Piper shrugged out of her red leather jacket, pursing her lips in annoyance as the guards gave her an enthusiastic pat down.

"You are definitely good to go, babe," one of them drawled with a sleazy wink.

She snatched her trusty coat and hat from the table and scowled, giving him the finger as she strolled along the gangplank into Vault 88. The intake process was tight here, but rightly so. Vault 88 had changed hands many times in the past, and always by violent means.

Piper produced her notebook and pencil, jotting down quick notes about the atmosphere as she followed a man in a blue jumpsuit through the steel hallways. She'd never been inside a Vault before. It was harsh and grey and not cozy in the slightest. She felt like she was in a dungeon, albeit a brightly lit one, with the fluorescents giving everyone a sickly green hue.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, and the man shrugged as he continued to lead her down the maze of hallways.

"Five, maybe six years," he replied. "Time isn't super relevant in the apocalypse."

"Yeah, right," the raven haired journalist rolled her eyes. "Leave important things like measuring time to us historians."

He simply shrugged again, and then stopped short as they reached the end of their current hallway. It opened up into a strangely beautiful courtyard, complete with a babbling fountain in the center. The place had been done up with slatted benches and potted plants to look like a park, and Piper was floored at how warm it felt there.

She looked up and realized that the bulbs had been replaced with tungsten, giving the room a warm glow. Her guide motioned her forward and she peered around the fountain, noting the only door on the other side.

As she strolled towards it, she noticed the archway over the steel door was adorned with fake flowers, and shook her head. This guy was apparently a stone cold killer and ruthless leader; who was his interior decorator?

She furrowed her brow at the door when she realized there was no handle on it. She pursed her lips, trying to find some kind of keypad, when it slid open on its own. She blinked and then heard the telltale buzz of a camera moving, and glanced up, noticing a little black lens hidden amongst the flowers.

The room was even more of a stark contrast to the rest of Vault 88. Thick curtains hid the walls, carpets lined the floors, and there was so much drapery from the high ceiling that it felt like she were inside a tent. The lighting was only from candles—and there were many, many candles standing everywhere.

Piper vaguely wondered whether the room with so much fabric in it should be the room with the fire in it, but all thought flew from her mind at the sight in front of her. A redhead in the tightest and tiniest black dress turned from her spot on her knees, surprise in her gaze.

And the man standing in front of her chuckled, tucking himself away with a zzzzzip. He had slicked back hair and a short salt-and-pepper beard, accentuated by a set of very amused looking golden eyes.

"We'll finish this later babe," he drawled, and helped her to her feet. She gave him a wink and sauntered in Piper's direction towards the door.

"Cait," the raven haired woman tipped her hat at the redhead. "Last I heard you were staying on the Prydwen."

"Oh, you know." Cait gave a playful shrug, a smirk forming on her swollen lips. "Military's too uptight for a gal like me. Ye keepin' busy, aye?"

Piper tapped her pencil to her temple. "Always."

The redhead patted her old friend on the shoulder and strolled out of the room, door sliding shut behind her.

"Were you close?" The Leader of Vault 88 walked over to the table in the corner, swagger oozing from him like radiation from a deathclaw. He flopped down casually into one of the chairs, leaning back and motioning for her to join him.

"Me and Cait?" Piper raised an eyebrow as she jotted a few notes, walking leisurely to the table. "Not particularly. She just always seemed to be around when action was going down, and I try to be where the action is going down." She chuckled. "Pun not intended."

He reached over and plucked a cherry from one of the many bowls before him, toying with it a bit before biting into it and releasing the stem.

Pristine white t-shirt, Piper wrote. How/where? She couldn't help but wonder if it was the only one left in boston, and thought it would be pretty hilarious if he stained it with the fruit rolling around in his mouth.

"So, red leather interviewer," he finally said, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. "I wasn't expecting a woman. Especially not one as hot as you."

Piper rolled her eyes. "I've heard about your ah, wives, and no, I'm not interested." She put up a hand before he could continue. "Name's Piper Wright, editor and chief of Publick Occurrences. You've made quite a name for yourself in the Commonwealth, Mister Negan."

