Not for the first time, Rick was walking the streets of Alexandria after dark. It was a routine of his, something he did at the crack of dawn, at sunset and then once more before he went to sleep, his way of reassuring himself that all was well. But unlike the nights before, tonight he walked with purpose, a clear destination and goal in mind.

Home. Shower. Sleep.

Tonight the duty of making rounds did not fall to him. Instead it fell to whoever Abraham and Daryl delegated, for Rick had taken on board Carol's advice. He didn't even need to tell his group that things had to change, that for a second time he needed to take a step back from leadership to care for his son. While Carol might have discussed with them the finer details, everyone stepped up into their new roles without being asked, taking control and covering their bases while Rick could not.

As he breathed in the fresh summer night he felt strange to be outside of the Infirmary, to be away from his child who needed him so much, but tonight there was nothing more he could do for Carl. Needing uninterrupted rest, Carl had been swept off to sleep by Denise's sweet concoction of pain killers, and he showed no signs of waking. It was soon clear that Rick's long standing position by Carl's side was being taken over, and as he watched Michonne spread out her blanket and lay down beside him he knew he was being given his orders. Earlier she'd told him that he was to go home once Carl was asleep, that he was to get a full night of rest and prepare himself for the emotional toll of the next day.

Nevertheless he stayed for a few hours after Carl had gone to sleep, grateful that Michonne didn't try to force him to go home immediately. Only when he felt ready did he kiss his son's forehead and depart, confident that Denise and Michonne would monitor him throughout the night. He would be called for the moment Carl needed him, and until then he was expected to have trust, to take care of himself. Yet as he walked home it felt strange for him to be leaving his son…sometimes it felt like the world outside ceased to exist, and the fact that the sun continued to rise and fall each day was inconsequential. It had been over twenty four hours since Carl had been shot, and in that time a great deal had happened. Pete had been buried (miles away by the side of the road, much to Rick's satisfaction), the chickens had laid more eggs, Judith had terrorised Eugene with her dirty diaper…life went on.

He slowed his pace as he walked past Jessie's house, and he looked inside the dark windows as though he'd get some insight into her well being. The curtains were drawn as per procedure, and there were no signs of life, no indication that she and her boys were awake. When he consulted his watch and remembered it was approaching midnight he understood why, though part of him suspected that Jessie was awake, perhaps with a strong drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. For a moment he wondered how Ron and Sam were taking the death of their father, how they would or would not cope in the coming months. But his concern for them was fleeting, for how could he spare them a thought when his own son had come so close to death?

It didn't matter to him that Ron and Sam had lost their father. He was glad the mongrel was dead, and he wished he'd been able to do it himself. The damage Pete inflicted was irreversible. He'd attacked Carrie and tried to murder her, he'd maimed and forever changed Carl's life…he told him about Lori and Shane.

As his stomach churned, Rick pushed that latter thought out of his mind. Carl had been awake that day, they'd talked about a few things, namely his injury and Carrie, but the topic of Lori hadn't come up. Perhaps he didn't remember…or perhaps Carol was mistaken, maybe Pete hadn't told Carl about his mother's mistake. Clinging to that single hope, he continued on his way home, resisting the need to stop in at the second house. It was too late at night to disturb them, too late to sneak a peak at his sleeping daughter who had likely cried her way into bed beside Glenn and Maggie. She had a way with tears lately, and he suspected it would be Glenn who caved in first, not Maggie. He was a soft touch when it came to Judith, and she knew it.

He had looked forward to the relief of coming home, to the sense of comfort it ought to bring him, but he was denied it tonight. He didn't feel at home, he didn't feel any sense of relief. Much to his annoyance the front door was locked, the denial of entry forcing him to rifle through his duty belt for his keychain. Wondering who had bothered locking the front door now that their greatest threat was gone, he came inside and closed it behind himself. No lights had been left on downstairs, yet it was no trouble to make his way through the dark. He stopped by the front closet and opened the safe, removing his Colt from the holster and safely locking it inside. This was the first time he'd been home since it happened, he was still wearing the same clothes he had worn to church on Sunday, and he ought to go straight upstairs and take a shower. Instead he quietly made his way through the house and entered the garage, wanting to see the scene of Pete's attack.

There was nothing that took him by surprise, having known in advance that an entire crew of Alexandrians had worked through the night to clean up. They wanted to make sure there was no evidence of what happened by the time Carrie was discharged from the Infirmary that morning, not even a hint of mess, and they'd done well. Restored to its former tidiness and organisation, the excess supplies had been removed and the remaining contents put back in order, but it was the smell of bleach that was the main evidence of Pete's attack. The areas that had been cleaned were very apparent, an entire section of the ceiling and garage door that was cleaner than everywhere else. This was where the blood had been. Noticing two large mats that hadn't been there before, Rick lifted one and looked underneath.

His stomach churned at sight of the discoloured concrete, for no amount of scrubbing would remove the slightly greyed areas. This was where someone had laid in blood, where someone had fallen. Determined to understand what had happened, he consulted the discolouration beneath the other mat and compared them. It didn't take much to figure that the patch by the garage door was where Pete had died, the extensive cleaning on the walls and ceiling supporting the notion that there had been extensive blood spatter. Looking to the stained concrete by the gun safes, Rick noted that Carl had been laying there, the blood stain smaller and more contained.

