Rick yawned tiredly as he sat down on his bed for the first time in hours; the first time since his talk with Jessie. He was exhausted, having been on guard duty for the previous four hours, and to make matters worse, his mind was racing. He kept replaying everything Jessie said to him about Michonne, and it made his entire body tense. He couldn't stop thinking about how right she was, and how obtuse he was, not to have seen it for himself. How he'd managed to fall in love with his best friend and not even notice. And how he had no idea what to do with the information.
He was pulling off his shoes, seriously considering heading downstairs to talk to Michonne right then. But what would he say? Was now the right time? There were nearly twenty people in his house at the moment, so probably not. But he wasn't sure there would ever be a right time.
He sighed heavily as he climbed into his bed, hoping that a few hours of sleep would bring some clarity.
Carl, however, had been watching his father since he walked into the room, and it was clear that something was resting heavy on his mind. He wondered if it was the same thing that was keeping him from sleeping. "Dad," he called out to him in the quietest of whispers.
Rick turned his head towards the twin bed just across from his, not realizing his son had been awake. Those big blue eyes staring back at him. "What are you doin' up," he frowned.
"I couldn't sleep," he shrugged with one shoulder. "I keep thinking about it."
He knew that feeling all too well, figuring he wouldn't find much in the way of slumber with all the things on his mind. But he and Carl obviously weren't pondering the same thing at the moment. "Thinking about what?"
"The herd," Carl said, scrunching up his face. He wasn't sure there was anything else to think of. "It's gonna get in here and ruin this place."
Rick sighed again, and repositioned himself in his bed, lying on his side so that he was facing his son. He needed a temporary reprieve from the harshness of the day. "Everything's gonna be fine," he promised, looking him in the eye.
"You know I'm not a little kid anymore," Carl submitted, resting his hand underneath his cheek. "You can be straight with me about how bad it is."
"It's bad," he answered. "But I'm not telling you everything's gonna be okay because you're a kid. I'm telling you because I believe it. And I need you to believe it, too."
He stared back at his dad, wondering why he had so much anguish on his face then. He looked like he wanted to throw up. "You're not nervous?" he wondered.
"I am." Rick moved his right hand beneath his right cheek as well. "There's always somethin' scary about the unknown. But you were the one that reminded me, back in Georgia, whatever it is, we can get through it."
"I did say that, didn't I?" Carl recalled in a whisper. "Too late to take that back, huh?"
Rick offered a tired smile in reply. "You were right," he said. "We've survived everything we've been through."
"Somehow..."
"We're strong," he answered simply.
Carl nodded, his eyes glancing down to where Judith's crib was situated. He then looked back up at his dad. "Do you ever wonder what things would've been like if Mom had lived?"
