Maybe he was falling for him. It was a problem that nobody had quite been willing to bring up to him over the last few weeks, that there was no sense in why Rick and his team had been given such an easy time of it when Negan should be making examples of them. He didn't. He punished around them. He split them up, he manipulated, he got his way by other means, and they kept resisting anyway.
Even Rick, spoiled with all the ways that Negan had worked to ensure that he didn't have to bear the worst of what his punishments might entail, wasn't put in jail, burned, didn't lose any limbs--kept on resisting. He obeyed, because the alternative was always worse, but it was always only just. Like cutting his mouth on the blade of the knife, and acting like it was no big deal.
He knew it was a challenge or a test or both. Rick had to guess that there was more going on, more beneath the words than anything else. But before Negan could move to react, Rick stood up, reaching for the cloth, exposing injuries to his body that Negan hadn't made.
They were completely unacceptable. Even if he could guess where Rick had gotten them, that didn't make them okay, and a fierce wellspring of protectiveness opened up in him at the sight. Rick belonged to him. He wasn't theirs to kick about and brutalize. And yet there was no rule in place to protect him either. Unlike his wives, the "no touching" rule didn't apply, and if Negan punished them for it, he would only be breaking his own rules on the subject.
The Saviors were held together only because everyone knew the rules, and everyone followed them. There could be no punishment for not following an order that hadn't been given. But he couldn't protect Rick without looking soft on him either. He was just a prisoner, nothing else; an enemy, who had made a lot of people angry, killed a lot of people's friends. That tended to rile them up. Negan couldn't make one rule for Rick and one for everyone else.
But he still dug the knife into the table, meat and all, and stood up, staring inscrutably at Rick. ]
no subject
Even Rick, spoiled with all the ways that Negan had worked to ensure that he didn't have to bear the worst of what his punishments might entail, wasn't put in jail, burned, didn't lose any limbs--kept on resisting. He obeyed, because the alternative was always worse, but it was always only just. Like cutting his mouth on the blade of the knife, and acting like it was no big deal.
He knew it was a challenge or a test or both. Rick had to guess that there was more going on, more beneath the words than anything else. But before Negan could move to react, Rick stood up, reaching for the cloth, exposing injuries to his body that Negan hadn't made.
They were completely unacceptable. Even if he could guess where Rick had gotten them, that didn't make them okay, and a fierce wellspring of protectiveness opened up in him at the sight. Rick belonged to him. He wasn't theirs to kick about and brutalize. And yet there was no rule in place to protect him either. Unlike his wives, the "no touching" rule didn't apply, and if Negan punished them for it, he would only be breaking his own rules on the subject.
The Saviors were held together only because everyone knew the rules, and everyone followed them. There could be no punishment for not following an order that hadn't been given. But he couldn't protect Rick without looking soft on him either. He was just a prisoner, nothing else; an enemy, who had made a lot of people angry, killed a lot of people's friends. That tended to rile them up. Negan couldn't make one rule for Rick and one for everyone else.
But he still dug the knife into the table, meat and all, and stood up, staring inscrutably at Rick. ]
Take the shirt off. The pants too.