Carol sat wrapped up in a blanket on the familiar swing, letting one leg push as she huddled with her back to the arm. She looked up when she heard his tall frame approach, footsteps echoing on the silent porch.

"Carol," he breathed in disbelief before visibly gaining his composure.

"Tobin," she said meekly. "Hi."

"You're back," He returned with a guarded, but not unkind air.

She nodded. "Yeah." She paused for a moment. "The tower's coming along nicely," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But you didn't come here to talk about the tower."

"No." She stood, the swing creaking in protest in her wake. "Tobin, you have to know…. I never wanted to hurt you," she spoke quietly, reaching for his hand.

He accepted the gesture, resisting the urge to pull her in. "I guess I just didn't understand that you were going through more than I could see," he said in a low voice. "We don't know each other well enough for that yet."

"But I'd like to," she interjected, looking up at him with wide eyes searching his features. "I want us to get to know each other, for real this time. And I hope….. I hope we can still be friends," she pleaded.

He smiled a half smile, his large knuckles running across the back of her hand. "Friends," murmured. "Yeah, that's what every guy wants to hear."

"Tobin," she whispered.

"Come on in," he said, giving her hand a gentle tug. "I'll make you dinner, and we can talk."

She grinned, grateful to this gentle man for making this easy on her, and she followed him eagerly inside.

She folded her blanket neatly on the back of a chair as she joined him at the counter, peering at the ingredients he was unloading from the cupboard. "You know, you could really make that go a long way," she said.

His eyes narrowed playfully. "Who's doing the cooking here, me or you?"

"What? I could help. Have I ever told you that I work wonders with water chestnuts?"

He chuckled softly. "No, I don't recall you ever mentioning." His smile faded as he watched her work. "Hey, Carol," he said after awhile.

"Hmmm?" She looked up at him innocently after awhile.

"This whole friends thing… that include us being honest with each other?"

"Of course," she said, handing him a can opener and reaching for a cutting board.

"So… you just needed to get away for awhile. Did it help?"

She stopped moving, her lips pressed together. "I don't know," she admitted. For a moment, a faraway look overtook her eyes, one that he thought he'd seen before, and he had to clear his throat to get her attention back.

He studied her carefully. "Should I get Daryl?"

"What? Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just figured maybe you'd want to talk to him. It'd be easier for you."

She shook her head. "No. No, I don't want to talk to Daryl. I actually don't want to talk to anyone."

"Huh, that's a strange thing to say," Tobin said, cocking his head to the side as he looked at her.

"Why's that?"

"Because you've been talking to me this whole time."

"I guess I have," she said, picking up the knife and cutting board again. They chopped for a few minutes, until Carol broke the peaceful cadence. "How many have you killed?" She asked quietly.

He frowned, turning back to look at her. "I don't know," he answered. "A lot. Not nearly as many as you."

She shook her head fiercely. "No, I'm not talking about the dead ones. I'm talking about the living," she whispered.

"I…. none. Why," he asked hesitantly, his hazel eyes trained on her troubled blue ones. "How many have you killed?"

"Twenty-six," she whispered, tears stinging at the backs of her eyes. "The first one, a man, back at the prison. He… " her lower lip trembled slightly. "He was already bit, but he was still alive when I…."

He gently pried the cutting knife from her hands, setting everything carefully on the counter and closing his big hands around her tiny wrists to steady her.

"No!" she said, jerking away instantly. "No, don't touch me!"

"Ok," he whispered, raising his hands in surrender and backing away a step to give her space. "Okay."

He nodded slowly. "We had a couple of those here, in the beginning. My wife, actually. Pete did it. But twenty-six?"

She shook her head. "No, no they all weren't like that. Rick and Daryl usually took it upon themselves to do those ones when they could."

"Okay," he said again, waiting to see if she would continue.

"Two of them I just lit on fire, back at the savior hideout. One of them I shot, right in the head."

He shuffled closer to her, careful of her reaction but she didn't seem to notice. "And those people, they were going to hurt you, hurt Maggie, maybe worse…"

"And that makes it okay?" she spat, jerking her head back to look at him.

"I don't know if it does," he said honestly. "But I'm sure as hell glad it was them and not you, or Maggie, or the baby," he whispered.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall.

He kept shuffling forward until she was within arm's reach, slowly wrapping her into a hug.

She pushed her elbows into him as she tried to jerk her body away, but he held tightly to her. "Think I'm gonna just stand here and let you cry? Hmmm?"

"I just told you I killed t-twenty-six p-people," she stammered. "I killed twenty-six people," she repeated. "And one of them… was a child."

He pressed his face into the top of her head to muffle his surprised gasp in her hair as he pulled her closer into his body, his hands coming up to steady her heaving shoulders.

"Now, do you still like me?" she choked.

"Seems to me that my opinion doesn't matter," he said. "I think what matters is you finding a way to still like yourself."

She clutched at him as she sobbed violently, her tears soaking his shirt.

"Okay," he murmured, holding her close as he rubbed her back in what he hoped were soothing circles. "Just let it all out."

He held onto her for awhile, keeping silent as he let her cry. Once her shoulders stopped shaking, he reached a hand out to tilt her chin up to look at him. "And yes, I still like you," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.