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Jo

I didn't expect that I would sleep again that night. It was cold out on the platform. The wind was coming out of the north and bringing winter with it. I didn't plan on sleeping again, not ever. I sat out there alone and stared up at the stars and wondered how everything could have gone so wrong so quickly.

I wasn't in control of my own mind. I knew that with every piece of myself. It was like I was just a passenger. I would suddenly wake up to find myself in the driver's seat. I didn't know what to do, how to handle it, or who I could talk to. I was so tired of feeling broken. The Sanctuary was for the strong and I was far from feeling strong. Negan was one of the most pragmatic people I knew. It would only be a matter of time before he realized my capabilities weren't worth the trouble.

Tears filled my eyes as my breath caught in my throat. I didn't want to leave. I didn't know where I would go, I had no doubt Kate would refuse to leave with me and I didn't want to even think about what it would mean for me to be alone out there. I could survive on my own, I had no doubt, but at what cost?

I leaned my head forward against the icy rail, letting the cold spread through me and clear my head. Cold was almost as good as pain for keeping my mind sharp.

The harder truth to swallow was that I also didn't want to lose Negan. I cared about him, had come to depend on him, and I had attacked him. I had been so lost in my own mind I couldn't recognize him. I didn't know what to do. My mind replayed attacking him over and over again, obsessing over all the ways it could have gone terribly wrong. I could have lost someone I cared about, and once more it would have been my fault.

Despite my determination to stay awake I fell into a surprisingly dreamless sleep. It was the first time since Merle's death I had slept deeply without the help of the drugs. Exhaustion and the physical pain I had been struggling with were more taxing than I was willing to admit. Everyone had a limit, and I was dangerously close to reaching mine.

I woke up hours later, incredibly groggy to find the sun high in the sky. I sat up and something heavy fell from my shoulders to pool in my lap. I frowned down at Negan's leather jacket which had been draped over me. I scrubbed at my face and looked around in confusion. I didn't remember him coming out and he certainly wasn't there now. It was a little terrifying that not only had I not heard him come, but I had been sleeping so soundly I didn't wake when he touched me.

I sucked in a sharp breath. The urge to panic was slightly put off by the knowledge that despite everything he had come looking for me. I had attacked him and he had taken care of me. I didn't deserve him. I shivered as the wind hit me and I climbed stiffy to my feet to head back inside.

I didn't see anyone on my walk back to my apartment. Which seemed slightly surprising. I hadn't been left alone since. I stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water soothe my sore muscles and worked at getting my mind to go blank. Every time I got close however the heat and the steam would pull me back to memories of the fever. I finally cranked the water over to cold, finished washing up and got out. Whatever was wrong with me, relaxing was not the answer.

I pulled on my leather pants, and grey thermal Henley. I had a moment of muscle memory where I looked around for my shoulder rig, but stopped as I remembered it was still in Negan's room. I wasn't exactly ready to be armed. Not yet. Not until I was sure. 

I stood in the middle of my room, uncertain what to do with myself. I wasn't going to be training anyone any time soon and without Kate or...

I swallowed thickly. Well, a considerable portion of my day had just opened up. Instead, I had time to focus on myself. I could head down to the gym, see if a little exercise would help. First, I needed to visit Doctor Carson. He wasn't a psychiatrist, but to my knowledge he was the closest we had and I needed to figure out what was wrong with me.

I knocked gently on his door, waiting for a reply before pushing it open.

"Miss Dixon," Carson greeted, pushing himself to his feet behind his desk. His eyes flickered nervously from me to the door behind me. "Are you alright?" he asked, though his voice was tight with tension.

I swallowed, wondering if I had made a mistake coming here. I didn't recall doing anything recently to make Carson afraid, but he had been in there. Suddenly feeling like I may be making a mistake, I nodded nonetheless and closed the door behind me. "Yes," I gripped my hands together, uncertain how to begin.

Carson sat back down slowly though his eyes were still wary. "What can I do for you?"

I licked my lips. "I-I was hoping to talk to you..." I tripped over the words.

