He doesn't realize how much he had been touching her, not until he couldn't. Not until she's there, in front of him, and he can't reach her, in his dreams. He doesn't think about carrying her into the kitchen, he doesn't think about piggybacking. What he remembers most, worst, is the smaller ones. His fingers on the inside of her small arm, or on her back, guiding her.
Tryin' to act like it weren't no big thing, but she had to know. How could she not?
The dreams are hard and heavy, in that train car, especially after looking at Maggie's blood-splattered face. They're barely able to tell how long they've all been in there. Someone had been knocking sporadically against the walls, mocking them, like they were pets. At least, until Daryl had thrown himself across the car and tried to put his boot through the metal wall. He drifts in and out, he can't tell if he falls asleep for fifteen minutes or 10 hours. He can't tell if he's been without Beth for years, or two months, or she'd only left when he opened his eyes.
It gets harder when Maggie tells them that they'd found the bus, but it was only Woodbury people, virtual strangers. Not her family. She whispers that they put them all down, to make sure. She says, she hasn't seen Beth, or... Judith.
While Rick flinches at the name of his daughter, he chokes out, "We..." But his voice cracks and Carl is the one to finish: "We found her car seat."
But then Rick turns his head. Rick stares at him, his eyes clearly leaving it in Daryl's hands. Beth.
He has to tell. He has to say something.
He finally nods. He tries to ignore everyone else. Maggie has caught on to something, she leans toward him. She waits. "I got out with Beth." He coughs. "She'd been lookin' for the kids. Wasn't on the bus."
But then his throat fills with all the things he was too shy to say to Beth. He feels as choked as Rick. He feels like an open wound. He feels like a total failure.
Maggie whispers, "What happened?"
And for a second, he wants to be mad that she immediately assumes her sister didn't make it. Just another dead girl. You see just another dead girl. He's harsher than he really intends when he says, "She ain't dead. We don't know." But it's ok that he's harsh, that his voice is seething, like all the times Rick's held him back from fighting anyone that pissed him off. It's ok, because he means what he says. So he meets Maggie's eyes, swimming with tears and surprise and confusion, and he repeats, "We don't know."
Maggie eventually nods. It's a deal they make, just the two of them.