Trying to picture the scene in his mind's eye he looked back in the direction of the desk and surveillance system, noting that one of the screens he had mounted to the wall was missing. Behind it was a few square inches of unpainted dry wall, indicating a repair had been made. Still looking around he found the path of the other bullet that had been fired, noting a clean hole in the garage door. He wished that he had more experience in this type of thing, that he could perfectly understand what had happened here, that he could determine which bullet hole was from the first shot. He wanted to map out the trajectory of the bullet that had struck his son, he wanted to know where it had been fired, what was happening at the time…he wanted to know every finite detail, and yet at the same time he did not.

Deciding he knew enough already, he departed the garage and closed the door behind him, not wanting to see anymore. He'd spoken to Daryl that day, who in the midst of a miserable hangover had told him what had happened, that he'd heard the first gunshot followed by screaming. In the split second it had taken him to leap down from the north post a second shot had been fired, and by the time he broke through the locked door Carrie's screams had fallen silent. He'd found Pete on top of her, his face expressionless as he pressed his hands around her throat, unburdened by her attempts to save herself. Daryl had spared a single bolt for Pete, doing what he could to get him off Carrie - but it was to Carl's aid that he went first. Daryl hadn't said anymore than that, unable to voice the magnitude of what happened, of what he felt. But at the time it had been enough to satisfy Rick's desperation to know, his innate need to understand what had happened to his son and the woman he loved.

Not delaying a moment more, for time away from Carl was not to be wasted, Rick went upstairs with the intention of showering and collapsing into bed. However when he reached the upstairs landing he knew that it wouldn't be so simple, that a need he felt strongly was presenting itself to him. Standing in the dark hallway he looked at the closed door at the very end, Carrie's bedroom. The light must be on inside, the soft glow at the bottom of the door encouraging him to come closer. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to go to her, to spend the night sleeping beside her, but a part of him was uncertain. She'd been through a horrific ordeal. Pete had violently attacked her. According to Carl he'd groped her, put his hands all over her body. The very thought that Pete's assault on her would be so personal and intimate made Rick's blood boil. Carrie had to be suffering. After everything she'd been through having been taken advantage of by Granger's group, now Pete too?

Perhaps the last thing Carrie wanted was a man coming into her bed late at night, regardless of his innocent intentions. But another part of him encouraged him to try, to test the waters. She might welcome his presence, his comfort…they hadn't seen each other since she and Carl left on Sunday afternoon to take lunch to those on watch, and it felt like weeks had passed. God knew he could use some comfort from her tonight, he could use anything she was capable of giving him.

Deciding on the necessity of showering first, Rick slipped into his bedroom first, feeling ill at ease by Judith's empty crib. He knew she was fine, that she was cared for by family, but it made his stomach jolt to see her crib vacant. Again he had to resist the urge to go next door and look in on her, telling himself he'd only be disturbing her sleep…Maggie would have his head if he awoke her.

Relishing in the warm shower he quickly set about getting cleaned up, for the sooner he was finished the sooner he could rest. Michonne had been right of course, like she always was. What his family was going through was emotionally heavy, leaving him feeling drained and empty. He needed to get away from the Infirmary, to recharge himself before trying to get through another day. Carl had spent the majority of the first day in a groggy haze, awake but not fully able to comprehend what had happened to him. The enormity of it was lost, the implications for the rest of his life not truly understood. So while the first day had been hard, tomorrow when understanding dawned would be worse.

When the first signs of restlessness began Rick had been on the edge of his seat, ready for his son to open his eyes (cringing, he corrected himself…eye) and look at him. But it seemed to take hours for Carl to genuinely awaken, for although his eyelid fluttered and his hand responded to Rick's desperate squeeze, he was still very much in and out of it. Not until early the morning after did he awaken properly, groaning as he raised his hand towards his head.

"Don't do that," Rick told him softly, catching his hand before it could reach the bandage on his face. "Easy now…just go easy."

"Dad?" he mumbled in confusion, turning his head towards Rick.

"It's me," he assured him, getting up from his chair and sitting on the edge of the bed. He took both of Carl's hands and held them in his own, rubbing his fingers so that the sensation kept his attention.

Clearing his throat Carl seemed to sniffle for a moment, and then winced. He grunted in pain, trying to take his hand out of Rick's. "Dad…my face hurts," he mumbled again, his words only just distinguishable. "Wha' happened?"

"You're in the Infirmary," he told him, choosing the most straightforward answer. "You've been hurt, but you're going to be okay."

Carl mumbled, the tone indicating that he had heard and understood, but he said no more. It was almost another hour before he opened his eye again and spoke, appearing a little more alert this time. He spoke a more clearly now, giving a slight nod of his head when Denise offered him water.

"Dad…" he began after drinking a few sips. His eyelid still heavy with exhaustion, he looked at him in confusion. "What happened?"

Bracing himself, and trying to remember everything he and Carol talked about, Rick answered him. "You're in the Infirmary. You've been hurt, but you're going to be okay."

A few moments passed and then he started squirming, grunting as he dug his elbows into the bed. "I wanna sit up."

Letting Denise help him, Carl slowly sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, swaying a little as he tried to orient himself. As Denise coached him to take some deep breaths Rick watched on apprehensively, waiting for the moment that his son would remember sustaining his injury. He swallowed heavily and raised his hand to his head, but to Rick's surprise Denise allowed him to touch the bandage, to place his hand over the eye socket.

"That's a bandage," she told him, gripping his wrist to ensure he didn't apply too much pressure. "You have to be gentle. Can you tell me if it hurts?"

"I…feel dizzy," he mumbled, his hand still resting on the bandage. "And it hurts…my head hurts."

"I'll get you something for the pain," she assured him, looking over her shoulder to where Rosita lingered in the door way.

"What happened?" Carl asked again, breathing out as he lowered his hand into his lap. "Dad?"

