Carol blinked a few times as she tried to focus on Tobin's expectant face. "I… I'm not sure I'm the right person to do what you're asking."
"Of course you are," he pressed, standing up and leaning against the banister. "It has to be you."
She shook her head, hoping that would clear it. "But you took Rick and Carl's classes with the others. Why me?"
"Because you're all I have here," he said quietly, leaning down so she would look him in the eyes.
She looked up at him with wide, teary eyes, mouth half open, still trying to process his request.
"You're the only I can really trust," he murmured. "The only one here I have any sort of faith in."
"Fine," she said softly after a moment, her lips pressing firmly together. "I'll try my best. But you have to teach me something too. And nothing construction related. Don't think you're getting free labor on that tower."
He grinned from ear to ear, and the smile lit up his kind eyes. "Well, I don't know what else I'd have to offer you…. I was pretty good at ballroom dancing back in the day."
"Dancing?" She squinted up into the sun, pretending to think about it for a moment. "Deal," she said finally, holding out her hand.
He eagerly placed his big fingers around her small ones, shaking enthusiastically.
"Come on," She said as she stood. "I want to say goodbye to Daryl before he leaves."
For a moment, he looked like he was about to protest, but she wasn't surprised when he actually followed her to the gate, the two arriving just in time see Heath close the trunk and start the engine on the clunky old car.
Tobin held back, but she could still feel his eyes on her as she stepped forward.
Daryl turned around to face her, sensing her presence, his arm twitching so slightly that she was sure she was the only one to see the motion and she kept moving until she was right in front of him.
"Hay," he murmured.
"Hey," she whispered, eyes already tearful as she stepped into his space to embrace him.
He sighed softly, wrapping his arms around her tightly and ducking his head into her shoulder. "Wait for me," he said quietly in her ear.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Promise?" He asked, and she was about to sarcastically ask him since when did they ever promise each other anything, but all she could do was nod again.
It seemed like forever could've gone by while she was holding him, right there in front of everyone and the hot sun at the gate, but all too soon he was pulling away, squeezing her hand tightly for a brief second before getting in the car and she hoped her face was composed as she watched them drive away, but she couldn't be too sure.
Tobin cleared his throat next to her and she jumped slightly, unaware that he'd even moved that close. "Come on," he said, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk you home. We can practice tomorrow."
"No," she said, shaking her head and walking past him. "We're doing this, right now."
"Are you sure?" He asked cautiously.
She kept walking with a barely a glance behind her to see if he would keep up.
He followed her steadily, his long legs quickly catching up to her deliberate strides. "Shouldn't we stop at the armory?"
"No. Just grab the first thing you can find at your house. I have my gun in case we run into any trouble. You have three minutes. Go."
He looked uneasy at the thought of what "trouble" might mean, but he proceeded to his garage without question.
She waited for him outside, staring absently at the swing until he emerged from the garage, handing her a shovel and a pickaxe. The corner of her mouth twitched. "I suppose we've done more with less," she said, eyebrows raised.
They walked silently to the woods, leaves crunching under their feet.
"We won't go too far," she said, coming to an abrupt halt. "This is fine, here. We still have to be smart."
He watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see what she would do next. "You know he's coming back," he said softly.
She sniffed, then recovered quickly. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because. He's Daryl," Tobin answered. "Just like you're you."
For a second, she seemed unsure of herself but then she stood firm, shoulders squared as she regarded him.
"The first thing you need to learn is new ways to be alert. You might think you're always paying attention, but you're not."
He stared at her quizzically, waiting for her to continue.
"Of course sometimes you can't help being surprised, but just remember that everything around you is trying to tell you something. The leaves under your feet, the quiet in the air, the smell of the wind."
She closed her eyes for a moment. "What is your environment telling you?"
He frowned. "That I trust you more than myself."
She opened her eyes, glaring slightly. "What if I'm not worthy of your trust? What if your own hands were the only ones that could save you?"
He met her gaze with equal intensity. "I've killed a ton of those things, but mostly it's just been luck. Does it ever not get scary?"
She let out a breath, not taking her eyes from his. "No. But whether it's one or a thousand, you'd better hope it's them. Because if it's not them, it will most certainly be someone you care about. And I'm not just talking about the walkers."
She watched the expression on his face change, wondering if she'd scared him for good this time, but the quiet thoughtfulness switched to rapid alert.
"Do you hear that?" He asked.
Her ears pricked. She did hear it. In the distance, but getting closer. "Try not to make a sound," she breathed.
He wordlessly handed her the shovel, his grip tightening nervously around the handle of the pickaxe.
She shook her head, removing her knife from its sheath. "I'll get the first one," she hissed.
The low gurgles indicated more than one and she kept her eyes on him, wondering if he'd pick up on that.
"There could be too many," he protested. "You'll need backup."
He raised the pickaxe in front of him, just as three dead ones came into sight. One of them was well behind the other two, and he gulped as the others advanced once they'd caught their scent.
Carol pushed ahead of him, ready to shove her knife, but her boot hit a tree branch in the ground and she tumbled to the floor, gasping sharply.
"Shit!" He yelled as the things caught up to her.
Without hesitation, he swung the pickaxe at one and it went down mid-snarl. He pulled the axe back, bracing himself in the dirt as the rotted skin and bone released the weapon with a loud crunch. In just a second, he plunged the pickaxe the other way at the next walker. This one he had to stab a few times, but it finally fell in a heap.
He crouched down, running his hands up and down her arms as he pulled her up. "Are you alright?" He asked, brows furrowed in a slight panic.
Her face broke out into a smile as she steadied herself.
"You did that on purpose," he realized, still gasping for air.
She didn't say anything as she turned, stepping over the bloody bodies before walking away.
The third walker had reached them, and he angrily reached for the shovel, striking it in the face hard enough to knock it down and then driving the handle forcefully through its brain before running after her.
"Answer me," he demanded, his face red from exertion and anger. "You could've been hurt. Or worse. Why would you do that?"
She looked over her shoulder, only pausing for a second before murmuring, "I guess I have faith in you, too."