"You good?"

"Yeah."

One word, one simple goddamn word but it breaks him a little to hear it because he knows it's a lie. It breaks him even more because she's lying to him, because he's not sure she's even aware she's doing it, because of all the reasons that make her feel like she has to. He watches as she swallows hard, as moonlight makes the trail of her tears gleam, as she dredges up a smile so dismal and broken that he feels an answering knot form in his throat. She is a ghost. Like a ghost, she's forgetting how to be. There's only one thing fettering her to this reality and he's terrified of what will happen when that tether finally snaps.

"We should go," he says, voice rasping over that knot. What he really means is we should get away from here. We should run away. We should–

Too late for shoulds, now. They're in and there's no way out because it's not just the two of them this time. Others have committed to this blatant act of insanity. Still, he can't seem to convince his fingers to let go of her shoulders. If he does, he knows, they will never get this moment back. Time's never played fair in their favor and it feels like they're running out of it now so he clings to her in the only way he knows how. Beneath his grip her shoulders rise and fall, stuttering as she tries to subdue an errant sob. She's broken. She's been broken before but this time she's missing key pieces and he doesn't think she can maintain cohesion without them.

There are so many things he wants to do right now in this miniscule, insufficient scrap of time they have together before shit goes south like it always does. There are so many things he wants to do and wants to say but even though this is their time there's not enough time and it's the cruelest fucking paradox. Instead he steps closer, slides his hands down to grip her upper arms, and rests his head against hers. Maybe she'll feel him willing her to stay whole. Maybe she'll stop losing fragments of herself with every impulsive action she takes and lie she tells. Maybe when this is all over she won't be what he fears she'll be, a tatterdemalion husk finally worn down by the ravages of this life. He loves her and he's loved her and he should have told her a million times over but always found a way to reason himself out of it. He's trying to tell her now. He's been trying to tell her since she got off that boat. Would it matter if he did? Would it change anything? Would it change her back?

His lips are on hers suddenly, astonishing her, surprising himself. His lips are on hers and she is absolutely still and he thinks I've really fucked this up now but he doesn't pull away. He keeps kissing her, pressing his mouth to hers without insistence but with urgency, because he needs this and she needs this too. She does. She needs an anchor to the world of the living because without it she'll willingly cross over to the other side. She is motionless and she is silent and he abruptly feels brittle – it won't take much for him to crack.

She kisses him back. Lifts her head and pushes her mouth against his, finally responding and he's a different kind of brittle now, the kind that only she can break and only in a good way. She melts into him and he always knew they'd fit together right, corresponding shapes finally coming home. His arms are around her and her head is on his shoulder and he feels her tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. His mouth misses hers but that's okay because at least he got to experience it once and please, god he wants to experience it again. He will do anything to have more moments like this with her. Anything. And he knows with grim certainty that life will take him up on that challenge sooner rather than later.

"We should go," she whispers. "The others…"

– don't matter, he wants to say, except they do. They do. But not like she does. Nothing will ever matter the way she does. So his fingers find her chin and tilt her head back and he kisses her again once, twice, and now he's cupping her face in his hands and he's so intent on kissing her that he doesn't realize he's driving them both backward. She catches at his elbows, reminding him suddenly that they're in enemy territory rigged with traps and littered with walkers and Whisperers. He gives her one last kiss and it's more of a nip, really, and then he lets her go. He steps back, watching her watching him, her blue eyes wide and glistening. He holds out his hand. I'll be your anchor. I'll hold you together. Just please let me.

She moves, slides her fingers around his. The rush of relief he feels is nearly staggering and it's all he can do not to throw himself at her and simply hold her for hours, for days. Instead he turns, tugging her with him, onward into the unwelcoming dark. He leads and she follows, deferring to his superior skills as he sets upon the path their allies had taken.

"You n' me, we need to talk when this is over."

A few beats of silence, and then: "I thought we just did."

"Talk more," he elaborates, glancing back at her.

She's smiling just a little. It's a real smile, not a forced one, not a mockery of one. His heart soars. "Okay," she says. "When this is over."

His hand tightens around hers.

.x.