It took Rick a moment to find the words, knowing that he was about to force reality onto his son. Was he ready to hear the truth? Was he strong enough? "You were shot yesterday."

He groaned in agreement, nodding every so slightly. "Yeah…it feels like it."

When he raised his hand and tried to touch his face again, Denise looked at Rick imperatively, a gentle nod of her head prompting him to continue. She wanted him to tell Carl everything, and he had to trust her judgement.

"Carl…you were shot in the face," he told him, keeping his voice even. He hesitated before he continued, but then forced himself to continue. "I'm sorry, but your right eye is gone."

His reaction was rather muted, a slight frown crossing his face before he winced in pain, the slight movement of his facial muscles bothering him. He turned to Rick and looked at him in confusion, blinking slowly as he tried to comprehend what he'd just been told.

"What?"

"You were shot in the face, and your right eye is gone."

Carl turned to Denise now, looking at her for clarification or disagreement. Silence resumed, Carl still looking confused as the news sank in. A few moments passed before he raised his hand and touched the bandage again, going gently at Denise's reminder. Rick waited with bated breath for him to say something, to give an actual reaction to the news, but when he did it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"No, it's not," he said insistently, groaning slightly as he swayed. "I can feel it…it's fine."

"I'm sorry Carl," Denise began. "But your dad's right. Your eye is gone."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But I can feel it," he insisted wearily. He turned back to Rick, his distress and confusion evident. "Dad?"

"I-"

"I can feel it, Dad!" he insisted, his voice indicating his growing distress.

"Carl," he said firmly. Though he wanted to freeze, to give in to his own sadness and fear, Rick knew he had to pull himself together. His son was looking to him not for clarification but for comfort, for reassurance. "I want you to listen to me."

"But, Dad…"

"Listen," he insisted. Taking Carl's hand he moved a little closer to him, holding his gaze. "It's going to be okay. I know it doesn't feel like that now, I know you're scared, confused…but everything's going to be okay. I promise."

Still it seemed Carl didn't believe them, but he held Rick's gaze and then slowly nodded his head, his hands beginning to shake as he looked away. "Pete…Pete shot me."

"Yes."

Carl took a deep breath at this, groaning softly. A few moments passed as they sat in silence, interrupted only by Rosita who discreetly came in to administer a little more pain relief. "Pete shot me…" he said quietly, speaking to himself before turning to Rick. "He shot me in the face?"

"Yes."

"What about Carrie?" he asked urgently. "Is she alright?"

"Yes, she is," he assured him. He glanced behind Carl at Michonne, grateful for the nod of support that indicated he was doing well.

There was a long pause, Carl slowly digesting the news of what had happened. The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he seemed to grimace before he continued. He looked up at Rick again, his expression anguished. "I was just trying to help her."

"I know."

"He was attacking her," he whispered, trying to get all of his explanation out as his voice filled with distress. "I came in, and he was on top of her like he was going to…to…"

"Carl," Rick tried to stop him.

"He kept putting his hand up her dress, and she was crying, but he…I didn't know what to do," he moaned, his left cheek becoming wet. "I was trying to help her, but she kept yelling at me, and-"

"She was yelling at you?"

He nodded tearfully, clutching Rick's hands tightly. "She kept yelling at me to leave, to go and get you, but I couldn't," he insisted. "I had to do something…I couldn't leave her."

Why hadn't he listened to her? He should have left, he should have protected himself first. But Rick knew his son, knew that he wouldn't put himself first in that situation. He was still so young, still thought that he was invincible…he didn't understand how loved he was, nor how vulnerable his life was.

"You did the right thing," he managed to say, though in his heart he wished his son had fled and saved himself. "You wanted to protect her."

"Is she alright?" he asked, managing to speak around his emotions.

"She's okay, I promise."

"Did he do anything to her?" he asked now, his tone angered. "Did he rape her?"

"No," he said very quickly, having harboured this fear too.

When he'd looked in on Carrie's sleeping form the previous night he'd learnt just enough to piece together what had and hadn't happened to her. If Carl hadn't seen her actually being raped, then in the brief moments that followed his being shot Pete would not have had the opportunity to do so before Daryl's arrival. It was a reassurance to him that regardless of the assault she'd endured, it hadn't escalated that far, Pete hadn't had the opportunity to do anything else. In the grand scheme of things, it was a small reassurance.

Following his explanation of the events Carl had crumbled completely, though a small part of Rick was glad for this. He had cried himself back to sleep in minutes, held close against Rick's shoulder with his hands clenched in his shirt. Sooner than he expected it was over, he and Denise laying Carl back down into the bed as the additional morphine relieved his pain and helped him sleep. Still in place at the head of the bed, Michonne's eyes were glassy and her cheeks wet with tears, her expression mimicking Rick's as she stroked Carl's hair and looked at him sadly. Hours passed, and it was not until early afternoon that he roused again. This time around things felt a little easier, though Rick knew that his son still didn't truly understand what had happened to him. He asked about Carrie again, her name being one of the first things that came up, and he seemed disappointed by the news that she was at home, that according to Carol she was sleeping heavily.

That afternoon while Michonne was still at home Denise had needed to check on Carl's wound, to change the dressings and check what kind of progress it had made. Carl had endured the discomfort, his face twisted into a pained grimace as Rick held his hand, trying not to dwell on how small and scared his son looked, on how he felt the same. He was powerless to help him, unable to relieve any of his pain, physical or emotional. When Carl requested to see the injury Rick's instinct had been to say no, to convince him that it wasn't a good time. He wanted Carl to wait a day or so, to wait until they were both better prepared to see it, but Denise acquiesced by finding a handheld mirror. Rick waited with bated breath as Carl looked at his face in the mirror, fully prepared to handle his reaction, to comfort him when he learned that the injury was real. But his reaction was subdued, making Rick question again whether he had really absorbed the magnitude.

