It Could be Like This
Rick and Michonne finally turned in for the night. Before that, they spent hours by Carl's bed at the infirmary waiting for something positive to happen. It was hard for them to see him laying there motionless. The color in his cheeks gone. His hair, matted in his own blood. Not knowing if he was going to live or die. Hours before that, he was shot by Ron Anderson. Was it jealousy. Was it retaliation for executing his father. Rick was not sure but he felt it was a bit of both. Now, his son lay on that hospital bed in a coma. It is hard for a parent to see their child's life hanging in the balance. Denise, the one doctor around was glad to report that the bullet had passed through his head. She was able to stop the bleeding and remove as many pieces of shrapnel from his head. She said there was a fair amount of swelling of his brain which was worrying. Looking directly at Rick, she said that there was not much else she could do. The rest was left to Carl to pull through.
When it happened, it was as if Rick was watching everything in slow motion. Ron, holding the gun up, taking aim and squeezing the trigger. His son's head snapping back and him crumpling to the ground. Everything after that was a blur. He barely remembered carrying him to the infirmary. As Michonne cleared a path for him, slashing and slicing away, walker heads sent flying, she heard him say, "Not again, not again." At the infirmary, they watched Denise work on Carl. Meanwhile, Michonne, his constant, his rock, held him in her arms. He cried on her shoulders. The pain he felt, it was as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest. Never letting go, she held him for a long time until his tears subsided. He felt low but it was her warm embrace that kept him going. He was glad she was there with him. Without her, he didn't know where he'd be.
Judith spent the night with Rosita and Morgan had already moved out and got his own place. So it was just Rick and Michonne in the house. Rick lay on his back in the twin bed. He stared up at the ceiling and he looked to his right. His heart sank on seeing his son's vacant bed. He was tired not having slept in for more than a day. But he couldn't sleep. Restlessness overtook him. Turning on his side, he shut his eyes and commanded himself to sleep. That didn't work. His eyes popped open, again. He turned on his back then on his side. He did this again, and again. For a while, he tossed and turned before he finally sat straight up. Moving over to the edge of his bed, he buried his head in his hands. His heart racing, anxiety climbing, he felt he was close to losing it. He had to do something. Anything. He stood up and paced up and down the width of the small room for what seemed a thousand times. That didn't work. Heart thumping wildly away, his chest felt tight. He needed to breathe. He needed air. He needed Michonne.
Walking up to her room, he held up his hand about to knock on the door. It was wide open, as she always kept it. Although it was dark, from where he stood, he could see her laying on her back. She, like him, slept fully clothed. Always prepared. Always on high alert. She was in black jeans and white tank top. No covers. Her face was turned away from him so it was hard to determine if she was asleep or awake. His hand up, hovering close to the door, he stood thinking. He wanted her, he needed her, but he didn't want to wake her. She needed her rest. He dropped his hand to his side and turned to walk away.
Michonne had showered and changed before she went to bed. She was tired, her body ached, but she could not sleep. Laying on her back, she thought about Carl. It pained her thinking about him in the infirmary, alone and fighting for his life. A sadness enveloped her. Like an angler, it latched on and wouldn't let go. "He's got to pull through. He will.", she told herself. She turned her head and looked to the other side of her king size bed and remembered Rick insisting on her taking the master bedroom. Then, she refused his offer but he was adamant. So, she took it. It seemed unfair to her to be the one to get the biggest bedroom and the biggest bed in the house. She didn't feel she deserved it. Slowly extending her arm, she touched the empty side of the bed and left her arm there.
A creak in the floor boards pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Rick?", she said softly and turned her head and stared at the doorway.
A figure appeared. Rick slowly entered the room and stood before her and in front of the closet. He was shirtless. He was only in black jeans. Flat, wash board stomach and muscular arms. She has seen him without a shirt before, but not this close. Sitting up, she moved to the edge of the bed and reached for the lamp on the night table nearby.
"No. Don't.", he said. He didn't want her to turn it on.
His voice was low. The lowest she has ever heard. Standing there, not saying anything more, he broke down. Raising her arms up to him, he went to her. Crashing to the floor, he knelt down between her legs, and sobbed. The burden was too much for him to bear. She wrapped her arms about him, cradling his head to her chest while his body shook. Tears came to her eyes as she held him close. His ear, pressed up against her chest, he could hear her heart beating. A calmness came over him. He felt he'd come home. Then, just like that, the tears eased.
All the while, Michonne's eyes were closed. With her head resting on his, she rocked him in her arms and hummed a beautiful tune. She didn't notice when he stopped crying. She did notice however, his arms wrapped around her waist, his hands resting on her hips. The way they were, it felt right. He felt her fingers slowly and gently combing through his hair. Her melodious sounds caressed his ears. Her warm touches relaxed him. No words were exchanged. They drew strength from each other just from holding each other. He breathed more freely and the world no longer felt like it was crashing around him.
*~OooO~*
Morning came. Rick was the first to wake. He was in Michonne's bed laying on his side. She was also laying on her side, facing him. Her eyes were closed. Her face angelic. He slowly reached over and moved her locks away from her face. They were still clothed as they were the night before. He felt completely rested, positive, renewed, and it was all to her doing. A thought came to him that it could be like this. He watched her sleep and found himself smiling. Slowly, her eyes opened and she saw him smiling and she smiled right back.
**OooxxxooO**
