Last week, we left a passed-out Glenn and a panicked Tara in the clutches of a muscular ginger in military fatigues. This week’s episode opens on Tara riding in the back of the Army truck, writing directions in Sharpie on her hand. When the motley crew encounters walkers, the military gent climbs out and stabs two of the undead through the head, leaving one to smash with the butt of Tara’s gun. He isn’t particularly efficient, but he’s cheerful. When Tara comments on his smile, he tells her, “Well, I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
Back in the suburbs (it’s notable that Rick keeps gravitating toward familiarity), Carl and Michonne joke over breakfast. Just as the laughter is in full swing, Carl says he’d rather drink Judith’s formula than Michonne’s hippie soy milk! Womp womp. Every time these characters begin to find solace in each other, they find new emotional stumbling blocks, raw spots that surprise them. The house in which Michonne, Carl, and Rick are situated is lily-white: Michonne stands in an impeccable, colorless kitchen in a starched men’s dress shirt. The color (or lack thereof, depending on your level of nerd) looks immensely out of place in this apocalypse, especially with these wounded warriors wandering around in it. Rick decides they should just stay here while they figure it out; it feels like home, and it’s as safe a space as any.
When Michonne and Carl decide to go on a food run, Rick offers to come along. Michonne isn’t having that; he’s in no shape to travel after his long bout with unconsciousness. He says goodbye on the front porch of the house, asking how long Carl and Michonne think they’ll be. Rick tells his teenage son to “follow her lead.” The scene, positioned on a comfortable, well-furnished patio, plays very much like a proud/nervous dad sending his kid out on his first date. Rick is both proud of his son’s ability to handle himself, and nervous that he’ll lose him forever, so it works well.