He seemed to study his face quite closely, a twitch of his hand indicating that he wanted to touch it. While Denise bustled around and prepared her supplies for the new dressing Carl continued looking in the mirror, still trying to understand. Giving him as much time as possible, Rick too studied the injury, but was still unable to make out much other than the angry red flesh of the empty eye socket. Finally he could take the silence no longer, and he needed some indication of what his son was thinking.

"Are you okay?" he asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

Carl didn't answer, but raised his other hand to the blister on his upper lip. "What happened here?"

"I think it was the shell casing."

"And this?" he enquired, touching a small cut on his right nostril.

"From the ejection port, when it closed."

Trying to make sense of it, Carl studied the trajectory of the minor injuries and conjunction with his eye, putting together in his mind what had happened. Rick too was imagining what happened, able to picture the gun's barrel pressed against Carl's cheek in a heated scuffle, the trigger being pulled and the bullet grazing the front of his eye. Had the angle of the trajectory been slightly different Carl could have gotten away with minor injuries or been instantly killed…he was incredibly lucky to be alive, though he wasn't yet likely to see the value in this.

Not wanting to see anymore, Carl put the mirror down on the bed and sighed, but gave no reaction other than that soft sound. His lack of reaction was perhaps just as awful as the potential, for his numbness only dragged out the grief. Rick wanted it to be over, for Carl to start lamenting the injury and it's impact. The sooner they could get through that the sooner he could recover, the sooner he could start resuming his life. It wouldn't be simple nor easy, but Rick needed it to start as soon as possible, not wanting his son's pain to be extended. But for now it seemed Carl wasn't ready to deal with the implications, his mind numbing him to the reality so that he could process it all more slowly. He seemed relieved when Denise started repacking the wound, for despite the uncomfortable procedure he was able to close his remaining eye, to hide whatever he might be feeling from Rick.

After Denise was finished things Carl simply laid his head on the pillow and looked at his hand in Rick's, speaking a few moments later. "Do you think Carrie will come visit tonight?"

"I…I don't know," he said, for at that stage he knew nothing other than she had returned home. "I'll make sure she comes tomorrow."

"She's really okay?" he questioned softly, glancing up at him.

Realising that Carl didn't believe him, Rick looked him in the eye and held his gaze. "I haven't properly seen her…but Carol said she's okay. I'll make sure she comes tomorrow, I promise."

It was an empty promise, Rick having no idea of Carrie was in any condition to be making a bedside visit, but it seemed to be enough for now. With that Carl nodded and then seemed to relax further into the pillow, his eyelid drooping until a short while later he was fast asleep once more.

Rick shook his head, bringing himself out of his dazed thoughts. As he washed shampoo from his hair and debated whether or not to bother shaving, he looked at the bottle of Clearasil on Carl's section of the double shower suite, its necessity born from a sudden eruption of acne. It was unsettling to think that a week ago Carl had been annoyed by acne on his chin, whereas now his self-esteem was eroded by a life threatening injury, a self-perceived flaw that couldn't truly be covered or hidden.

Finishing up he dressed in some comfortable sweats and a tee-shirt before setting out a pair of shoes, knowing that he may need to return to the Infirmary at a moment's notice. He would go barefoot if he needed to, that would be the last of his problems right now, but it helped him feel a little more organised, more in control. He'd spent over a day feeling helpless and at the mercy of fate, a state he had never favoured, particularly where his children were concerned. Wandering his bedroom as he brushed his teeth he headed to the window and pulled back the drapes, looking out onto the street below. He didn't know what he was looking for, for he knew that if he was needed Michonne would use their radios, but he looked just in case. The street was just as empty as it was when he returned home, the stillness contrasting the chaotic emotions inside his head.

He still felt torn about whether it was the right thing to do, uncertain of whether or not his presence would be welcomed during this particular time, but a short while later Rick was heading down the hallway to Carrie's bedroom. Not even bothering trying to sleep alone he went straight to her, knowing what it was he needed right now, and praying she needed the same thing. They hadn't spoken at all since Sunday afternoon, when everything had been perfect and they'd been shrouded in happiness and optimism. He didn't really know what her state of mind was, how well she was or wasn't coping with what happened to her, let alone how she was coping with what happened to Carl.

Though he had his reservations, the light underneath Carrie's door was what prompted him to go inside, and he hoped that he would find her awake. He knocked lightly and waited, and hearing no reply he decided to let himself in, but he was met with disappointment. She was fast asleep, sprawled out on her bed with a book beneath her arm, the pages scrunched from how it lay. Standing there in the threshold he observed her for a few moments, taking in the small amount of relief he could feel. It felt strange to be home, and stranger still to see her sleeping in her bed after it had been empty for so long, but it was a welcome change. Though he knew he couldn't lay down beside her, fearing that she'd awaken and be startled, he nevertheless slipped inside the door and gently closed it. He wanted to stay for a short while, to just be there with her until he felt ready to retire to his own room.

He sank down into the semi-comfortable arm chair and prepared to settle in for a while, rubbing his tired eyes. It was less than ideal, he would have a crick in his neck soon, but it would be worth it just to be near her. The lamp on the nightstand had been left on, the light casting shadows over her face that made her look older and more weary than she was. As unkind as it was to think, she didn't look good, and he wondered how much sleep she'd managed to get since her release from the Infirmary. Just like it had on him the ordeal had taken its toll, but hers had been a different toll entirely. In spite of the June warmth she was clad in long leggings and a heavy sweatshirt, Michonne's if he wasn't mistaken. He wondered if like him she had been voluntarily confined indoors, he with his son and she with Carol for company.

