The Lucky One//twd

046. The Things I Did

Madison's POV

The forest was damp. Foggy.
Leaves stuck to the soles of my boots and the world smelled like rot and fear.

Glenn was on the ground, coughing blood, barely conscious.
Blake leaned against a tree, holding his side like something inside was trying to get out.

And the man —
God, I don't even remember his name. I don't think I ever knew it.

He had the gun.

A rusted revolver, steady in his hands. It didn't shake. He'd made up his mind.

"No more running," he said, voice calm. "Hand over the bag, and I don't pull the trigger."

There was no bag. Just lies. Just time-wasting.

We were already done.

I was the only one standing.
The only one with a gun in my jacket pocket.
The only one he hadn't noticed moving.

I didn't want to shoot him.

But I didn't hesitate either.

I pulled it from my coat and fired before I even blinked.
One shot — chest. Center mass.

He staggered, dropped the gun, and crumpled.
The look on his face...

Shock.
Then fear.
Then... nothing.

I just stood there.

Gun shaking in my hands. Heart thundering in my ears.

Glenn groaned somewhere behind me. Blake called my name.

But all I could do was stare at the blood pooling in the dirt.

I didn't cry.

I just breathed. Fast. Heavy. Like if I stopped for even a second, I'd fall apart.

⸻
Present Day

I'm cold.
Why am I cold?

Something shifts beneath me. A bump. A bounce. Like movement.

Arms are around me. Tight. Familiar.

My head lolls against a chest, and through the haze of pain, I hear it — a heartbeat.

Strong. Steady. Too fast.

"Come on," a voice says. "Come on, Madison. You're okay."

Blake.

⸻

Blake's POV

He didn't remember running.
Only that once they found her, once they pulled her half-conscious body from the Governor's filthy compound, he couldn't let go.

She was so light.
Too light.

Her shirt was ripped. Bruises down her arms. Dried blood at her temple.

He tried not to look.
He had to keep moving.

When her head slumped against his chest, something inside him cracked.

"You're okay," he whispered again. "I got you. I've got you."

⸻

His voice cut through the fog.

I blinked. Slowly.
The world came back in pieces. Trees overhead. The fading smell of smoke. Daryl shouting something about the road being clear.

I shifted slightly and a low groan slipped out.

"Shit," Blake said, tightening his grip. "You're awake."

My lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Ssh. Don't talk. We're almost back."

His voice was hoarse — like he hadn't stopped talking since they found me.

I wanted to ask about Glenn. About Maggie.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry — for what, I didn't even know.

But my body wasn't cooperating. My chest burned with each breath.

So I let my head rest against him again.
And I thought about the man I shot.

How he looked at me — like he couldn't believe I'd done it.
Like I couldn't believe I had, either.

⸻

I woke up hours later in a cot.

The infirmary was dimly lit. Michonne leaned against the far wall like a shadow.
Glenn was across the room, dozing upright. Bandaged. Alive.

Blake was right beside me, sitting on the floor.
Eyes red. Shoulders hunched.

"You're back," he said quietly, like he didn't believe it.

"I... I saw him," I rasped. "The man I killed. The one in the woods."

Blake looked up. Met my eyes. He didn't flinch.

"I remember," he said. "You saved us."

"I didn't think," I whispered. "I just pulled the trigger. And it was done. Just like that."

"That's how it is sometimes," he said. "Doesn't make it easy."

"No," I said. "It never did."

His hand brushed mine, just barely.

"I thought I lost you," he murmured.

I turned my face away — not because I didn't want to hear it.
But because I wanted to cry and didn't want him to see.

"I think..." I paused. "I think something broke in me back then. And I don't know if it ever healed right."

Blake exhaled, voice thick. "Then we fix it. Together."

I looked at him.

For the first time in days, the fog in my mind shifted just a little.