Carson looked confused for a moment before he sat back down. "Of course," he said gesturing to the empty chair across from him.

"Are you busy?" I asked, glancing around the infirmary. There was no one else here, but at that point if Carson in any way implied he was busy I was happy to head down to the gym where I would be firmly in my element. This was something new. The very idea of discussing a vulnerability made my pulse kick up a notch.

"Of course not, please sit down," he said pulling his reading glasses off his face and cleaning them on his jacket.

I slid into the metal chair, but sat on the edge. I suddenly had no idea where I was going to start, or what I even wanted to say. What did I even hope to accomplish by this? There was no magic cure that would fix me. What had been broken inside of me had been over a year in the making. No matter how good of a Doctor Carson was he wouldn't be able to put the pieces back together again.

Carson sat back in his chair and watched me curiously, waiting patiently for me to begin. His patience annoyed me. I had grown so used to Negan's off the hip reactions and this place's need for instant gratification. Carson's quiet patience set my teeth on edge and made me strangely uncomfortable.

I exhaled, wringing my hands together. "I-" I started to say.

"You know whatever you say in here does not go beyond these walls," Carson said in his well practiced, soothing doctor tone.

His words jolted me and I snorted, casting a look of disbelief his way.

"Well..." he said shrugging unapologetically. "To a point."

"You mean to the point where Negan comes down here and you tell him every word I've said?" I asked sardonically. The sarcasm gave me confidence and I immediately started to feel like we were on more even ground. I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. Normally it would have put my hands near my knives, making me feel better, instead it was a sharp reminder that I wasn't armed. That I had chosen not to be until this was resolved. Which brought me right back to why I was sitting here uncomfortably.

"Yes of course," Carson replied flashing me a smile with too much teeth. It was overly aggressive for our conversation and made me hesitant to continue.

Carson regarded me for a few moments before he laced his fingers together on his desk in front of him. "Are you pregnant?" he finally asked, as though he had been holding back the question.

I pulled back. "What?" I gasped, totally shocked. "No, of-of course not," I stammered. 

He arched a brow. "It isn't that far fetched," he replied lazily. "You and Negan-"

"No," I snapped quickly. "No," I said again, shaking my head. "Just stop, please," I said, mortified. I was not going to have this conversation with Carson. Negan and I might have to have it one day, if it ever came up, but I certainly wasn't going to open up to Doctor Carson about something so painful knowing it would find its way back to Negan whether it was relevant or not.

Carson held his hands up in surrender.. "Okay, not pregnant then..." he didn't look entirely convinced but I wasn't going to argue with him. "Why don't you tell me why you came down here today," it wasn't a question.

I pinched my lips together thoughtfully. "Well, since-" I sucked in a breath, unable to say the words. I tightened my jaw and my hands closed around the edge of the chair, tightening until the metal bit painfully into my hands.

"Since?" Carson prompted.

I exhaled and forced myself to say the words. If I couldn't say the words I wasn't going to be able to get better. And I wanted to get better. I was determined. I had to face this.

"Since Merle's death," my voice trembled but I said the words and in that alone there was a small victory.

Carson sat back in his chair and nodded in understanding. He had been there, he understood better than almost anyone what had actually happened that day.

I drew in a grounding breath and pushed on. "I have been struggling since I woke up," I confessed. This would not come as a surprise to Carson, he had been a part of the decision to keep me drugged the whole first week after.

Carson nodded slowly and he looked suddenly wary. His eyes flickered once more to the door.

I sighed in frustration. "I don't blame you for that," I promised him. Did he really think I had come down here to assign blame or exact some kind of revenge? Is that what the people around here thought of me? "That was a mutual decision you and Negan made," I allowed. "You did the best you could in the circumstances you were presented."

Carson sat back in his chair and looked at me as though he couldn't quite figure me out.  I was under the impression he spent a great deal of his time believing himself to be the smartest person in the room, and he seemed surprised as though I had been unexpectedly clever. Sometimes the amount of testosterone in this place was exhausting.

