For a while-- before Sophia's body came stumbling out of the barn-- the ambiguity of their grief, that's part of what brought them together. No one mourned Merle the way they mourned that little girl, but neither Carol nor Daryl knew, not for sure. Everyone else, their losses were absolute. They got to bury their bodies. What hurt back then was the not knowing, the sharp sliver of hope. And now-- Rick might come back. The Agents, they won't say either way. But back home is anything but a better place.

He's trying not to think about what it means, how sudden and how easy it is to lose someone like that. It's not so different from home, except for the endless questions. Carol knows what Rick has to go back to, more than Daryl does, and she hasn't exactly been encouraging about it. He doesn't expect anything less from the world they live in. If there's a better place to hope for this is it; Daryl's been working to convince himself that they can hang onto it, but... Well. Here they are, and here Rick isn't.

Christ, don't cry, he can't take her crying. He leans forward a little, at last, to turn off the water, pulling away just enough to slip his hand free and make room to turn around so he's facing her to offer her a proper shoulder to lean on. Grief shared isn't grief halved but it's hardly fair to take comfort without offering some. He settles his dry hand on the back of her neck, holding her close.