[ Negan does his best not to stare as she settles down and tucks in. An odd sort of nostalgia grips him, reminding him of the tense dinners he and his wife shared prior to the apocalypse or her cancer diagnosis. Back when he lost his job and she was the sole breadwinner in their home. He forces the thought away because it doesn't really have a place here. ]
Yeah, the rosemary really comes through. Compliments the thyme.
[ He takes a bite and sets his spoon to the side, taking the pitcher of water from the center of the table to pour himself a glass. ]
I assume you'll probably wanna lay down some ground rules, right? With us sharing this place and all. I promise all the ladies I bring back will be brought strictly to the bedroom and not out in the common area.
[ The whole thing feels a little familiar to Carol, too. Not that Ed had ever made dinner. Or shown any real interest in her own cooking, except to berate her when it, for whatever reason, wasn't up to his standards. ]
I never tried it with thyme.
[ But ground rules are really the last thing she wants to think about right now. She just nods in agreement, clearly distracted and looking down at her stew instead of up at Negan. ]
Mmhmm.
[ Her fingers and toes have grown back, with no outward sign they'd ever been missing, but they still ache a little. And she's never stopped being aware of the tattoo on her chest. It doesn't hurt anymore, but she can't help feeling like there's something wrong with it. Like she'd been marked with more than just ink.
She sets her spoon down to stretch her fingers, unconsciously raising her hand to rub at the tattoo under her shirt as she looks up at Negan. ]
What?
slides in here late. If you want to drop this, we can!
[ Yeah. Something is definitely off. His eyes linger on Carol for an uncomfortable moment before he looks back down at his stew, stirring it idly. There's another moment where he contemplates leaving things lie -- continuing to act like things are just peachy and normal and there's not some storm cloud hanging over them, that it hasn't been there since the haunted house. But ultimately, that is never his style. ]
We can talk about it if you want.
[ An offer. He gives her the option to refuse, which he's sure she's going to take. But if she wants to go on and on about how much hell sucks, how much that island sucked, what happened that's got her so unfocused and out of it -- he gives her that option, too. He doesn't like seeing Carol like this. He doesn't like seeing her without her bite. ]
'Cause if you bottle this shit in...
[ If she bottles this shit in, maybe some other kid's gonna die or something. He doesn't know. She couldn't be around people....Carol had tried to explain. He shoves a bite in his mouth to give him time to think of a proper ending for that sentence. Chew, chew. Swallow. ]
If you bottle this shit in, it's gonna compound. You're gonna break. And I get it, maybe I'm not the guy you wanna talk to about it. There's people here you trust way more. But also, maybe I'm exactly the guy you wanna talk to about it for that same reason.
[ Less of a chance of him overreacting. Less of a chance of him coddling her unnecessarily. ]
[ Carol's silent, picking at her stew. She doesn't know what she wants. Is bottling it up really that bad? She's bottled up so much else in her life, why not this?
Because that had always worked out so well, right?
She shakes her head, still gazing down at her food. He's right that he's just about the last person she'd think to seek out to talk to. About anything. But he also hadn't been there, a hallucination or deception cooked up just to torment her specifically. She hadn't had to watch him cutting pieces off of her while she screamed in pain and begged him to stop.
She can't say the same for Rick and Daryl.
A shudder goes through her at the memory, and she curls her foot protectively under her chair, tucking her right hand securely into her lap. Logically, she knows that she's safe. That it's over. That it had never really been Rick or Daryl or Ezekiel torturing her.
But there's a big difference between knowing that and believing it.
A single tear trickles down her cheek, and she makes a quiet, unhappy sound, raising her hand again to wipe it away. ]
Talking won't fix it.
[ It's a harsh, angry half-whisper, the first hint she's shown of her old self. ]
[ They're both old enough to know there's no magic fix to problems. It's all about how strong your will is in these apocalyptic days to keep you together, to keep you from breaking. But hell has clearly targeted Carol. It knows she's damn stronger than most and is doing whatever it takes to get to her.
He eyes the tear and its descent down her cheek. One tear. The others seem to be repressed. ]
But it could help fix you.
[ Those words linger as he takes a bite before continuing on. ]
The more you hold it in, the faster this place is gonna get to you. Like I said, maybe I'm not the guy you wanna talk about this shit to. But you also know I'm good for my word. I didn't tell Daryl or Rick what I saw in that haunted house. I won't tell 'em this either.
