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M E G A N

"What's a six letter word for distress?"

"Why don't you try giving me the whole hint?" Carl exaggerates.

The two of us lounge across the surface of my bed—in Ron's old bedroom—as to distract ourselves from everything going on around us. It seems as if, for the first time in days, we've finally managed to sneak away and have a few peaceful moments of our own.

"Six-letter word; Ends with a Y." I mutter, just underneath a huff. My finger traces along the last of the empty blanks on the page. "The description is: consternation and distress, typically caused by something unexpected."

I sit, slouched over my criss-crossed legs. My crinkled crossword puzzle—that I have yet to finish—sits, perched on my lap.

Carl's head lies on my pillow. His hat sits on his chest and his arms stay folded behind his head as he pretends to ponder the context of the mystery word. In reality, the boy can not care less about my means of a distraction. He's just happy that I've shut up about my worries, for a moment.

For the last few minutes, the guilt of trying to enjoy myself has eaten me alive. It's not the best feeling, knowing that I can't do anything to help our group as they travel outside the walls.

"Sounds familiar," I start. A humorless chuckle leaves from between my lips. "Fearing the unexpected."

Some of our people went out searching for Daryl, who went out searching for the Saviors, himself.

Then, Rick and Morgan took it upon themselves to go search for Carol, who disappeared in the middle of the night. Nearly all of our people—who venture outside the walls—sent themselves out into the danger of the same group that is responsible for Denise's death.

"Hey," Carl mutters, shifting around before sitting up. Moving his hat to the side with one hand, he places the other on my bent knee. "I thought we came up here to forget about all of it. The minute we can do something to help, we'll know about it. Okay?"

"Yeah." I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. "Yeah." Although my words attempt to agree with Carl, my stone-cold expression stays the same.

"Look at me." My eyes open, flicking from their hard stare at the page, up towards Carl's eye. The boy then uses his hand to gently wiggle my knee back and forth. "Everything will be alright."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Do you even realize who we're talking about, here?" He starts. He leans in closer to my face, as if to make sure that he still has my full attention. "Daryl is one of the strongest people we know. Glenn, Rosita, and Michonne are, too. They'll bring him back."

Carl's comforting words echo within my brain, as I nearly forget their meaning, under his soft, protective gaze. My eyes involuntarily drift down towards his intently placed lips.

The corners of his lips briefly rise with a nervous twitch, as he takes notice of where I choose to place my attention. Carl quickly comes up with his plan, in this moment. And he's taken satisfaction in the fact that I am forgetting about all of my worries. Even if just for a few quick seconds.

A shy feeling of embarrassment catches up to me. The soothingly tense moment—only for an instant—leaves all of my senses vulnerable to the manipulation of Carl Grimes.

Taking a deep breath, the fear of our reality soon finds its way back to me. "But what if th—"

He leans in even closer. The boy's skin radiates a warmth that travels through the air, landing right against my cold jawline. His warm hand finds my own, gently easing my pencil out of it.

The feeling of his skin slowly moving along the surface of my own creates a flutter in my stomach. The flutter in my stomach.

Carl takes my wooden pencil, twiddling it around in his fingers—toying with the item—before giving it a flick. The pencil flies across the room, landing with a few bounces on the floor.

"They'll," He hums, placing a soft, elongated kiss on my neck.

My eyes involuntarily flutter shut, the second my skin is underneath his touch. I allow my neck to crane itself, slightly.

"Bring him," His gentle lips move upward, connecting to my jawline. His kiss places itself perfectly against the sharp edge of my face.

The boy then lifts his head to be eye-level with me. His gentle voice humming out of his throat, in an empty whisper. "Back."

I impatiently wait for one, last kiss to be placed against my lips. The warmth of his lips gently brushing against my own irritates me, in every teasing manner. Leaning slightly forward to close the close gap, my lips are still left out in the cold.

My frustrated eyes flutter open.

An anticipatory expression remains evident on Carl's curious face. The boy now knows that he has me exactly where he wants me. And I'm not sure whether or not I have a problem with that, yet.

My growing impatience doesn't take long to get the better of my intentions.

