Carol had been to the infirmary more times than she could count in two days, and each time she walked in, she found Rick and Michonne in the same positions she'd left them in - sitting at Carl's bedside, right next to one another. Sometimes, Rick would be holding his son's arm, or Michonne's hand rested on his leg, but they didn't vary much outside of that. She would bring Judith over a few times a day, which lifted their spirits ever-so-slightly, and she always came bearing food, and offers to watch Carl while they got some rest, but it seemed that the two of them had resolved to make themselves miserable until Carl woke up.
On that particular evening, as she brought in dinner for the grieving duo, she was relieved to find that Rick was at least resting his head on Carl's bed. His eyes were even closed, giving the illusion that he might have actually been getting some sleep.
Carol tiptoed inside, beginning to quietly set up their dinner plates on the nearest counter, while Michonne watched gratefully. People had been in and out of the infirmary almost nonstop, offering their support and their consolation, even when she and Rick didn't have words to say in return. And it was Carol who came by repeatedly, in the midst of all her other duties, just to check on things, and Michonne was moved by how genuinely kind their entire family was. She'd always known it – from the literal day she met the group at the prison, watching as Rick reunited with Carol - but to actually feel it was something else entirely.
"Thank you," she called out to Carol in a whisper, not wanting to wake Rick from his first nap all day. "You really don't have to do this, you know."
"Nonsense," Carol whispered back. "We've been through this before. I know he wouldn't eat otherwise, and you probably wouldn't either."
"I would make him eat," Michonne promised, glancing at Rick with a small smile. He had just given his son two pints of blood, after all. "But it's nice that I don't really have to."
"I wish you two would come home for a bit. Get a shower, get some sleep."
"Can't leave," she declined, her eyes darting up to Carl's precious face now. "Not-"
"Not until he wakes up," Carol nodded knowingly, having heard it several times from Michonne and Rick by now. "I probably wouldn't leave either, if I were you," she admitted. "I just want you two to take care of yourselves. After everything that's happened, you can't afford not to."
"I just don't wanna miss it," Michonne explained simply, still studying Carl in all his frailty. "If he wakes up, Rick has to be here. I have to be here."
"I understand," she promised, walking towards the three of them now. She placed a comforting hand on Michonne's shoulder as she gazed over at Rick and Carl. She remembered the first time Carl had gotten shot, and her mind glossed past a thought of Sophia. And then Sam… "I should get back out there," she said, referring to the cleanup process going on inside the walls. "But you better use that walkie-talkie if you need anything at all."
Michonne smiled at her insistence. "I will."
"Good."
She watched as Carol disappeared from the room, and then turned back to Carl, her eyes scanning his entire body for the millionth time. He wasn't even breathing on his own, but it still relieved her to see the rise and fall of his chest. To feel the warmth of his body when she rested her hand on him. It gave her small spurts of hope when she thought about the fact that he was still there. There was still a chance. Not like Andre. Not like Sam and Jessie and Ron. Carl could come back from this, and she truly believed he would. She had no reason to believe he wouldn't. The bullet was gone. Major veins and arteries were in tact. Minor head trauma from the impact of hitting the ground when he was shot, but nothing unfixable. And once again, she could hear Rick's voice echoing in her mind. You get to come back. With all the sadness surrounding them, she just needed to be reminded of that. They could all come back from this.
