Smoke and Ashes | Daryl Dixon?

Negan's POV

I wasn't an idiot.

I knew when to shut my damn mouth, and after the whole bat debacle, I'd done just that.

For days, I kept my shit in check, biting back every dumbass remark, every smart-ass quip that I normally wouldn't have thought twice about throwing her way. Kennedy wasn't the type to stay pissed forever. Not with me, at least. She'd grumble, maybe stew for a bit, then let it roll off her back like water off a goddamn duck. And sure enough, not long after, she was back to normal, bantering with me like nothing had happened.

But that didn't mean I forgot.

Didn't mean I wasn't still sitting with the way she'd snapped at me, the way her voice had gone cold, sharp as a knife's edge, cutting through all the shit we'd built over the years like it didn't mean a damn thing. Because for a split second, that's exactly what I'd been to her, what I'd always be, deep down. The guy who cracked skulls open. The monster she had to tolerate.

And I'd be lying if I said that didn't sting like hell.

But I wasn't about to dwell on that. I had bigger problems. Namely, the other kind of tension brewing between us. The kind that had nothing to do with the past and everything to do with the way she looked at me sometimes. Or didn't look at me. The way she had challenged me when I told her to drop the attitude, the fire in her eyes when she threw that Or what? back in my face.

Jesus Christ.

I had wanted to push her up against the damn wall right then and there.

I hadn't, of course. Wouldn't. Not unless she wanted it, not unless she made the first move. Because, as much as my brain liked to go off on these little tangents, as much as I caught myself staring too long, standing too close, leaning into that something between us, she wasn't there.

Not yet.

She was still loyal to him. Still tied to home, to Daryl, and I wasn't delusional enough to ignore that. But damn, did it drive me up the goddamn wall sometimes. The way she could just act like I wasn't right here, like she didn't notice the way I looked at her.

Because I sure as hell noticed her.

The way she moved, the way she carried herself, all that fire coiled up inside her like a live wire, crackling just beneath the surface. It had always been there, from the moment I met her, but back then, it had been aimed at me like a loaded gun. Now? Now it wasn't so simple.

And that? That was dangerous.

So, I stayed on my best behaviour, played it cool, and gave her space. It wasn't easy, not when every damn second spent holed up in this little ghost town had us falling into some kind of rhythm, some strange little thing that felt too easy, too natural. Like we'd been doing this for years.

We hunted together. Ate together. Fucked around and argued about dumb shit, like whether or not I was actually any good at skinning rabbits.

She rolled her eyes at my jokes, but she still smirked. She still let me sit close. Still let me get away with touching her more than I probably should.

And I knew I was reading too much into it.

Hell, maybe I was just torturing myself for fun at this point, looking for something that wasn't there. But that didn't stop my brain from jumping to conclusions when I caught her watching me out of the corner of her eye. Didn't stop my pulse from kicking up when she brushed past me, her fingers skimming my arm, casual as hell.

Didn't stop me from thinking maybe, just maybe, if we were out here long enough, she'd start to see what was right in front of her.

But that wasn't my call to make.