Without looking down, my hand finds itself ripping my crossword out of my lap. The page wrinkles even more as I hastily toss it to the side. Then, my hands snake around either side of Carl's face, tangling themselves in his soft hair.

My greedy lips finally connect with his, yet I'm still left unsatisfied, wanting more. His hands find themselves around my waist as he deepens the kiss, slowing down what I'd started so quickly.

I follow his lead as he gently lowers me onto the surface of the (now) crinkled sheets.

The boy slowly eases his way on top of me, not daring to part himself from my lips, until they removes themselves to connect with my chin. And then my jaw. And then my neck a few times. And lastly, they land on my collar bone, slowly trailing along the skin as he gently tugs downward at the neck of my shirt to grant himself more exposed skin.

I further crane my neck, allowing my fingers to grip at the roots of his hair. The same silky hair that gently tickles my skin as he slightly moves with the placement of every gentle kiss.

The boy slowly snakes a curious hand down the surface of my back. I instinctively arch my back a bit, allowing Carl's hand to move around easier, as he slips it upward and into the back of my shirt. The boy carefully rubs circles along the skin of my lower back, using this thumb.

My shirt pulls upward a bit, exposing a few inches of my waist to the cold air. The skin of my back touches the pointy, crinkled sheet of my crossword puzzle that lies underneath me.

I feel Carl's eyebrows furrow against my jawline, as he continues to eagerly kiss at my neck. His hand slips itself out from underneath my shirt, and grabs at the sheet of paper, pulling it from underneath my back.

He detaches his lips from my skin, lifting his head and holding up the crossword puzzle. His eye blinks a few hard blinks, his lips twitching into a nervous smile.

"Guess we got a little carried away." He timidly mutters.

I remove my hands from his hair before slowly trailing them down the front of his chest. My hands find fistfuls of his t-shirt, before slowly lowering him towards me. "Speak for yourself."

This time, it's Carl who can no longer wait under my tease. The boy hungrily reconnects our lips, feeling out my every move from underneath him. His hand drops the sheet of paper, and hastily returns itself underneath my shirt.

He slowly traces his other hand down the side of my body, gripping underneath my leg for a moment, before lying down and gently flipping us over.

The swiftness of his motions takes me by surprise, but I quickly reposition myself to sit on my knees and straddle him. His hand continues to trace itself up and down the skin of my back, and the other stays gripping my thigh.

Whichever side of me that's making its appearance right now, is a completely new one to me. And I don't quite mind exploring the foreign feeling.

My excited lips embrace the new territory I've so swiftly allowed myself to enter. They remove themselves from Carl's lips, leaving the boy wanting more. I then litter the soft skin of his neck with slow, gentle kisses, slightly changing the eagerness of our pace.

My door opens. "Megan! I need your h—Oh God!"

And before I even know what's happening, it closes again.

I sit upward on my knees, still straddling a distraught Carl, who looks just as confused. The both of us look to each other for a few moments, officially torn from the excitement of whatever just happened between us.

He quickly slips his hands off from around me, allowing me to easily climb off of him. My feet rush over to my bedroom door. And my hand quickly jerks it open, again.

"Enid?"

"Come on," She growls, grabbing at my hand, pulling me along with her. "I need your help."

"With what?"

Although my words may question a frantic Enid, my feet do not. I blindly follow after the girl as her quick steps bounce down the stairs. Her blatant state of panic is all I need to become frantic as well.

"It's Maggie." She starts. "Well—not Maggie."

"Then who?" My voice shakes as my feet thump down the wooden staircase.

"It's the baby!"

☆

It was soon established that I have no business treating a pregnant lady.

My misconception that maybe I could've done something to help her, would've made me laugh at myself, if the stakes weren't so heartbreakingly high.

As I stared down at a feverish Maggie—watching her sickly body jolt with every bump the RV hit—I couldn't help but feel completely useless. Like I was letting her down.

And not only was I letting down Maggie, I was letting down her baby. Glenn's baby. The man currently out on the dangerous search for Daryl, not having any idea about what's happening to his wife and child.

