Daryl flinched when the door opened, bringing his arm to his face at the sudden brightness inside his dark cell. Dwight lingered long enough to throw something on the ground before closing the door. It wasn't the usual dog food sandwich he'd received everyday for the past, what, three days? No, it sounded too light.

Daryl felt around the floor until his hand brushed the item. Small, flat, rectangular; a photo. Two, actually. Moving closer to the solid door, he held the photos to the light that shone from underneath the door. The first photo showed a dead body with their head beaten in. It took Daryl a minute before he recognized the jacket.

It was Glenn.

Written on the white strip at the bottom of the photo, written in a messy scrawl, were the words:

You did this.

The second photo was of Maisie, tears clearly visible running down her cheeks. The same writing was underneath the photo as well:

And this.

It was his fault Glenn was dead, but at the same time, he didn't regret punching Negan. He did, however, regret the fact that the person who made Maisie the happiest was gone.

Tears he didn't even know he had slipped down his weather-beaten cheeks. He wouldn't blame Maisie if she hated him for the rest of her life, but she was a happy thought that kept him sane in the darkness.

〄

After the third day, Maisie decided she wasn't going to be a scared little girl around Negan anymore. Hell was gonna come in the form of a twenty-six year old woman. But they didn't need to know that just yet.

She dressed all in black despite the heat, going the extra mile by slipping on the leather jacket that had been left in her room.

She walked the halls of the Sanctuary confidently, her head held high and Negan's gift, the pearl handled knife, hanging off her belt. She passed two women in black dresses and heels, a brunette and a redhead, who gave her fearful, jealous looks. Maisie stopped and turned back to them.

"Something wrong?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"N-no," the redhead responded quietly, bowing her head.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Maria, and that's Amber," the brunette told her. "We're Negan's wives."

Wives? Plural?

Maisie turned when she heard the sound of Negan's heavy boots striding towards them. When she looked back, the two had scampered off.

"Maisie!" Negan boomed.

Maisie crossed her arms as he approached. "What?" she snapped.

"Come with me, I'm going to show you something," he told her, walking ahead of her. Maisie rolled her eyes and reluctantly followed him.

She followed him up a set of stairs that lead to a yellow catwalk hanging high above the busy main floor. Two Saviors were up there already, acting as guards with guns at their hips. When Negan stepped up to the rail, Maisie crossed her arms and leaned against the one wall the catwalk was secured against.

Negan's many, many followers went silent and kneeled without a single command from the man himself.

"Carry on," Negan told them, turning back to Maisie with a smile on his face. She gave him an uninterested expression in return.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Maisie shuddered internally. "How many wives do you have?"

"Seven, and one mistress," Negan told her, almost proudly.

Maisie rolled her eyes. "You disgust me," she spat, pushing off the wall and walking away. She bit back a yelp when his hand closed around her arm and pulled her back.

"You watch who you're rolling those pretty green eyes at," Negan growled, releasing her arm and allowing her to descend the stairs.

〄

Maisie ignored the hungry stares the Saviors gave her as she walked through the Sanctuary. In their minds, any woman who didn't wear a black dress or have a machine gun held in her hands was fair game.

She found her way to an outside balcony that overlooked a lot surrounded by high chain link fences and filled with biters on chains or stuck on various poles and bits of metal and people.

The people were dressed in dirty beige sweats with orange letters spraypainted on their chests. Prisoners of Negan, she assumed.

Maisie's heart leapt when she recognized the long brown hair and broad shoulders of one of them.

Daryl.

She went to call out to him when a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was dragged back inside.

Daryl looked up in time to see a door on the large building close.

"Ouch!" her captor yelped when she bit down hard on his hand and squirmed out of his grasp. It was the thin man with the receding hairline and the obsidian eyes. The man who had threatened Carl's life.

"What do you want?" she demanded, wiping the blood from his hand off her lips.

"Easy, girl," Simon responded. Maisie raised her lip in a silent snarl.

"You can't go out there."

"And why not?"

"You can't distract the workers from their work."

"But that's my..." Maisie briefly struggled with what to call him.

"But that's my friend out there."

"He's not your friend anymore, princess. He belongs to Negan. Now, move on, I don't wanna see you out here again."

Maisie stomped away with a huff, a scowl plastered on her pretty face. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than her little black dog. She hadn't thought about how much she missed him, and her heart ached at the thought of his sad brown eyes.

Jackson was already three years old, but to Maisie, he was still her clumsy little puppy who's paws were too big for his body and who's tongue would never stay in his mouth. She hoped someone was taking good care of him.

〄

The atmosphere within the walls of Alexandria was tense and brooding. They'd lost four of their own to Negan and were now saddled with the task of scavenging enough to satisfy him while still getting enough to keep themselves alive. They had taken Maggie to the Hilltop, and Sasha had just set out for the colony on foot.

It was a stressful time and tempers were abnormally high.

The Grimes' were both angry at themselves for the things that happened that were beyond their control, while others simply mourned the losses of their friends.

Maisie's dog howled constantly, a long, sad sound. It was fine the first day, when everyone felt the same, but now, they were concerned the walkers would hear him.

Tara took matters into her own hands by stealing a crate from the supply garage and marching to Maisie's house. The door was still open, left unlocked in their haste to help Maggie, and she let herself in. She climbed the stairs quietly, and set the crate down on the bedroom floor. Tara quickly found one of Maisie's well worn sweaters discarded on the chair in the corner of the room, grabbed it and piled it into the crate before picking up the sad dog and putting him inside the crate with Maisie's sweater and then....silence.

That was one problem solved. Smiling to herself, Tara picked up the crate and carried Jackson back to her house. He needed someone to care for him.

--------

"I see you got my gift," Negan said, his eyes travelling to her hip after Maisie had removed the leather jacket that fell well below her waist. The jacket was much too big for her.

"Yup," she said curtly. "Now what do you want in return?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nobody gives a gift for the hell of it. Even on your birthday, people give you presents with the expectation that you'll return the favor," Maisie informed him, a bored, matter of fact tone in her voice.

"You are one smart girl."

"Tell me something I don't know."

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