She hums affirmatively, too afraid of speaking about Hershel in the obvious past tense to say more. Taking Daryl's hand, she gently pats the injuries with the soaked cotton. It may sting but this is the man who pulled a crossbow out of his own body and then climbed an embankment, she won't insult him by assuming it'll hurt him.

"You know," she says as she carefully cleans his scraped knuckles, "there are easier ways to get into my room." If he won't say it, she will. And as she glances up, the playful glint in her eyes says she just knows he was thinking it, even though she knows no such thing. Among anyone else it might be considered a poorly timed joke but between them, they know if they wait for a good time, a peaceful and uneventful time, there'll never be jokes again.