a new injury, usually right when you were finishing up for the day and no one else was around to see him. At this point, you were pretty certain that he purposely waited until it was just the two of you...or maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part.

Gesturing with your hand at the examination table, he took the cue and walked over to sit down, the sound of his butt hitting the crinkly white paper causing an unwilling grin to cross your lips. You hid it quickly behind a neutral expression before turning to face him, instead giving him your full 'I'm not amused' look. He just grinned in response.

"So, what did you do this time?" you asked.

"Got fucking grazed by a bullet," he nonchalantly replied.

Eyebrows raising in surprise, you parroted, "A bullet?"

"Yep," was his only reply. That was fine, since the less he wanted to talk, the faster you could get done and out of here.

The cut was just deep enough that you didn't feel comfortable letting it go without at least a couple of stitches to help it along, especially since he'd never listen to you and rest the arm long enough for it to heal on its own. He didn't move when you cleaned out the wound with alcohol, and only gave a minimal jerk when you deftly poked a needle through his arm to make the first stitch. The room was so quiet that the only noise was the buzzing of the overhead lights, so you almost stabbed his arm clean through when he unexpectedly broke the silence.