I drew in a deep breath and got back to business now that I had his full attention.  "The nightmares," I said shaking my head. "Sometimes-sometimes I forget they aren't real. I'm having panic attacks..." I started to explain but I stopped, frowning at Carson. I suddenly felt uncomfortable revealing these kinds of weaknesses to someone like Carson. He had done a lot to help me since I came here, but he was still a Savior. It was his job to tell Negan of any possible threats and I was a big threat if I wasn't in control.

I swallowed and glanced towards the door. "You know what," I said shaking my head. "It's stupid. Never mind. I'll let you get back to your day," I shoved myself up, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to get to the door.

"Jo," Carson called after me.

When I glanced back at him he was scrubbing at his eyes tiredly. When he lowered them his eyes were grave. The mask of the cocky physician had fallen away and he just looked tired. "Please," he said seriously. "Please sit back down."

I moved slowly, scowling at him, unsure if I actually wanted to hear what he had him looking so serious. Deciding nothing he could say could be as bad as what my imagination could come up with I slid back into the chair.

Carson leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the desk between us. "Jo, I want you to understand that I am in no way passing judgement on you. No one who matters is," he clarified.

I nodded slowly along with his words.

"Trauma and grief can have...interesting effects on brain chemistry."

"Interesting-?" I started to ask but he waved me off.

"Jo, I'm no psychiatrist. In fact I became a surgeon specifically so I would not have to deal with the mess of patients emotions," he confessed shamelessly. He spit out the word emotions as though it were the most disgusting thing he had ever heard. He took another deep breath and actually looked sincere. "But the things you've seen...the things you've survived," he shook his head in disbelief.

I slowly started to close myself down from his words. I wasn't sure I was going to like what he was about to tell me. I wanted to cover my ears, to shake my head and refuse to hear him, but I was frozen in that moment as my body struggled with the shot of adrenaline pumping through it. I knew I was broken, but hearing it come from someone else made it somehow that much more real.

"Look," he was still talking but it was starting to sound incredibly far away. "The only thing surprising about your situation is that it has taken so long so symptoms to manifest."

"Symptoms?" I asked shaking my head. "I don't under-"

Carson reached towards me and I pulled back instinctively. My body was growing tight with tension and my pulse began pounding in my ears. There really was something wrong with me. My fear was pushing my body to react but there was no way out, there was no enemy to fight. There was nothing but me. I was the enemy.

"Trauma Jo. The amount of abuse you have experienced, the loss of family, the malnutrition when you first arrived, not to mention long term effects of sleep deprivation are-"

I shook my head and suddenly didn't seem to be able to stop.

Carson went very very still, his words were left hanging as his eyes widened. He seemed to realize in that moment that there was something wrong. He reminded of a rabbit suddenly sensing a predator.

Stop, reset. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. I was being scary again. I didn't want to be scary anymore. I was so tired of being scared.

When I opened them Carson was still watching me warily.

"What are the effects?" I asked tightly. My voice was a low dangerous growl that I hadn't intended to use. I blinked and bit my lip, forcing myself to silence.

The damage was already done, fear grew in Carson's eyes as he shook his head too many times. "I-I'm not sure. It could be anything really. Difficulty focusing or contrarily hyper-focus, insomnia, disassociation..." he dragged off and the intensity of my stare was too much for him and he looked away. "This isn't my area of expertise," he told me almost desperately. "I have a few texts here and am happy to do a little research for you, but as far as I can tell. You are suffering from a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

I frowned at his words as my mind started racing. I studied Wildlife Biology in school, and knew very little about human brain function. "Isn't that something that happened to soldiers?" my voice broke with all the emotions I was fighting to contain.

Carson's face was sympathetic. "Historically, yes of course, but it is not just reserved for those who served in the armed forces...Clinically...it is a persistent mental or emotional stress from a physical or psychological shock...can lead to disruption of normal sleep schedule...vivid recall of the event...dulled responses to current events...does any of this sound remotely familiar?" He asked the question, but we both knew the answer.