Letting his eyes run down her long legs he thought back to the previous night, when he'd looked in on her for the first time. Her injuries had been extensive but minor, though it was the bruising on her thighs that he couldn't get out of his mind, the long scratch on her upper leg. Carl had told him that Pete was on top of her, that he put his hands up her dress, that she was crying. The very thought of him assaulting her like that made Rick want to be sick, even after having had hours to digest the news.

Trying not to think about it, Rick rubbed his hands over his face and tried to empty his mind, wishing for a way to clear all of his thoughts and worries away. But it was easier said than done, and the image of Pete attacking Carrie was constantly in his mind's eye, his heart aching with remorse and guilt. While the people he loved had been fighting for their lives, he had been on the other side of the community without a care in the world, enjoying the beautiful June weather.

To his relief Carrie started to rouse now, letting out a long sigh when she turned onto her back. Not wanting to startle her Rick stayed where he was and didn't say anything, content to wait for her to rouse. It hadn't been his intention that he wake her for his own selfish needs, but he didn't go out of his way to encourage her back to sleep either. He wanted to see her, to hear her voice as if a part of him still feared that she wasn't real, that she hadn't survived. So when her eyes fluttered open and she raised her hand to the bridge of her nose he was both glad and impatient with her. Silently he urged her to hurry, to raise her head and look at him.

She did raise her head, she did look at him…but the soft gasp and sudden tensing of her muscles was not what he wanted to see. There was a moment when fright flashed through her eyes, her momentary fear making him regret coming in here. But soon enough her shoulder's relaxed, her expression softening as she looked at him properly, and it was then he saw the relief he hoped for. She was glad to see him there, regardless of his uninvited arrival late at night. Despite this she still shied away from him a little, and he noticed the way she moved further up the bed to put more space between them.

"Hey," she said softly, looking at him uncertainly.

Her voice sounded just as he remembered, indicating that she was recovering from Pete's attempt to strangle her. Carol had reported that she sounded hoarse, that her throat was hurting her, and this only compounded the things Rick had to worry about.

"I'm sorry," he began softly, feeling that she should apologise for his uninvited arrival. "I just wanted to see you…just for a little while," he concluded lamely.

She nodded in understanding. There was a brief pause before she sat up properly, looking down at the book and hastily straightening the pages. She looked at it for longer than necessary, drawing out the silence between them, but Rick waited until she was ready to speak. Finally she raised her head and looked at him again, fidgeting nervously by pushing her hair behind her ear.

"How is he?"

She didn't need to clarify her question. "He's…numb," he stated, feeling that best described his current state. "He's sleeping right now. Michonne's with him."

"That's good. That's she with him," she hastily added. There was another brief pause, and he could tell that something was weighing on her mind, that she was hesitant to bring it up. "Has he…has he really lost his eye?"

"Yes."

Her shoulder's sagged at this, her lips pressed into a thin line as she looked away from him. "I didn't believe Denise when she told me," she said quietly, her voice sounding strained now. "I thought that maybe she was mistaken…I thought everyone was lying."

Rick didn't say anything, unsure of what to say. Instead he sat there and watched Carrie, observing the sadness on her face, the overwhelming reality that was beginning to dawn on her just like it was about to for Carl. They were on opposite sides of the room, Carrie hastily wiping at her eyes before he could see them wet, while he sat there trying to hold himself together too. There was so much to say, so much to talk about, and yet he couldn't find the words for any of it.

"What about you?" she asked, trying to hide the waver in her voice. "Are you okay?"

It took him a moment to respond, but like most people did when they were not okay, he nodded. Instantly he knew that his response wouldn't be enough, that Carrie needed to hear how he was really doing, and so he tried a little harder. "I'm scared," he admitted, his throat becoming tight with emotion. "I…I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix it."

She nodded in agreement, trying her best to hold his gaze until it became too much. Her shoulders shook as she lowered her gaze to the bed, her hand hastening to stifle whatever sound was threatening to escape her lips. He moved forward on the seat, sitting on the very edge as he spoke perhaps the most important words he would ever say to her.

"I want to thank you for what you did," he said sincerely, meaning it with everything he had. "I-"

"Don't," she said abruptly, looking up at him. "Please, Rick…don't. I…"

It seemed she could say no more, her words trailing off as she lowered her head and looked into her lap. Her shoulders shook as she started to cry, her breath coming in small gasps as tears slipped from her eyes. Seeing this he slowly got to his feet, moving in such a way that she could see his intentions. He felt compelled to go to her, to give her the comfort they both so desperately needed, and so he sat down on the opposite side of the bed, being close but giving her space too. Tentatively he reached out and put his hand on the bed beside hers, their fingers touching just enough to get her attention. She took a shuddering breath and then looked at his hand, and to his utter relief she moved hers into his, entwining their fingers and squeezing tightly.

"Carl told me what happened, he told me that you tried to make him leave." He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling them welling up with his own grief. "You tried to protect him, I know you did," he said emphatically. "I can't ever thank you enough for that."

"But I didn't protect him," she whispered, her jaw quivering as she spoke. "I'm sorry, Rick…I'm so sorry."

