The two were silent as they walked. Carol occasionally waving to passersby on the other side of the street and Carl looking over his shoulder for Denise or Rick.

"Can't believe we still use the sidewalks in this place." Carol muttered, marching up the driveway of her house, fumbling with the keys. "Like somebody's going to get hit by a car? Please."

When Carl didn't follow her inside she stuck her head back through the doorway. "Well?"

"Thank you." Carl wouldn't quite look at her face, he'd focused on a spot just above her shoulder. "I mean it, thanks."

"My window was open. I could hear all the yelling." Carol waved a hand. "Don't mention it." Then she disappeared back inside. "Come on in, I wasn't lying about the soup, you know."

Carl took another breath, counted to ten, and followed her inside.

"Did you really used to make this soup, you know, before everything?"

The house was surprisingly sparse. The walls still stood white and untouched. The pot simmering on the stove was the only sign that a human lived here.

"I used to make all the time when—" Carol paused, then covered the silence by spooning out some of the soup to taste it. "When Edd was sick it was all he'd eat. We'd all eat soup with him in the living room when he took off work. That was our version of a special occasion."

Carl accepted the bowl she handed him, but remained standing in the kitchen for a moment. "My mom would always make me spaghetti when I was sick."

Carol raised a hand, thought about using it to rub the dirt from the bridge of his nose, but reconsidered. "It's gunna get cold if you don't eat it."

Carl pulled one of the plastic covered chairs to the kitchen table, but he let the soup sit untouched for a moment, head tilted to the left slightly. At first Carol thought he was studying the flowery pattern on the delicate blue china, but then his attention snapped towards the open window. "Oh." Carl put down his spoon. "Abraham's crew is back from the run."

Carol turned her head towards the window but kept her eyes trained on Carl. "You think? They aren't supposed to get back until almost dark. Probably someone going out."

"Naw." Carl swallowed a spoonful of soup. Eating still made him nauseous, but he was trying to be polite. "It's the same truck they took out this morning."

Carol raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? Not much else to do on bedrest besides listen." Carl shrugged and blew on another spoonful of soup but didn't eat it. "It's the same van that went out earlier. You know, the big black one that's got a spare tire on. The engine sounds too big to be anything else. Besides, it's coming closer. They'll stop at the gate soon."

"You can tell all that from here?"

Carl tilted his head at her.

Carol didn't laugh, not exactly, but one half of her mouth lifted in what looked like a smile. "And here I thought you'd grow out of that."

Carl sat a little straighter, his face narrowing. "Grow out of what?"

"Even with one eye you could stare a hole straight through a concrete wall."

Carl put his spoon down, watching the way Carol was watching him.

"It's why you're still here. You're smart."

"Smart?" Carl snorted. "I never made it past sixth grade."

"You think you need book smarts to survive out here? A business degree won't keep walkers from licking your skull clean. You're learning where it counts."

Carl stared down at his cooling bowl of soup. "She was always better at the book learning than I was." He mumbled, like he could sneak the words by her if he spoke quickly.

Carol remained silent, but didn't look away.

"But like, even with the practical stuff. She was gunna teach me smoke signals so if we ever got separated..." he trailed off, spinning his spoon in circles through the thick soup. "But she also aced the spelling tests. First time, every time."

Carol pushed her chair back, crossing the small room to press her face against the window. "You make me wonder what Sophia would be like, at this age."

"Me too." He said. The words were quiet, weak. Insufficient. "She deserved better." Carl said, finding that he couldn't admit aloud to missing his old friend.

"The others didn't make it because they weren't strong enough." Carol stared across the road to the swaying apple trees in the neighbor's yard. She had a good view of the main gate from her house. They had just closed it behind the black truck coming in. "We have to believe that the strong will survive, right?"

Carl thought immediately of Judith, but didn't say anything.

"That's why you're still here, Carl."

"Most of me is still here."