I closed my hands into fists but didn't know what to say. I swiped a hand over my mouth as I began sweating. I scrubbed my hands against my thighs, but the leather did nothing to soak up the sweat.

Carson sat back and waited patiently for me once more. I was scowling down at the floor. "So..." I started to say. "What does this mean? How do I fix it?"

Carson snorted and shook his head. "I wish I knew," he said sincerely. "You could use a sedative," he offered.

I pulled back at that. Memories of fighting against the pulls of the drug in that room as Merle died in front of me...

Whatever crossed my face made Carson immediately defensive and he held his hands up. "It's just a suggestion. My other suggestion is to get true, natural rest. You need to stop getting injured and take time to heal up and get back on a normal sleep schedule young lady. How regular are your meals?"

I bristled at being lectured by the doctor, but I couldn't argue with him. When I didn't respond he grunted in annoyance and spun his rolly chair around. He reached into the cabinet behind him. He pulled out a small clear bottle and slid it across the desk towards me. I instinctively caught it before the glass bottle could hit the floor. I heard a drawer slide open and shut and Carson slid an unopened box of syringes with needles towards me.

"Your choice," he replied flippantly, then he picked up the file he had been reading when I walked in, dismissing me.

I tightened my jaw and shoved myself to my feet. I looked down at the glass bottle in my hand.

"Intramuscular injection is fine," he called after me without looking up from his paper. "Any major muscle group will do. Your choice," he repeated.

I slammed the bottle down on the corner of his desk as I stormed out of his office. It didn't shatter, but it was only because I pulled myself back at the last moment. Just because I was mad didn't mean we could afford to waste a sedative that might be needed for someone in the future.

With Carson's words chasing themselves around my brain I headed down the hall. I needed to move, needed to do something. Negan had outfitted a private gym for me but I wasn't sure I wanted to go up to Negan's room just yet. I was still uncomfortable with what happened the night before. Being in Negan's space could be overwhelming and I had a lot to think about.

Instead I went down to the soldier's s gym. There were only a few soldiers in there and I ignored them as I started working. I couldn't really put much pressure on my arms or back, but I was able to work my legs. There was a stair stepper and I started on that. 

The door clicked open and I turned to see Dwight step into the room. I lifted my chin in greeting but didn't think anything of it so I didn't stop moving.

He came over to me. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said looking sheepish.

I frowned. I hadn't realized there was a specific time for anything. I stopped moving and shrugged at him. "It's no problem," I assured him. The machine started beeping at me for stopping. My legs suddenly felt weak and I was shaky. I scowled down at the angily beeping machine as though it were somehow responsible for my weakened state. I wasn't even sweating yet, but I was already exhausted. Maybe the Doctor was right.

Dwight's eyes flickered to the side. "I ah-overslept," he told me running a hand over his hair.

He was lying to me, but I wasn't sure why. I wasn't thinking clearly enough to be able to sort out why Dwight would bother lying to me about something so innocuous. I climbed down off the machine and was instantly dizzy. I tried to think back to when I had last eaten and once again silently cursed the Doctor for being right.

I headed towards the door and Dwight trailed behind me as I walked towards the market, It was nearly lunch time. Halfway there I glanced over my shoulder uncomfortably. "You could walk with me if you want," I offered. I knew Dwight had been following me around for weeks, but it was unsettling having him so close and not acknowledging one another.

Dwight's eyes widened and he looked around as though he were surprised to find me speaking to him.

"It's a little weird to have you following behind me when I know you're there," I said by way of explanation.

He nodded and stretched his legs easily to catch up to me.

I chewed on my lip. "How would I go about finding out how many points I have?" I asked after another few moments of silence.

Dwight frowned at me in confusion. "That's not really something you have to worry about. Being with Negan sort of-" he dragged off frowning almost angrily.

I scowled at his words, but I really didn't feel like arguing with him. There was something off about Dwight today. Something on his mind, but we weren't close enough for me to ask. So instead I continued to with my train of thought. "So...do people who join up just get to eat whatever they want whenever they want and the vendors just have to suck it up?"

