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They sat in silence around the dining room table. Negan sat at the head of the table—too comfortably. Olivia sat with her back turned to Negan, cradling Judith close to her chest. Lucy sat to Negan's right, glaring at the other Lucille sitting across from her tauntingly. Carl sat next to Lucy, trying to decide if he could kill Negan with a butter knife.
"Now this—this— is nice," Negan sighed contentedly.
"Remind you of old times, Luc?" He asked. He looked over at her, a smug smile still resting on his lips.
"Shut up and eat your spaghetti," Lucy scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest.
"I haven't had a meal like this in a long damn time," Negan exclaimed, mouth full.
"What, your wives don't cook for you?" Carl seethed. Lucy dropped her fork on the table, whipping her neck around to look at Negan.
"Your who?" Lucy snapped.
"Damn, Carl. Thought we were pals. You gotta go and rat me out to my old lady?" Negan chuckled, shaking his head.
"Yeah, so I got a few wives. It's not a big deal—I mean, come on, Lucy. I thought you were dead. No point getting your panties in a twist over it," Negan chided.
"You call that a few?" Carl scoffed. Negan exhaled angrily.
"Carl—" he warned.
"No, Carl, tell me what you've got. How many wives does he have?" Lucy asked, eyebrows raised.
"I don't know. I saw like six," Carl shrugged. He wanted to keep stirring the pot, piss Lucy off enough that she would kill Negan, or at least be prepared to.
"Carl, why don't you take Judith outside. Olivia, you should go, too. I need to speak to Negan in private," Lucy said, trying to calm herself by taking a deep breath. Carl nodded, taking Judith out of Olivia's arms and going out to the front porch to sit on the rocking chairs.
"Six, huh?" Lucy scoffed, turning to Negan with her arms crossed.
"Lucille, don't—" Negan started.
"You know, I'd be fine if you were just fucking six women or even if you had just one wife. I'd be fucking happy for you if you had a wife—but six. Jesus Christ, how can that be consensual?" Lucy squawked.
