He doesn't flinch a bit, watching her as she tends to the scrapes. In the grand scheme of things this is so minor that it almost feels like play-acting, going through the motions. That tough exterior of his, it's not a lie, and it's not something he picked up after the end of the world. Bruises and scrapes are just part of a day's work. But that must be true for Carol, too; she's long been used to worse than this on a a daily basis. If it's just for their peace of mind, they deserve the luxury of that.

"On your bed," he counters, rallying a little and trying to force a smile for her. He can joke. It's part of how they get through. He still hasn't sorted out what that joking means in terms of what happened after the flowers, but that's all right. He's coming to think that maybe it's both; maybe being just a joke doesn't mean it's strictly untrue. Right now, though, maybe it's not the time for wondering about all that.

"Keep that in mind before I bust somethin' next time."