[ She looks up at him when he mentions the haunted house. They'd both seen more than they wanted to there, more than they'd have ever wanted anyone else to see. But he's right. Whatever he'd thought of her after seeing that, however disgusted and horrified he may have been at what she'd done, he'd kept it to himself. And she realizes with a little bit of surprise that she has every intention of doing the same. He hadn't asked her not to tell anyone about his wife, or the nightmare they'd gone through together. But she knows she never will.
They're not friends. But maybe she can tell him a little. Maybe it'll even help.
She hesitates a moment longer, and then reaches up, pulling back the side of her robe to reveal the spiral tattoo on her upper chest. ]
I got caught.
[ She closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath. Makes herself say it out loud. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yeah, the rosemary really comes through. Compliments the thyme.
[ He takes a bite and sets his spoon to the side, taking the pitcher of water from the center of the table to pour himself a glass. ]
I assume you'll probably wanna lay down some ground rules, right? With us sharing this place and all. I promise all the ladies I bring back will be brought strictly to the bedroom and not out in the common area.
no subject
I never tried it with thyme.
[ But ground rules are really the last thing she wants to think about right now. She just nods in agreement, clearly distracted and looking down at her stew instead of up at Negan. ]
Mmhmm.
[ Her fingers and toes have grown back, with no outward sign they'd ever been missing, but they still ache a little. And she's never stopped being aware of the tattoo on her chest. It doesn't hurt anymore, but she can't help feeling like there's something wrong with it. Like she'd been marked with more than just ink.
She sets her spoon down to stretch her fingers, unconsciously raising her hand to rub at the tattoo under her shirt as she looks up at Negan. ]
What?
slides in here late. If you want to drop this, we can!
We can talk about it if you want.
[ An offer. He gives her the option to refuse, which he's sure she's going to take. But if she wants to go on and on about how much hell sucks, how much that island sucked, what happened that's got her so unfocused and out of it -- he gives her that option, too. He doesn't like seeing Carol like this. He doesn't like seeing her without her bite. ]
'Cause if you bottle this shit in...
[ If she bottles this shit in, maybe some other kid's gonna die or something. He doesn't know. She couldn't be around people....Carol had tried to explain. He shoves a bite in his mouth to give him time to think of a proper ending for that sentence. Chew, chew. Swallow. ]
If you bottle this shit in, it's gonna compound. You're gonna break. And I get it, maybe I'm not the guy you wanna talk to about it. There's people here you trust way more. But also, maybe I'm exactly the guy you wanna talk to about it for that same reason.
[ Less of a chance of him overreacting. Less of a chance of him coddling her unnecessarily. ]
never <3
Because that had always worked out so well, right?
She shakes her head, still gazing down at her food. He's right that he's just about the last person she'd think to seek out to talk to. About anything. But he also hadn't been there, a hallucination or deception cooked up just to torment her specifically. She hadn't had to watch him cutting pieces off of her while she screamed in pain and begged him to stop.
She can't say the same for Rick and Daryl.
A shudder goes through her at the memory, and she curls her foot protectively under her chair, tucking her right hand securely into her lap. Logically, she knows that she's safe. That it's over. That it had never really been Rick or Daryl or Ezekiel torturing her.
But there's a big difference between knowing that and believing it.
A single tear trickles down her cheek, and she makes a quiet, unhappy sound, raising her hand again to wipe it away. ]
Talking won't fix it.
[ It's a harsh, angry half-whisper, the first hint she's shown of her old self. ]
no subject
[ They're both old enough to know there's no magic fix to problems. It's all about how strong your will is in these apocalyptic days to keep you together, to keep you from breaking. But hell has clearly targeted Carol. It knows she's damn stronger than most and is doing whatever it takes to get to her.
He eyes the tear and its descent down her cheek. One tear. The others seem to be repressed. ]
But it could help fix you.
[ Those words linger as he takes a bite before continuing on. ]
The more you hold it in, the faster this place is gonna get to you. Like I said, maybe I'm not the guy you wanna talk about this shit to. But you also know I'm good for my word. I didn't tell Daryl or Rick what I saw in that haunted house. I won't tell 'em this either.
no subject
They're not friends. But maybe she can tell him a little. Maybe it'll even help.
She hesitates a moment longer, and then reaches up, pulling back the side of her robe to reveal the spiral tattoo on her upper chest. ]
I got caught.
[ She closes her eyes, draws in a deep breath. Makes herself say it out loud. ]
Tortured.