He didn't try to stop her apology, understanding that while he needed to thank her, she needed to apologise, to express her regret for what happened. "I know you are." Needing to touch her, he slowly raised his hand and stroked it through her hair, letting come to rest on the side of her jaw. He encouraged her to look up at him, his thumb wiping at the tears that streamed down her cheek. "I'm sorry too," he whispered hoarsely.

She nodded solemnly, her hand squeezing his so hard it almost hurt as she turned her head into the palm of his hand. There were a few moments of silence between them, broken only by the sound of her shuddering breaths, and then she did something that surprised him. Letting go of his hand she reached for his shirt instead, clenching it as she moved closer to him, seeking his embrace. A small part of the heavy weight on his shoulders began to ease, the feeling of having her back in his arms allowing him for the first time to truly acknowledge that she had survived, that she wasn't lost to him. Finding the physical comfort they both needed Carrie moved closer into his arms again, her shoulders heaving as she put her head into the crook of his neck. He let her cry freely, nuzzling the top of her head while he did the same.

"I'm sorry for what he did to you," he said in a whisper, his hand rubbing the back of her shoulder as her tears began to subside. "I should have stopped him. I should have protected you both…I was wrong."

She didn't correct him, she didn't try to alleviate the guilt he felt, for which he was grateful. They both needed to have their regrets, it was the knowledge that there was no blame from one another that gave them the reprieve they needed. He knew there was nothing to be gained through self-blame, but he couldn't help the feeling that he had driven Pete to do this, that his attempts to corner a bull was what led to bloodshed. After everything he'd been through he should have known better…obsession had driven Pete right over the edge, just as it had once done to Shane.

A few minutes passed, Carrie's tears falling silent so much that Rick wondered if she had fallen asleep. Slowly she raised her head, swallowing heavily as she self-consciously wiped the tears from her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her pale cheeks highlighting the blotches that marred her skin. Waiting for her to speak Rick resisted the urge to touch her unnecessarily, to run his hands through her hair or over her shoulder, worried that she would shy away from it. When he took a closer look at the bruises on her neck he wouldn't blame her if that was the case, the discoloured skin telling the story of what had happened to her.

Releasing his shirt she moved her hand back down to his instead, her thumb touching the pale line on his fourth finger where his wedding ring used to be. "We can survive this," she said very quietly, clearing her throat before raising her head and looking him in the eye again. "You and me…we're going to be okay."

She spoke with absolute confidence, her decisiveness and resolution bringing him solace. The thought of them falling apart in the aftermath had crossed his mind, fearful that it could ruin them, that their respective trauma could make them turn on one another. He'd seen trauma erode relationships, both before and after the outbreak, and he'd feared the possibility of it happening to he and Carrie. But hearing the strength and conviction of her statement that they would survive reassured him that it wouldn't happen to them, that they'd make sure they got through this. From the moment he'd spoken to Carol the previous night, insisting that he would get both Carl and Carrie through this difficult period, Rick had been willing to fight for her, for the life they still wanted together. Hearing her express the same sentiment was the final reassurance he needed.

"Yes, we are," he assured her, a tearful smile finding its way onto his face. "What happens next is up to us…we decide whether or not we survive this."

She nodded in agreement, her hand still clenched in his shirt. "We can do this, starting right now," she said decisively. A few moments passed as she took some deep breaths, still very much collecting herself. "What can I do to help?"

Rick paused, wondering what reaction his request would garner. He'd noticed of course that she had been absent all day, that she was understandably trying to take care of herself, but he needed her in the coming days. "Come to see Carl tomorrow. He's been asking about you…he's worried."

Nodding slowly, Carrie entwined their fingers together and kept her gaze low. "I will," she agreed, hesitant to continue. "I'm sorry I didn't come by earlier…I just…"

She trailed off, unsure of how to explain herself, but Rick didn't expect her to explain herself to him. "What can I do?" he asked now, returning to question. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. I'm alr-"

"Carrie."

There was a long pause, Carrie's jaw clenched as she mulled over her request, perhaps deciding what she needed or finding the confidence to ask for it. Finally she raised her head and looked at him, her expression hopeful but not expectant. "When are you going back to Carl?"

"Not until the morning."

It seemed this was what she had been hoping. "Will you stay the night? Please."

Rick's heart filled with relief, this having been his hope since deciding to join her that night. All he wanted to do for the next few hours was lay next to her, to hold her as they slept. As he nodded he leant in to kiss her, the motion coming to him naturally, and it was with great relief that he saw her doing the same. But as she leant in she reached out for his other hand, bringing both of his together and putting them on the bed beneath hers. She was trying to take control, to protect herself from any touch that she wasn't ready for, and he would gladly afford her whatever power she needed. Their kiss was a gentle whisper, their lips touching just enough to satisfy the need she felt. Rick wanted to deepen it just a little, to kiss her properly, but it wasn't the time. This was her call right now, it had to be, regardless of how incomplete their kiss left him feeling. When their lips parted Carrie lingered close a little longer, making him hope they would kiss again, that she was just taking her time. He turned his face a little, hopefully waiting for her to do something else.

"I love you," she murmured, pulling away just enough to look at him.

He wanted to touch her, to put his hand on her shoulder or to trail his fingers through her hair, anything to relieve the ache inside him. But with his hands firmly held beneath hers it was easier to resist his needs, to remember that hers were the most important right now. "I love you too. So much."

"I'm sorry I failed you," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

Though he ached for her kiss, Rick turned to avoid her for a moment. "You haven't failed me," he corrected her, not wanting her to think like that. "Carrie, you haven't failed me."

"It feels like I have."

"Same here," he said sincerely.

