Rae slid her Glock from its holster. She knew Negan wouldn’t be in this barn just like she knew she wouldn’t shoot him if he was but she liked the weight of it in her hand. So with a racing heart and a firstful of pistol Rae crept past the bales of hay, her eyes scanning any potential hiding spaces until she was certain, Negan was gone.
Gone. Bile rouse in her throat as she turned around on autopilot, one foot stretching out in front of the other until she was sprinting from the barn, calling Tim’s name. She ran around the corner blind, colliding with Zuzu who was happily zipping around on a scooter that Tim had found before Jacob or Negan had ever existed.
“Well,” says the man, “I’m not what you expected, am I?"
That, Natasha thinks, is a bit of an understatement. It isn’t Rogers’s size or lack thereof that startles her—she has read his file, after all. It’s the fact that when he’s off duty, Captain America most closely resembles a cross between a hippie librarian and the sort of boy generally found lurking outside certain kinds of nightclubs in translucent chiffon shirts.