Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Spoilers for "Consumed". Particularly the office scene in the episode where the dialogue originated. This was written directly after "Consumed" aired.

Warnings: *Contains: adult language, angst, hurt/comfort, season five spoilers, reference to the usual emotional trauma as well as a bit of unexpected bonding along the way.

My skin has seen worse sins (so take my hand and squeeze)

"The reason I said we get to start over…"

"It's cause we gotta."

"…The way it was."

He didn't believe it because he had to.

Or even because she had to.

He believed it because it was right.

He was right, god damn it.

He wanted what they'd had back in the prison.

That life.

What'd been taken from them.

He wanted the warmth back.

The closeness.

The nights spent drowsing over crappy best sellers and old movies. Yackin' about what was what on the good ol' prison grape vine. Who was shackin' up with who, or at least who outta be. What stupid baby junk Judith or one of the kids needed this week, what they were low on in Doctor S's kit.

He wanted the private amusement that'd soared – syrup-thick and heady - in the air above their heads when he pulled back in to the yard after a couple day long run. Puffed up with pride and practically preening in that awkward, downtrodden sort of way he hadn't quite outgrown as he squinted out at the world from behind the sweaty line of his fringe. Chin ducking into his chest, voice raspy-rough and damn near playful when she came runnin' out to greet him.

All the little stupid shit that makes the difference between a house and a home.

He wanted it all back, plus interest.

And he didn't give two shits and a walker corpse if that made him sound greedy.

Maybe it was his right.

Maybe it was theirs.

Their right for surviving this long.

They weren't ashes.

They weren't done.

They'd just gotten a bit lost is all.

But maybe that was the point.

You had to get back to the part where you were ready to start tryin' again.

Tryin' to live.

Tryin' to be.

Tryin' to be okay in spite of it all the shit the world kept slingin' at them.

Because hell if things didn't keep on turnin'.

It weren't kind. Probably wasn't even right in the scheme of things. But these days you had to make your peace with the fact that if you didn't want to try, you really had no business stickin' around in the first place.

The soft little "yeah" she uttered in response was moody and raw in all the wrong ways.

But he'd take it.

For now.

He could write a fuckin' novel on all the ways he hated it.

Hated the way she wouldn't meet him. Eyes up but still not shining with the same strength he figured they outta. Clutching at the strap of her bag like it was the only thing keeping her from spillin' everything she was keepin' inside.

But for now he'd let it sit.

It was a start, after all.

Her way of tryin'.

A man couldn't ask any more than that.

A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This drabble is now complete.