I feel sick to my stomach, knowing that I'm the reason we're headed for the Hilltop. The place I haven't yet been to, but I heard has a real doctor. The same place that we might not even get to in time, if the Saviors continue blocking our every route.

If my lack of medical experience gets someone hurt during a run-in with this sadistic group—especially the baby—I'll never learn to forgive myself.

My feet step out of the parked RV, gravel crunching underneath my shoes.

The group has set a plan in place to travel by foot, and have Eugene continue to drive the RV. It's our best bet to outsmart the Saviors and get Maggie to the Hilltop.

Rick chats with Eugene, just before the group sends the man to drive, alone, straight into the danger. If our plan works and the Saviors do keep on following the RV, Maggie might be perfectly fine, but Eugene—maybe not so much.

Abraham and Eugene embrace each other. Two somewhat burly, grown men display affection as an attempt at what may be their last goodbye. Aaron and Rick then walk the stretcher over to him, allowing Maggie to say a quick "thank you."

Something about watching the man exchange possible goodbyes with the group breaks my heart. Letting him trek straight into the danger, alone—as the sole target—worsens my guilt.

I swallow down a nervous gulp as Eugene hesitantly begins to walk to the door of the RV.

"Wait!" I call after him. My feet shuffle a bit towards the RV. Eugene takes a step down from the doorway. "I'm coming, too."

"No you—most definitely—are not." Carl says from behind me. I turn around to face him, a scowl on his stern face.

"Yes, I am." My feet begin to move toward the RV as Eugene watches the scene.

"No you aren't." The boy growls as he manages to gently grab at my arm, despite how obviously angry he is.

"Look," I start. "If this plan works, the Saviors will be after him. He needs someone there to watch his back."

"Yeah," Carl pretends to agree. "Not happening."

"Fine," I sigh. "I'll hide in the back. And if they find Eugene—take the RV, they won't know I'm there." I sternly say. "I'm going with him."

He says nothing as he stares angrily at me.

"Maybe I can't stop you." Carl reluctantly admits. "But you can't stop me from giving you this."

The boy then pulls a pistol out of his holster. A wooden-like handle and a black barrel waving itself around in front of my face.

I begin shaking my head. "I'm not a very good sh—"

"Take it."

"I don't need it." I growl.

The boy says nothing as we stare at each other for a few moments. Some of the group watches, while the others continue to adjust Maggie on the stretcher.

"Humor me." Carl angrily bargains, motioning the gun toward me.

My eyes flicker down towards the unfamiliar weapon, before looking back into the boy's tense gaze. I reluctantly take the gun from his hand, rolling my eyes and ripping it from his grip. My hands feel around before reaching around my back and shoving it in my waistband.

"Are you sure you're up for this, Megan?" Rick asks in his gruff voice. His hands holding the handle of the stretcher.

I nod. "I'm sure."

With nothing left to say about my sudden decision, I silently walk over to the stretcher that holds Maggie. "Be safe."

"You too, sweetheart." The woman says. Her pale face peaking out from underneath the blanket.

I place a gentle hand on her hairline, as to offer whatever reassurance I can to the terrified woman. The warmth from her feverish skin alarms me, although I don't allow my face to show it. I wouldn't want to make things even worse.

Not that they really could get any worse.

My feet retreat from the hoisted stretcher as I let out a reluctant nod to a few members of the group who watch my every move. As if they might be my last.

I turn on my heel, headed straight for the door to the RV, where a shaky Eugene waits for me.

"Hey, Megan?"

I turn around to see Carl. The boy lacking the angry scowl he had just a few moments before.

"Yeah?" I hum.

"Be careful out there."

☆

My shaky, bendy knees barely allow me to hold myself up as one of the men roughly drags me onto the gravel lot, gripping me by the collar of my shirt.

Eugene and I now have no way of knowing if the plan actually worked, and where the rest of the group is. After the Saviors caught up to us, they immediately found that the rest of the group was not with us. Which was not good.

I could hear the beating that Eugene took. Even all the way from my hiding spot in the back of the RV. The men who found us, failed to find me during their first sweep.