In his mind she hadn't failed at him at all, it was he who had failed her. Handling Pete was a responsibility he'd taken on, and he'd made too many mistakes with the decision he made, decisions that ended in heartache. Carrie on the other hand had done everything she could to protect Carl from attack, to protect both he and Judith from an awful truth they weren't to know about. She had done her part to keep their family safe from Pete, while Rick's decisions had let him continue to escalate.

Thankfully she didn't say anything more on the matter. She leant in to kiss him like before, her hand on top of his tightening a little to remind him to keep them there. Still he had hoped for a little more, for a kiss that was more than a whisper of touching lips, but it wasn't to be. Taking only what she wanted, Carrie brushed her lips over his and then pulled back, lingering for a moment as she struggled to find the words she was seeking next. She released his hands and looked at him, uncertain of herself.

"Let's go to sleep," she finally said, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her exhaustion and emotional state.

He nodded in agreement, and in that moment his own exhaustion came to the forefront of his mind. It was easy to forget the toll it took on your body when a loved one was hurt, let alone when they sustained injuries like Carl had. There was a brief pause and then Carrie got to her feet, excusing herself as she slipped into her bathroom for a few minutes. Waiting for her Rick took another look around, seeing that despite her ordeal her bedroom was still as clean and tidy as she always kept it. On Sunday afternoon they had agreed that they would soon move in together, and though those plans would be on hold indefinitely, Rick couldn't help but feel a small flicker of amusement. Carrie was clean and tidy by nature, and though he'd always made a reasonable effort to do the same, he knew what he was like. When he was busy things could get out of hand, the bed would go for days without being properly made, both clean and dirty laundry tossed onto the rocking chair until Carol came in and tidied. Conscious of his own habits, he wondered how well that would go down if he and Carrie were sharing a bedroom.

The smile on his face began to fade as he continued looking around her bedroom, his eyes falling on the nightstand where he now noticed three orange pill containers. Two of them contained only one single and one half pill, while the other contained half a dozen, making Rick suspect that the former were for restricted use. Noting that Denise had scrawled the name and dosage on the container with black marker, he figured that she would be dispensing only what was needed, that if Carrie wanted more she would have to go back and ask for it. Listening to her in the bathroom and noting the sound of her brushing her teeth, Rick shuffled across the bed and reached for the pill containers, turning them just a little until he could read the writing. Take one codeine and acetaminophen for pain. Half a diazepam for sleep.

Hearing Carrie finishing up, Rick hastened back to his unofficial side of the bed, not wanting her to catch him snooping. Though the nights were warm he pulled back the comforter and warm blankets on the bed, checking his watch and then the radio which he placed on his nightstand. It was now after midnight, and he trusted that Carl and Michonne were still as fast asleep as they had been when he left them. Without shame or embarrassment, Carl hadn't seemed to protest when Michonne got into the double bed beside him that night, not rejecting her when she took his hand as they got comfortable. Carl was fine for the night, and now it was Rick's turn to sleep as well. He had the radio, Rosita was awake through the night to monitor Carl…they would call him if they needed to.

There was a strange sense of uncertainty when Carrie came back into the bedroom, making him feel like it was the first night they'd ever spent together. But in reality it wasn't, Rick recalling the night of Judith's birthday and the welcome home party for the Georgia supply run. They'd snuck away from the party to fool around, and with Carl staying elsewhere she'd invited him to spend the night. There had been a few other occasions too, mainly in the early days when Carl still spent the night sleeping at a friends or having a movie marathon with Noah. Rick stayed with Carrie for the night, the two of them easily adapting to one another's needs as they slept. While he liked to sleep stretched out, his hand reaching out towards her throughout the night, Carrie was the opposite. Aside from her tendency to steal blankets she slept entirely on her side of the bed, usually curled up with her chin tucked to her chest. They'd learned to accommodate each other, to cohabitate in a bed that was smaller than the king size he shared with Carl.

Had it been any other night, Rick knew how the routine would have progressed. Carrie would have made a show of getting dressed, coyly making her way around the bedroom in just her underwear as she brushed her teeth, her breasts pressed together as she rubbed moisturiser into her long legs. Rick would have watched every moment, his arousal growing as he resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, drawing out the joy of watching her for as long as possible. But tonight was different, it had to be. When Carrie came out of the bathroom her hair was clumsily tied back, and she still wore the long tights and heavy sweatshirt she'd borrowed from Michonne. She reached for the bottom of it as though she were going to remove it, but she averted her eyes from Rick and seemed to think better of it. He suspected her reasons, anticipating that she both wanted to hide her bruises from him, and to let the fabric act as a barrier, something that would protect her from even his touch.

She joined him on the bed, and as he opened the clasp on his watch and set it aside he heard the pill containers on her nightstand rattle. "Could you open this for me, please?" she asked quietly.

As he opened the container that held only half a diazepam tablet he glanced at the splint on her right arm, at the bandaging around her middle and fourth fingers. What he could see of her hand was marred with bright red scratches, her fingernails damaged and broken just like they had been last night, but it seemed they had been filed down, the ruined nail polish removed.

"Are your fingers broken?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, tipping the pill into her palm and then swallowing it with a sip of water. Tossing the empty container onto her nightstand she began to lay down. "Denise thinks they're just bruised, that's all."

Getting the feeling she didn't want to talk about it, Rick didn't ask anything else about her injuries, he too laying down and settling into the pillows. Every motion that came so naturally had to be resisted now, even the gesture of kissing her cheek good night. It felt incomplete, like he'd forgotten to do something, but she was making the boundaries clear. She turned onto her side to face him, but a pillow was set down between them, a place for her to not only rest her arm but to act as a barrier. She wanted him to stay the night, to be there by her side, but she didn't want him to touch her.

