Joan opens her mouth, and then promptly closes it. For once, she admonishes herself, think before you fucking talk.

Because, loathe as she is to admit it, there's honor in paying your dues. If you end up under someone's thumb because they saved your life, it's not the same as being someone else's chewtoy. She can relent, at least, to the logic of it.

And at least she knows not to dig around deeper about owing people. She doesn't want more of his sob story, from fear that she's goddamn empathize with him. Again.

"So who is in charge?" Someone who could keep Merle Dixon in line, is who. Someone smart, and strong, and fucking patient.