After a few moments of listening to the blows landing, I had no choice to at least try to keep Eugene from being pummeled. At least, to the extent that he was pummeled. I mean, that is the reason I went along with the man. To keep Eugene from what inevitably did happen to him.

This lead to me retreating from my hiding spot and pulling a hasty trigger aimed at the man on top of Eugene. My shit aim somehow managed to stop the beating when the bullet lodged itself in the Savior's shoulder.

Another one of the men heard what was going on, and found me, to which I reluctantly surrendered, not wanting to end up like Eugene.

Now, I'm being jolted around as one of the men roughly shoves Eugene down on his knees.

I stare at the scene illuminated before me, listening to the rampant whistling from all of the men. Most of which are hidden within the shadows of the trees. There's no telling how many of them are out there.

"Megan?" A small voice says.

I look over my shoulder to see a distraught Carl, whipping his head around, trying to soak in the scene before him. My eyes soon trace behind him to find the rest of the group, a few of them raising their hands over their eyes at the intense light. The others can only squint as they hold onto the stretcher.

For a naive second, I actually let myself dream that the group had already gotten Maggie to safety.

"We can talk ab—" Rick starts. His shocked eyes look up to the man who holds me by the collar of my shirt.

"We're done talking." The tall man with handlebar mustache cuts Rick off. "Time to listen."

He then swiftly releases my shirt, shoving me forward. My feet quickly catch the rest of my body, before I can plummet to the ground.

Some of the other men disarm our people, routinely stripping them of their guns, knives, everything. My upper lips angrily twitches when I see a man roughly rip Carl's machete out of his grip.

I then turn around to face the tall man, not wanting my back to be turned to him. Just like it was to that man out on the road. That man from the group of men who wanted to hurt me and Carl.

The man holds the gun out toward me—the one given to me by Carl—not having the decency to mind the gun's triggerless aim. "That's yours, right?"

No words leave my mouth, as I continue to stare straight ahead at the man.

He tilts his head closer to my face. "Yeah, it's yours." The man tauntingly remarks.

"Okay." The man pulls his eyes from me, standing tall in order to scan his eyes over the rest of the group. "Let's get her down and get you all on your knees. Lots to cover."

The Savior reluctantly let the people of our group handle Maggie, as they lower the stretcher to the ground, before carefully helping her stand. Everyone watches in suspense as the group carefully assists her.

I feel a stare on me—cutting through the path of my own vision—and look up from Maggie to see Carl silently looking over at me. I subtly nod toward him, as to let him know that I'm okay. For now.

Following Carl's lead, I reluctantly kneel next to him, lowering my knees to the ground. The sharp gravel scratches at the denim of my jeans.

Nothing but shaky breathing is heard from our people as more of the Saviors open the doors at the back of a van, and pull out even more of our people, as to complete the group.

"Alright!" The tall man theatrically starts. "We've got a full boat. Let's meet the man." He then knocks on the door to our RV.

Only a few moments pass before the door clicks open. The old RV door widens with its usual squeak, moving out of the way, revealing the man before us.

Out steps the leader of it all. The gravel crunches underneath his boots as he exaggerates his every step, smugly lowering himself out of the RV.

My eyes scan themselves around. They squint under the harsh light, before noticing all of the surrounding men slowly straightening their posture at the mere presence of the bat-wielding man.

Whatever power this man has over the rest of the Saviors, is similar to that of a bunch of school children who are intimidated under the presence of a mean, old principal.

I can only watch the taunting man's every move in dismay, knowing that my group will soon understand why dozens of men shudder under the presence of just the one.

"Pissing our pants yet?" He starts. His words escaping from behind his sadistic smile.

Dismay.

That's a good word for what I'm feeling, in this moment. A six letter word for distress. Typically when unexpected.

Not that I'd ever expect to finish my crossword, after tonight. Or that—if I ever do get to fill in those last few blanks—I'd be the same person I was when I first picked up the pencil.

"Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close."

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3486 words

A/N

introducing N*gan

also it took me way longer than it should've to realize that he and Megan almost have the same name so I screwed myself

☆vote if you're ready to see Megan in her s7 era☆