It was no secret Rick was unsteady. It was in the way he would disappear for hours on end, only to be found in the woods, wandering, talking to himself, or in the cellars, waiting by the telephone. It was in the shouting matches and the reckless stunts and the thousand yard stare he always seemed to have.

But you never doubted his judgement, not once. If Rick said someone was a danger to their (dwindling) group, they were to be led out or killed. That's just the way things were. Though there were certain...rebellious things you did on your time he hadn't found out about yet.

After Hershel demanded Rick snap out of it, and step up to be the leader he was before, Rick had gotten better, stepped up more, but there was still that coldness he'd developed over the cold winter months below the surface.

He wandered in from his guard duty, with warning from Carl that you'd been gone the past two hours and hadn't told anybody where you were going, only to return now, looking flustered and dazed. A firm, unhappy look was on his face as he came into the old cafeteria, grabbing your arm firmly around your bicep.

"And where the hell have you been, missy?" he grit out, rifle still around his tense shoulders.