Her eyes burn more as he moves into hug her. Her expression crumples. Her head bowed low. She wants to scream at him. Not because of the argument, she's forgotten all about that for now. It couldn't possibly be on her mind right now. No, she wants to scream, because he died, and he shouldn't be comforting her. He. is. the. one. who. died. It's not about what she feels (and she's too used to killing people who are walkers because that part isn't hard anymore, that part doesn't hurt her. it was him being dead that did it, it was him being in pain and her not being there, it was her not being there to stop him from turning at all).

But it's about him. It's about the fact he was dead. Hollowed out, gone.

But she can't get the words out.

He moves in close, and she clutches him more tightly, pulling him to her. She presses her face to his chest so she can feel the beating of his heart, and as soon as she does, her eyes flood with the tears she'd kept at bay around everyone else. Always so capable of doing what she has to do, what needs to be done, but she's around him again, and every single wall crumbles. Her fingertips dig in harder to him. She's shaking. She doesn't trust herself to let go long enough to hug him instead of clutching stupidly to his clothing.

The tears slip down her face and wet his shirt, which is still covered in dried blood.