You watch him a lot, you are aware of it. You realized how you'd do it increasingly during the winter, just after the farm. At first it was really cos you were worried about him, after Sophia, after Dale. You could see he was suffering, but you didn't quite feel up to offering help. You just didn't know what you could have done, or said to him that would have made a difference. So you stayed quiet, but you watched.
He changed, after Sophia. Or maybe you just noticed it then, cos you all changed, and things were never the same. Never again a return to the former innocence, not even for Carl.
He took it especially hard, you know that. At first you thought maybe he and Carol could help each other get through it, but you don't think that worked all that well. You know they love each other, but that doesn't seem to be enough. They are too similar, in many ways too damaged, both of them, to really help the other heal. Oh, you know they're not weak, neither of them. But when they look at each other it must be a bit like looking into a mirror, a constant reminder in the other's eyes of what's happened, of the shame, whether real or imagined. Of the pain, and that's only too real. And sometimes, you know, helping must be helping to forget, even if just a little. They can't do that for one another.
And you think that he feels like he can't burden Carol with his grief. He thinks she's suffering enough, and maybe he's right. So he kept it all bottled up, after that one outburst when he moved far away into the fields, away from you all. He still keeps it all in, you know.
Sometimes, when he goes out, scouting alone, for hours, even days, you are distracted with worry until he's back. Cos he looks so pale and tense when he leaves, like he's ready to jump out of his skin at the smallest fright. Often when he comes back he looks even paler, exhausted, even ill. The skin around his eyes looks paper thin, then, translucent. He's lost weight since the group has settled in the prison. You've noticed cos it should have been the other way round, really. There's enough food now most of the time.
You wish you had the guts to talk to him, ask him about it all, offer some comfort, if you can.
Cos he's been there for you, both when things with Lori got unbearable and when she died. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. What he did for you is worth more than all the words in the world.
During the winter, when things got real stressful with Lori, he'd always known when you'd reached the end of your tether. Then he'd come over, look at you for a moment and give a small jerk with his head.
"'m goin' out. Wanna come with?"
You started looking forward to those outings like nothing else in that life you all lead now. You and he hardly ever talked about anything out there, but the peace and quiet were like a vacation for your soul. You'd begun to need these outings, crave them, when you came upon the prison.
Since Lori's death he's gone out mostly alone, cos you're so busy. But he can still tell when you're overwhelmed. He'll come and sit close by, usually with the crossbow or some snares to mend, or cradling Judith, cooing to her, whispering. Just looking at him, peaceful and focused on his task, or smiling and relaxed with your daughter, gives you more calm than anything else. You still don't talk much, there's just no need.
How you wish you could repay his kindness, help him when the darkness closes its rotten fingers around his heart. Cos you can see when it happens, when he withdraws into himself, when he goes still, then flees the safety of the prison as if haunted.
But all you have are words, to soothe, to console, and you know they won't help him. His world is not one of words, and his demons can't simply be talked away. You resolve to try harder to think of something to do for him. Cos he's becoming really important to you, in more ways than you quite care to explore.
At night, alone in your cell, your thoughts often revolve around him now. And when you touch yourself, to relieve some of the tension and relax more easily into sleep, he's there, in your mind, more often than not, and there's nothing you can do about that. It's still new, only half acknowledged, but you are increasingly aware of it, and more and more do you wish what's in your mind at night could be explored for real in the daylight as well.
