She doesn't know what to make of him. Why he says the words he knows he will regret later…
Why he was so damned determined to find her little girl when he hardly spoke two words to either of them since he first arrived at camp with his crack-head brother…
She wants to know why he refuses to show that he actually does care about the group…
Hell, forget him caring about the group. He doesn't even want to admit, even to himself, that he cares about her.
She watches him stomp out of the stable, muttering the words 'stupid bitch' just loud enough for her to hear. The worn out mother can only stand there in disbelief as guilt and sadness take her senses, causing her to remember their connection that became stronger ever since hell broke loose all around her…
.
.
.
Even a mere two weeks ago, in the aftermath of the walker attack on the camp, he handed her his axe at her quiet demand without questioning her. She could feel his eyes stare in silent satisfaction as she lifted up the heavy weapon and plunged it into her dead husband's skull, feeling somewhat proud that she was taking out all the years of pain and abuse on the bastard who rightly deserved it.
.
.
.
At the CDC, when he saw the scared woman holding her frightened daughter at the news that Jenner had trapped everyone in the main laboratory, waiting for a quick, fiery demise. He nearly lost it at the sound of both of them crying for each other, begging to live. How badly he wanted to take his axe and just kill him right there, only to be stopped by the two "Boy Scout" coppers.
Then, she became everyone's savior of the day when she pulled that beloved grenade out of her purse, having kept just in case…
He watched from his truck as the CDC finally exploded, taking a quick glance behind him to see that she and her little girl were safe inside the Cherokee with Rick and Lori.
.
.
.
Sophia had been lost for twenty-four hours, and he could hear Carol weeping on her small bed in the RV. He sits up from his spot on the floor, giving up the task of getting any sleep. Honestly, how could he when there's an innocent child out there being terrified by monsters? He stood with a gruff sigh and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.
She momentarily stopped her sobbing as she heard him step toward the RV door. He saw her wipe her eyes as she turned her head to face him. His eyes met hers in the quiet darkness, telling her without a word that everything would be fine…that her child would be safe when he found her. With a silent nod of departure, he left with that subtle reassurance that it was going to be fine.
.
.
.
At the farm, he came inside the RV, looking around at how immaculately clean it was. He made a bit of small talk with her, trying to distract her from her worried thoughts. Then, he pulled the beer bottle out from behind him and placed it onto the small table in front of her. Inside the bottle was a lovely white flower… a Cherokee Rose, he had called it.
As he told her the story about how the flower symbolized the chance of her daughter still being alive, all she could do was see the way his eyes softened in blue warmth, highlighted by the sunlight from outside. His voice wasn't loud and brash like it usually was whenever he spoke. It was highly pleasant to listen to, soft and calming, but rough like velvet. She couldn't recall hearing any other man who sounded like him.
She knew as he went back outside…she knew the real man hidden underneath the temper and the aggressive violence. He was a good man who really did care…he was only scared and mostly unwilling to show it.
.
.
.
He laid in the bed, bandaged and bruised…and deeply pissed that after all the hell he had been through that day, he still failed to find that little girl. All he found was a soaking wet doll, but he hoped that it would lead to the others growing some balls to look for her as well.
As he thought that over, he heard the bedroom door open. He pulled the sheet up to conceal the cuts and lacerations on his bare torso, as if he was ashamed of his scars. He saw her sit his plate of food on the bedside table, her pale skin bathed by the golden lamplight. Her face lit up with a quiet pride, but a small frown stayed on her lips.
She said that he did more for her daughter than her own father ever did, that he was every bit as good of a man as Rick and Shane. And that was after she kissed him on the side of the head…
He didn't know how to react to that kiss. However awkward it had been, it was still a sign that she was thankful after all he had done to try and find her child. She may have said her thanks, but he still couldn't process the possibility that she actually cared about him.
He was only a piece of worthless white trash…
.
.
.
He stood in front of her inside the stable, refusing to believe her words about how there was no way her daughter could still be alive. Then, she choked back a sob as she whispered about not being able to lose him, too.
The saddle dropped from his hand as he took another step toward her, towering over her thin frame. He didn't know what the hell to do in that slow second. What should he do? Take her hand as gently as he could and make her understand that her baby was alive somewhere? Take her soft face between his calloused palms and give her a quick kiss on her forehead?
What the hell was he thinking? He wasn't a fucking southern gentleman who was swooned over by women with the flash of a stupid smile.
So, he did the only thing he knew how to do: hit something within sight. As he angrily pushed over the saddle-stand, the stitches pulled at his side. He held back a groan of pain as she tried to see if he was okay, but he verbally pushed her away.
.
.
.
All those moments of the recent past come to both of their minds as they watch the little female walker stumble out of that goddamn barn, face and eyes tainted of their innocence.
The hunter hears the girl's mother run blindly toward her only child, but he quickly grabs her as she gets within his reach and he holds her tight. She sobs out her daughter's name, but she fails to put up much of a struggle as the man continues to hold her, kneeling in the blood-stained dirt.
Everything happens as if time freezes… Rick holds his gun up to the small walker's head as she comes closer. Her mother doesn't take her eyes it as the creature goes down with one gunshot to the head. She unconsciously feels the redneck's arms around her tighten as the sobs break out of her throat, choking on the name of her former offspring. Now, all she has left to care about is the man holding her with surprising gentleness.
She can barely hear his gravelly voice say her name as he helps her up from the dirt, pulling her to her feet. He orders for her not to look at the little walker's remains lying nearby…and all she can do is obey by burying her face in his shoulder.
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he allows himself to wrap his arms around the woman crying against him. Her hands cling onto his back with a tight grip as if he's the only thing keeping her from collapsing. He presses his lips very lightly onto her shoulder, letting her know that he'll never let anything happen to her.
I can't lose you either, Carol. His conflicted mind finally admits it to him. And it's the only true thing he knows anymore.