"And don't you forget it." Carol turned, staring him down "I tried to teach them, Carl. But you can't teach people to be strong. You either are, or you aren't. It doesn't matter what I said, he still would have—"

Carl cut herself off, suddenly unsure of where to look.

"Oh. Do you mean Ron?" He searched her face. "Oh." He repeated. "Or Sam."

"That's not the point!" Carol snapped, sitting back down at the table across from Carl. "These people, they'd been in the walls too long. They didn't get it. That's why they don't understand us. Because look at you, here you are in their safe haven, and you didn't let it make you weak."

"Weak? Carol, have you seen me lately?"

"You think any of them would have made it out of that alive? Don't you get it? They're all walking on eggshells around you because no one knows what the hell to do with you. You're still a survivor"

"I don't know what the hell to do with me."

"Of course you don't. But you're going to make it. Because you don't need to learn to be strong, Carl. You already are."

They studied each other for a long time. Carl felt like he was at a significant disadvantage in the staring contest. Carol was no concrete wall, but she blinked first.

Carl was about to say something else, but he paused, tilting his head again. "There's someone on your porch."

"What?"

There was a pause, then a knock on the door. The handle rattled, but Carol had locked it.

Still watching Carl, Carol crossed the room and undid the deadbolt. "Speak of the devil." She opened the door and her eyes wrinkled in a soft smile. She looked over her shoulder to Carl, "It's for you."

Rick stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. "Carol, we have to—" he stopped himself when he saw Carl. "Oh thank god."

Rick had crossed the room by the time Carl had stood from his chair. Carl wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the ferocity with which Rick pull him into a hug was a surprise. Suddenly it felt like he hadn't seen his father in weeks instead of just a few hours.

Carl considered stepping away, but he could feel Rick's hitching breaths, feel him shaking ever so slightly. He didn't exactly return the embrace, but he didn't move either.

"I thought you were gone." he whispered, "I thought..." Rick didn't finish the thought.

Rick let go and composed himself a bit. "Denise is worried sick about you."

Carl turned to where Carol was leaning against the doorframe, watching the interaction. "I have to go."

They exchanged a glance, and Carl nodded again. "Thanks for the soup."

Rick didn't say anything until they were outside on the sidewalk. He waited until Sasha had passed them going the other direction, waving at her and smiling warmly, before he broke the silence.

"Glenn tells me you still don't wanna talk."

Carl shoved his hands in his pockets. "I thought about never talking to you again."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "What made you change your mind?"

"Judith shouldn't grow up thinking I'm blind and mute."

"I'd probably deserve it, you know." Rick stopped walking, hands in his pockets staring up at starts beginning to show through the light of the setting sun. "If you never wanted to talk to me again."

Carl followed his gaze to the sky for a moment, before looking out over the small garden patch, watching the thin plants sway in the wind. They wouldn't make it if it snowed early this year.

"I decided recently" Carl shoved his hands in his pockets, too. "That we don't get what we deserve. Not anymore. Not in this world. It makes things a little easier."

"I'm sorry." Rick mumbled. That was all he said, but the weight of the worlds were clear. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Carl kept his head low, studying his shoes intently.

"Do you wanna talk about it now?"

"No."

The two stood in silence until the sun sunk below the horizon, though some of its light still lingered.

This time it was Carl who stepped into the hug first, buying his face in his father's jacket. He was almost so tall he had to lean down to hug Rick. Carl was crying too hard to get any words out, but still Rick understood.

Rick didn't say anything. Didn't tell him that it was going to be okay, or that he would fix everything or that it could be worse or not to cry. They stood, embracing and collectively cried onto each other until the sky was completely dark.

"I can't," Carl was still crying so hard he was hiccupping. "I can't do this alone. I don't know if I can even do this at all."

"You can do it. I know you can." Rick put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his son closer. "And you're not going to be alone. Not now, not ever, not really."

Carl didn't believe him, couldn't explain how he'd never felt more alone, but he just nodded.

"If we're going to do this, we're going to have to do it together." Rick's voice was so soft it was almost a whisper, "And that's what I'm the most sorry for."