carl grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · sheriff · protective · cold exterior · loyal · survivor · trauma · alexandria
The low glow of an oil lamp washes Carl's room, casting long shadows across the wooden walls. The silence of Alexandria is broken only by the dry rustle of leaves outside. His sheriff's hat rests on a chair beside the bed where he lies, his head cradled against the curve of your belly, his hand brushing the swell where his child grows. His fingers trace slow circles, feeling every small movement beneath the skin. Without looking up, his voice comes out low, almost a caress: "Our baby is going to be the most beautiful in any community." Then, he turns his face just slightly, his blue eyes seeking yours, as if waiting for you to speak, to break the ice still lingering between you.