"Do you want the light left on?"

She shook her head. "No, thank you."

He turned off the lamp and engulfed them both in darkness, the only light coming from the red numbers on her alarm clock. Thinking only of how badly he needed to get some sleep he lay down on his side, facing her through the darkness. There was quiet but for the sound of them breathing, Carrie moving occasionally, adjusting the pillow until her arm was comfortable, and then there was nothing. Despite his exhaustion, Rick felt frustratingly awake. He was alert and at the ready, exactly how he should have been on Sunday afternoon. Pete had already slipped away from the party unnoticed, Rick had already noticed him paying too much attention to Carl and Carrie, and yet he hadn't done anything. He'd helped himself to some more food before joining his family, his hand resting on Maggie's belly when she invited him to feel the baby move. He was relaxing when he should have been alert…it was no wonder he couldn't sleep.

Laying there silently he watched the numerals on the alarm clock ticking over, approaching half past twelve and then beyond. As he lay he listened to the sound of Carrie's breathing, suspecting that she lay awake just like him, unable to sleep despite the sedative she'd taken. Every now and then she moved, her actions too methodical to be ones made during sleep. Having given her his full attention he noted that she seemed to be moving gingerly, her arms and legs stiff and uncomfortable. Had she taken any pain relief that night? Was she taking care of herself the way she ought to be?

"Are you awake?"

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and had he been drifting off to sleep he likely wouldn't have heard it. But still wide awake and alert Rick heard every word, the sound of her voice like a warm melody that cut through the heavy silence.

"Yes."

There was a brief pause, and then Carrie started moving. A moment later he felt her touching him, her fingertips brushing against his shoulder before moving down. Knowing what she wanted he brought his hand to hers, smiling to himself when she entwined their fingers and gave a soft sigh. They stayed just like that, Rick focusing on the slow pulse he could feel in her wrist.

"I was wondering," she began, her voice a little louder now. "The other day before Carl and I left…you said you had a surprise for me."

It took him a moment to figure out what she was referring to, casting his mind back to the day in question. The memory struck him as clearly as if it had just happened, and he recalled catching her hand as she went to go and help Rosemary. "Hurry back," he requested. "I've got a surprise for you later." He'd been referring to the coffee he'd asked Olivia to make for her, an order he'd put in the moment he'd learned the community had a commercial coffee machine that was finally working. When Olivia confirmed she was bringing it out at the Father's Day party he'd asked her to make a drink Carrie wouldn't have enjoyed since before the outbreak.

"I did have a surprise for you," he confirmed.

"What was it?"

He paused, smiling at her even though she couldn't see. "I can't tell you. It wouldn't be a surprise."

She sighed through the darkness, reminding him of her claim that she didn't like surprises. "C'mon, tell me."

"I can't. You'll have to wait."

Making a small sound of disbelief, she sat up on her elbow. "Are you serious? You're going to make me wait?"

"What's the rush?"

There was a pause. "No rush."

"You're dying to know, aren't you."

"No," she said proudly. "I can wait."

"Then wait you shall."

Another pause. Apparently deciding to let him have his way she shook her head to herself, Rick able to make out the movements through the darkness which his eyes had adjusted to. A few more moments passed, Carrie still propped up on her elbow looking down at him, and then she did something pleasantly surprising. She sat up and removed the pillow between them, tossing it aside where it gave a light thump upon hitting the floor. With a long sigh she readjusted her other pillow and then moved closer towards the middle of the bed, laying down on her side with her back to him. He knew what she was doing, what she was both requesting and offering, but he waited for her to make herself clear before he moved in response.

"Come on," she said quietly, reaching back with her left hand to find his.

A small part of the heavy weight on his shoulders began to ease as he put his arm around her waist, gladly moving closer until he could hold her body against his. It was one of the greatest reliefs he'd felt all day, glad that he was able to hold her against him, that he could touch her. Though the fabric of the sweatshirt she wore was thick and heavy, the hood getting somewhat in the way, he had exactly what he wanted. His heart rate slowed as he settled and got comfortable again, pressing his face into the back of her neck and breathing deeply.

"Is this okay?" he asked, wanting to make sure.

A moment passed before she place her hand over his, moving his arm from the curve of her waist up to her ribs where it was more comfortable. She kept her hand on his, their fingers entwined as she held it to the front of her chest, though there wasn't a hint of sexual intention from either of them. Sex was the last thing on his mind right now, and with the heavy sweatshirt she wore it wasn't like he could feel much of her body in the first place. Carrie twisted her torso a little and kissed their entwined fingers, her lips lingering before she got comfortable again.

Silence fell once more, and this time Rick knew they were slipping away into the sleep they both needed. He could feel her chest rising and falling against his arm, the touch of her body against his reminding him that she had survived, that he didn't have to endure her loss. Finally he felt that he could sleep now, knowing that Michonne was with Carl and he was with Carrie, both comforted exactly as they needed to be.


A/N Hey readers, I really hope you enjoyed the chapter and that it delivered all you wanted from Rick and Carrie's first reunion! Thanks for the reviews, they're always so delightful to read!

And hot damn wasn't that finale great? I literally leapt up from my chair shouting "fucking Carol's back" when the Kingdomers came, and I was so thrilled that Rick has got his grove/attitude back.

I've been really lucky the last few days, have managed to churn out two new chapters for the sequel story. There final chapter for this story will be split into two. This is not an attempt to draw it the story out longer, I just haven't finished the ending and I'm not sure how much more I have to say. Many thanks to my beta reader Brent :-)