"Food's ready," Christa said as she set the pan of ravioli on the ground near the fire. Clementine barely reacted she sat clutching her most prized possessions, a photo of Lee and her drawing of Kenny and his family.

Christa felt irritation bubble within her, tried not to snap at the child. It was irksome, seeing how Clementine pined for her friends.

"Clem, I said it's time to eat," she said more firmly, unable to keep her rising annoyance at bay. Clementine looked up, countenance meek and unlike her usual stoicism. The hangdog look only annoyed Christa even more, and she shook her head.

Clementine cast one last longing glance at her photo and drawing before folding and carefully placing them inside her backpack. They sat across from one another in front of the pan and Christa handed Clementine one of two forks. Clementine took it and the two began eating in close proximity of one another. Mealtime was once something to look forward to, even if it was just the same old mush, but it was now a mechanical experience.

Stab the food with the fork. Put it in your mouth. Chew and swallow. Repeat.

Christa tried focusing on her meal, chewing and swallowing the tasteless and expired junk food. Carefully avoiding looking at Clementine. Trying her best to keep her fork from clashing with the little girl's as they ate out of the same pan.

It had been a bad day.

They'd encountered several walkers only a few hours ago near their previous campsite. It was when they were preparing to bathe in a lake nearby. Christa had been topless when she heard the familiar ominous groans approaching. At one point, she had been cornered by two of them, but had managed to kill them with a knife after Clementine stabbed one in the back, distracting it. Christa had decided they needed to relocate so as not to risk another encounter in case more walkers were within range.

It always spoiled her mood when they crossed paths with walkers. And the longer they survived, the more Christa wondered what they were even fighting for. She wondered if she was getting lazy about her defenses...it was discomforting.

"You really shouldn't hold onto those," Christa said between bites of ravioli. She didn't have to clarify what she was referring to. Shy about her disdain for the mementos she certainly was not.

Clementine stiffened, her fork stopping halfway to her mouth. This was a touchy subject for the girl.

Christa sighed as she finished her meal and shifted away from Clementine. "You're only twisting the knife," she muttered.

"I just feel lonely," Clementine complained, setting her fork down.

"Not this again." Christa released a long-suffering groan. "I keep telling you. You need to get used to being alone. You're a tough girl, Clem. So why don't you act like it?"

She was beginning to regret broaching the topic because it was stirring uncomfortable emotions in her. She rarely even spoke to Clementine unless it was necessary anyway. It had been ages since they'd reminisced about happier times, much less joked around. Full-blown conversations were a thing of the past.

"What? I can't even tell you how I feel?"

Christa frowned. "Ito doesn't really matter how you feel, if you want to know the truth. All that matters is that we keep moving for-"

"Why do you talk like that? Like that's all you think about?" Clementine shook her head in frustration. "Do you think I'm dumb because I'm a kid? Or do you just...do you just…" She looked like she was afraid to say it. "Forget it."

"No," Christa said, interest piqued. "Do I just what?"

Clementine looked so hesitant, Christa thought she'd change her mind again.

"...hate me?"

Christa had to think for a moment, as though she'd brought up an interesting topic. "Hate you? That would make things so much easier, wouldn't it?"

The implication behind Christa's words halted their conversation, leaving them to stare at one another. Contrary to what Clementine believed, Christa often forgot that Clementine was just a child. It didn't feel like she should be as irritated as she was right now, yet it was like her most hated qualities were suddenly incited.

"You think it's my fault, don't you?" Clementine whispered. "Omid and the baby."

Christa said nothing.

This was the first time since it had happened that either of them had brought up the baby's death. It was something she tried not to think about because the experience had been so traumatic. Her limp baby had greeted her with a chilling silence instead of wails and screams.

"I was scared that a walker came inside, so I panicked. It was stupid of me to leave my gun like that, I know. But I wasn't thinking."

"For the love of..." Christa bit out as she was forced to relive the most devastating moment of her life. She could still remember holding her lifeless boyfriend in her arms, wishing he'd open his eyes and laugh, say it was just a stupid prank. Who knew how many times she'd had to hear the same excuses uttered from Clementine's lips.

"Christa...I'm sorry."

"Your memory of your parents has faded. You barely even knew Lee or Kenny's family. You wouldn't understand." Christa tightened a fist around a stick lying beside her, as though it were a weapon. "You didn't have anyone you truly loved. Not really."

The stricken look on Clementine's face barely quelled her anger. She looked like she might burst into tears on the spot, eyes doe-like and lower lip wobbling. Christa had said what she'd been thinking for the longest time and didn't completely hate herself for it.

But it was cruel, nonetheless.

She wished she didn't feel some pity for the quivering child. She figured the primary reason she had a soft spot for Clementine was because the girl had to grow up in a world of unfeeling if not disturbed adults. It was a wonder she'd even survived for as long as she had when walkers were their only visiting friends.

Still fuming, Christa turned her back on Clementine. She sat down on the ground nearby, folded her knees and crossed her arms over them protectively.

"Why relive the past?" she said, mostly to herself. "When all you have left are a damn picture and a drawing? How much meaning is there in what you had in the first place?" She knew how much Clementine loved those possessions. But she had grown to hate how pure they were, so she couldn't resist debasing them. "You might as well just burn them," she said weakly. "Because they'll never see them again anyway."

Silence fell between them, thick with resentment. Eventually, Christa heard the girl slink away. Peeking out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clementine was sitting in a shaded area, cross-legged and hunched over. The hurt Christa had inflicted on the well-meaning girl reverberated through her. Her relationship with Clementine, once motherly, was now awkward and distant. It was enough to make her heart clench with contempt for the world in which they lived.

Or the world she'd created.

Christa's eyes watered as she wondered what Omid would think of her now- Not even allowing a little girl to reminisce about her own loved ones in peace. Omid had told her more than once that she was the toughest woman he'd ever known, but now she was wondering if he was full of shit. In fact, that so-called toughness seemed more like cowardice. She couldn't help but feel like her indignation came from an unsettling place. That it was due to her having nothing of her own to remember anyone by.

All she had were her fading memories.

Christa sighed, tried to regain her composure. Seeing Clementine sitting hunched over in the shade, away from the fire, rekindled her concern for the child. Perhaps she'd never be rid of this affection, no matter what wedge was formed between them. Her disdain had dissipated, leaving her ashamed of herself.

"Clem?"

"What?" Clementine's voice was so soft she had to strain to hear it.

"I'm sorry. Really. Forget what I said. I wasn't feeling well." She realized her voice sounded stiff and wooden. Perhaps she was losing the ability to convey feeling over time. It hurt that she couldn't even seem to apologize in the way that she wished she could.

She heard some sniffling, but Clementine said nothing in return. It was probably for the best, Christa told herself, trying to ignore the twinge of pain she felt. But then footsteps began walking towards her, stopping about a foot behind her. They were rarely close to one another when not eating, so this was unusual.

"It's okay, Christa. I know you're just tired because of those walkers."

Christa stiffened. Clementine often surprised her with her understanding that seemed advanced beyond her years. Still, she ducked her head beneath her crossed arms, not wanting to respond. She'd showcased enough vulnerability for one night.

Clementine walked away, leaving Christa to squirm with jealousy in her wake. Wishing she had a photo of Omid to look at so she could mull over him. She pushed away thoughts of the baby as she always did. She resented him more than anything else, like that agonizing birth and death was a punishment dished out for her faults as a caretaker.

Tears rolled down her face as she yearned for the woman she once was.