"Just Negan is fine, don't make me feel old or anything." His eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned. "Now what do you wanna know, Piper Wright?"

She licked her pencil and crossed her legs. "Just Piper is fine," she replied, and he chuckled low in his throat at the hint of sass in her voice. She flipped back a few pages in her notebook. "So. From what I've been able to gather, this vault stood unfinished in 2077 when the bombs dropped. In 2250, it was uncovered by raiders and they were able to break in, fighting and killing the ghoul Overseer Valery Barstow.

"In 2252, they had brought in too many fellow raiders and after multiple mutinies, were decimated by a horde of feral ghouls that managed to get inside. In... 2257, a team of Brotherhood soldiers cleared out the ghouls, but lost their lives to a Mirelurk Queen and her offspring that had taken up residence in the East Sector.

"In 2260, an army of Gunners managed to quarantine the East Sector and live here until you marched up to the front gate in 2262. Fifteen years later, here we are." Piper waved her hand above her head.

"And?" Negan prompted. "Did you have a question to go with that history lesson?"

She raised an eyebrow. "How? How did you do it?"

"I like your version better." He winked, and then curled his hands behind his head. "But a lot of it is wrong. Garbled from word of mouth, no doubt. Val was never killed, in fact, she's still alive, doing whatever insane research she's been doing for the last two hundred years. Her Overseer's desk is in the very East Sector that held the Mirelurk Queen and her offspring that I got rid of for her with the help of my Saviors."

"Tell me about your Saviors," Piper prompted, furiously scribbling. "They were raiders, right?"

"Raiders, gunners, ghouls, even a few defected Brotherhood members." Negan shrugged. "When someone can guarantee safety in the apocalypse, you get all types."

"And how do you do that?" she cocked her head. "Guarantee safety?"

"All kinds of ways," he replied. "These Vaults were built to be impenetrable. Old 88 here is a bit of an anomaly because of all the garbage that went down during construction, but it's sturdy once you know where the weak points are. So I learned them, and staffed accordingly.

"The other key is that I don't let people get the best of me, in any way. Nobody is going to mess with the Saviors because they know not to mess with me." He crossed his boots at the ankles, extending his legs. He was the picture of perfect relaxation, and she shook her head at his ease.

"Surely people have, though," she prompted.

"Of course they have," he replied, "but I'm still here, aren't I?"

"I guess you are." She nodded, still writing. "So what are your plans, then? Or have you ever had plans beyond simply surviving?"

"Oh, doll, I don't simply survive." He laughed. "We live like royalty down here. No rads. Clean water. Clean everything, really. Just enough caps to have our own economy and keep people working and getting paid what they're worth. Fresh grown food. They're free to come and go as they please, but they never go. There's something to be said about that."

"I suppose there is," Piper agreed. Her pencil paused, and she raised her eyes to his, taking him in for a moment. Middle aged, fit, handsome, charismatic. Everything about him screamed leader.

Many who had urged her to come investigate had screamed dictator. And while that was possibly true, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing in a place like this. The same could be said for Hancock, the mayor of Goodneighbor, and he took very good care of his people.

"Anything else, Red?" he asked, amused by her staring.

"No, no," she stammered. "I might get your moustached guy to give me a more thorough tour, meet Val. But you've given me enough to write about, for now, I think."

"For now?" His eyes twinkled mischievously. "You looking for an excuse to come back?"

"You wish," she scowled, and he chuckled, again that low baritone that she hated to admit sent electricity shooting through her veins.

He got up and stretched his arms over his head, moaning at the satisfying crackle of his vertebrae as he did so. Washboard muscles strained at the thin fabric of his t-shirt as he did it, and she blinked a few times, then turned back to her notebook.

So unprofessional, she chided herself.

"How about this," Negan began as he strutted over to the coatrack in the corner and shrugged into his own black leather jacket. "I'll do your tour. Then we can spend a little extra time together before you definitely, absolutely, positively never come back here."

His grin was that of a cheshire cat, and Piper took a deep breath. She wasn't going to let his charm or sass get the best of her.

"You first," he said as he motioned for her to go through the door.

She squared her shoulders. "Wouldn't have it any other way."