"No, they head down to mess. The stuff in the market is just extra for people to use their points."

I stopped, feeling like I was starting to make sense of things as I realized I had been committing a societal faux pas without realizing it. "Let's go down there for lunch then."

Dwight led the way down two flights of stairs to the mess hall. It was a large cafeteria that was no doubt the lunch room for the factory's workers before the turn. There were twenty Saviors moving through the line with two people standing behind the counter serving lunch.

Dwight and I went through the line together. It took longer than it should have, but with only the two people I could see working the kitchen it was no surprise. The older woman dishing up the vegetables smiled warmly at me as I held out my plate. I was surprised to find myself smiling back. 

"Thank you," I said to her as the second woman bustled hurriedly in and out of sight as she worked to clear tables, run the stove and restock the serving dishes. They both looked exhausted and the other Saviors in line were complaining loudly. 

Dwight and I sat together and ate. Dwight seemed to be growing more skittish as time passed. He kept fidgeting and wouldn't meet my gaze. I pushed my food around my plate. He must have known what had happened somehow. It made sense. If Negan sent him to watch me he probably would have warned him about what I was capable of right now. I hated this.

Dwight's tension led to my own  increasing discomfort. As we sat there the line continued to back up until it was out the door and up the stairs. A crash echoed through the mess hall and without thinking about it I was on my feet with the butterknife in my hand, prepared to fight.

Dwight froze, his fork halfway to his mouth as he watched me, waiting to see what I was going to do. My head snapped in the direction of the noise as my heart began thundering in my ears. I zeroed in on the savior who had slammed his plate down on the counter. I exhaled as I realized I didn't have to defend myself. The tension left my body so fast it almost left me dizzy.

I narrowed my eyes on the man who was leaning forward across the counter space, stabbing his finger into the face of the old woman who was serving. The younger woman stepped up beside the older woman, raising her voice in her defense.

I tightened my jaw and very deliberately set down the cutlery, turning towards the confrontation.

"Jo-" Dwight called after me exasperatedly.

I ignored him and walked up towards the angry man who was now yelling profanities and threats at the two women.

I stepped quickly through the tables, turning my entire focus towards the man who was causing problems. I appeared on his left, and was standing before him, my hands loose at my side before he noticed me.

He jolted in surprise when he finally noticed me. "You work in the goddamn kitchen too? Are you one of the bitches responsible for this mess?" he raged stabbing his finger in my face.

One of his friends reached out to grab his arm but he turned away from them to face the older woman again. He stabbed his finger in her face. "This is your goddamn responsibility and I'm going to make sure you're punished for this. You don't want Negan to find out about this shit do you? You don't want me having to bother him with little shit like this problem do you?"

The older woman's eyes widened in horror and she started to shake her head. She snatched up the man's plate and quickly filled it. "There's no problem here," she assured him, holding out the plate.

He slammed his hand down on her wrist, knocking the plate to the floor where it shattered. "I'm the one who decides if there's a problem or not," he growled.

I didn't think, I just reacted. I grabbed the hand he had struck the woman with and twisted it painfully upward, spraining it without hesitation but I released before I broke it. As soon as I moved the younger woman wrapped an arm around the older one, pulling her back out of reach. The man howled and swung sloppily towards me with his other fist. I ducked easily, slapping it aside. Knowing I needed to end this before it turned ugly and I lost control, I whipped around kicking the man's other hand. I landed in a crouch, ready to act again if necessary.

He jerked back, cradling both against his chest. "You bitch!" he growled. His hand dropped towards his belt and I tensed.

One of his friends stepped in, grabbing his shoulder and stopping him. "No!" his friend hissed. 

I slowly straightened. I cocked my head as I regarded him and I took a slow, deliberate step towards him. "What's your name?" I asked lifting my chin to look up at him. I let every piece of darkness I kept in my head shine out of my eyes. 

The man's face froze and his eyes flickered from his friend back to me. I was literally watching him trying to figure out what was happening. He had no idea who I was.

"Jared," the man responded cautiously, his long greasy blonde hair hung past his shoulders and he shoved it back out of his way in annoyance.

