"I didn't say it was a bad face!" he retorts, hands moving to rest on his hips just above his gun belt. Far be it from Doc to die impolite. He can appreciate a bit of stubble compared to all these baby-faced men trying to redefine masculinity walking amongst them. But that's neither here nor there.

"Alright. I'll take care of you." In that way. "And you do the same for me. We have ourselves a deal." At least Negan knows what to look out for. He takes the torch back and slides it back into his gun holster, tilting his head and levelling Negan with an equally serious look.

"Smoke on it?" he asks after a brief pause, plunging his hand into his pocket to pull out the tin case where he had kept his cigarillos. Now cigarettes, since he can't find any of the former. They can puff away on one while they make their way over to the Town Hall.

"Need to write a note. There's some pen and paper where we're going."