Season Two. Before the farm.
"Has anyone seen Carl?" Lori asked worriedly as she came back from washing clothes.
"Er…no, can't say I have," Glenn answered.
"Rick!" She called to her husband, who had just returned from a less than successful hunting trip with Daryl. "Have you seen Carl?"
He saw the anxiety etched into Lori's face. "No, but I'm sure he's okay. He has to be around here somewhere…"
Dale broke the tension. "I just remembered, he's down fishing with Andrea."
Lori sighed. "Thank you, Dale." Turning to Rick, she asked, "Could you go get him, please? It's nearly time for dinner, and God knows how long they've been gone…"
"Sure, Lori," he replied, quite happy for an excuse to avoid the inevitable mess that occurred whenever the group tried to cobble edible plants, berries, and what little meat they had into a meal.
As Dale had predicted, Rick found Andrea and his son in the boat. "We're getting ready fo-"
Andrea whipped her head around and silenced him with an icy glare, pressing a finger to her lips. Her gaze softened when she saw who it was, but she still wanted the quiet. Carl was trying to reel in a huge herring, and it had been evading them for the better part of an hour. At last, it took his bait. The poor kid nearly fell out of the boat to maintain his grip on the line, but he managed to bring it in next to the boat, and Andrea triumphantly scooped it into a net.
"Some catch you got there," Rick observed.
"Yeah! Andrea, can I have it for dinner?" He asked excitedly.
She laughed. "It's a bit big for one person to eat, Carl, but I'll make sure everyone knows who caught it. Sound good?"
"For sure," he nodded at the arrangement. "Dad, look at all the fish we caught!" And, indeed, it looked as though everyone's worries about dinner for the night-heck, for the next few nights-would be alleviated.
They brought the boat back to shore, and Carl ran a bit ahead of the two, eager to eat.
Rick chuckled. "Sorry you've more or less become his unofficial babysitter for a while now."
"It's no problem," she laughed. "He's a good kid. Not perfect, of course," she added when Rick rolled his eyes at the predictable first line. "But really, considering how things are, he's turned out okay. More than okay. And that says a lot about you and Lori," she said quietly.
"Thanks, Andrea. It's just…I do worry about him, a hell of a lot more than I let on."
"Lori does more than enough of that for you, I'd say," she quipped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry."
He gave a noncommittal grunt. "Eh. Can't say I disagree. But there's always a thought in the back of my mind, this dark thought, of: What if we die and he survives? What happens then?" Andrea opened her mouth to protest, but, like an overly aggressive driver, he cut her off sharply. "And don't tell me to stop worrying. Because it could happen."
"I know that," she responded tersely. "Did you forget about Amy?"
That was a sledgehammer to his chest. "Andrea. I'm…I'm sorry."
"Save it," she muttered bitterly. "It's not your fault, God knows you've got more than enough shit on your plate." She swallowed hard, then regained her train of thought. "I wanted to tell you…I know what it's like, worrying about someone you'd been taking care of if that happened. And it sucks, because you have to trust the people around you, and it's hard. But…we're better than nothing, right?" she asked.
"Yeah. A hell of a lot better than nothing." A grim smile played on his face. "Thank you, Andrea." He swung his hand dangerously close to hers, then repeated the motion a few times. He wasn't reaching out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Nope. He hadn't come to like Andrea more than any of the other women he was living with now. Definitely not.
"Sure," she replied, trying to avoid looking into the blue eyes that reminded her of summer skies and lemonade and lazy afternoons spent "reading books" with guys in hammocks by the pond…