"Hi Jared," I said flashing him a smile that didn't reach my eyes. I could hear nothing beyond my pulse thundering away in my ears, but my hands were completely steady. "We haven't met," I said sweetly. "I'm Jo."

In a way the adrenaline was soothing. It was certain and direct. This was the drug I had to be careful of.

Jared's eyes widened and they flickered to just behind me where I could hear Dwight approaching. When he spotted Dwight his eyes landed back on me with something close to fear in them. He wasn't afraid of Dwight, to my knowledge no one was actually afraid of Dwight, but if he was as connected as he pretended to be than even though he and I didn't know each other personally he had to know of me. He would certainly know who it was that Dwight was assigned to keep an eye on. Sanctuary just wasn't that big.

"I-" he started to say, his eyes flickering back to the woman behind the counter. "They-" he started to say as though he could somehow justify what he had done.

I took an aggressive step towards him. Unlike me, he was armed. There was a gun on one hip and a knife on the other. I needed to be careful how I played this. If I pushed too hard and he truly felt the need to defend himself I could get into trouble fast, however, he was already afraid of me. There was a chance I could use that to prove a point. 

"They?" I asked innocently.

"They're behind," he said gesturing towards the line behind him. "Look at all these people who still gotta eat. They-"

I glanced back at the women. "Seem to be working as fast as they can," I finished for him.

He pulled back half a step when I swung back around to face him. Maybe he had heard of me.

"We're short staffed," the younger woman called, her arm was wrapped around the older woman's shoulders protectively but she lifted her chin defiantly. I bit back the smile that threatened to cross my face. I liked her.

"Well there you have it Jared, they're short staffed," I sounded like Negan, I could feel it, but I didn't have time to decide how I felt about that. He was right, the fear was effective. "It seems they're doing their job just fine, and you're the one causing the problem," I said gesturing to the growing line behind us. Jared grunted, but there was anger growing in his eyes. I needed to shut that down before he decided he had any kind of power here.

I took another step closer to Jared so I was close enough to feel his body heat. I tipped my chin up seductively but glared at him out of the tops of my eyes letting him see with every piece of me that I would not hesitate to kill him. "You wouldn't want me to have to tell Negan you're a problem now would you?" I whispered so only he could hear me.

He jerked back as though I had struck him. His eyes were wide with fear as he shook his head. His body was leaning towards the exit, but he didn't take his eyes off of me. Smart man. I was the predator here. I was right on the edge now. It would be so easy to give in. I was so tired of holding myself back.

"I-I better get back to work," he stammered.

I smiled and it was not a pretty thing. It stretched my face but didn't reach my eyes. "That's a good idea," I agreed.

Jared practically ran from the mess hall. I watched him until he disappeared from sight. I turned towards the women. "Are you okay?" I asked, my face falling back into something not nearly as frightening.

The older woman smiled warmly at me and nodded. "Yes thank you," she said. "I'm Michelle," she said, holding her hand out for me to shake.

"Jo," I introduced myself.

She smiled at me. "Oh I know exactly who you are," she promised. Then she turned back to her work.

Without anything else to do I stepped around the counter. Glancing around the kitchen I spotted a huge pile of dishes stacking up near the sink. I rolled up my sleeves and turned on the water.

"What are you doing?" the younger woman's voice snapped behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at her. "What does it look like?" I asked shrugging. "You said you were short handed."

"Well yeah, but-" she dragged off.

"I have time today, I can help." I glanced towards Dwight who was standing back out of the way, doing his bodyguard thing. I grunted impatiently. "Do you want to wash or dry?" I called to him.

He scowled at me, but must have thought better about pushing me today. Smart man. He picked up a towel and stepped up beside me. Behind us I heard the younger woman chuckle. I turned towards her as she headed back out to keep clearing tables.

"What's your name?" I called after her.

She shoved a strand of short hair behind her ear impatiently and replied. "Arat."

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I hope you enjoyed this update! Thank you as always for your continued support, it really does keep me writing! You are the best!