You didn't like the way that conversation went. Fuck conversation. He didn't really say anything. Just evaded, huffing, looked at you sideways, like he used to do, like he wants to see whether you've gotten bored yet, moved on to the next thing. Then he moved away, mumbled about finding water, but really, as you know, just wanting to get as far away as possible. You know how this is gonna go. It's gonna get a lot worse before it has any chance of getting better. You've seen it before.

Usually he'd just go off for a few days. Shoot some possum, clear his head. Stab some walkers. Hell, whatever it is he does out there. Now he can't, now he has to stick close. He hates it, you know that. But he feels compelled to. He'd never leave the group unprotected now, never leave the kids. You don't know what he'd do if something happened to Judith on his watch. You pray you'll never find out.

His watch. That's how he thinks of this. Thinks everyone's safety, everyone's survival, is his responsibility. You used to think that was commendable. Used to be grateful. Now, it scares you shitless.

Cos he forgets to take care of himself. Refuses to let others take care of him, keep him safe. Forgets how much this has to be a group effort, a two-way street to work.

Forgets, and this is just the naked truth, that even if everyone is vigilant 24/7, survival isn't guaranteed. Is often just a lucky coincidence. And that nobody, nobody can guarantee anything anymore.

He doesn't sleep, doesn't eat. He's refused water all day. You know, cos you keep tabs on him. He'd hate it if he knew just how much you see. You watch him, and you know he's suffering. You also understand him well enough to know he won't accept any help. Not now, not when there's not enough of anything. Not now, when so many have died, and he blames himself for every single one of them.

Beth, Tyreese, Sophia. It all started with Sophia. You know his heart still bleeds for the little girl. He thinks nobody knows about the nightmares, the gut-wrenching panic that besets him. But you do know. And you do care.

You wish you could offer some comfort, tell him how grateful you are, how much it means to you, what he does for all of you. How much he means to you, and how that feeling is getting stronger every day. But somehow, the time is never right. Or maybe you are too scared. You don't know any more.

You always have an excuse. Like being too busy surviving. Like the kids are your first priority. Like your feelings for him are as for a brother. But you know how feeble all of these excuses are. Yes, he's family. Yes, busy is not half strong enough a word to describe the last two years. But the truth is, you only managed to survive, be around for the kids this long because of him. You should talk to him as a priority, make sure he knows that you will do anything, anything, to have him in your life, and your kids' lives, for a long time to come.

Now is the right time to talk. It's now that he most needs to hear it all. He's hurting, and it's bad. And you can't bear to see him like this, not now, not when you are so desperate, and you know things will only get worse. He needs you now. He's at the end of his tether, he can't take any more. You owe it to him, to be there for him now, for all that he's done for you.

You've made up your mind. You'll go and talk to him right now, and damn your nerves. Looking round you spot Carl and wave him over.

"Here, take Judith. Stick close to Michonne. I'll be back soon."

You know roughly what direction he disappeared in twenty minutes ago. You scrutinize the underbrush. Not too many ways back to the road if he follows his usual pattern and sticks close. You feel Carol's eyes on you as you move through the group. You give her a small nod and she smiles an encouraging smile. She's probably got an idea what you're planning to do.

You turn into the trees with some apprehension. You'd almost rather take on a herd of undead than getting too close to your hunter when he's hurting.