A/N - Lighthearted disclaimer - I'm not a nurse! My medical degree is from Professor Google, so if I have made ridiculous mistakes please feel free to point them out in a kind/constructive manner. Thanks all.
In later months Rick would look back on this moment with only vague recollections, foggy memories that consisted of the all too familiar feeling of dread. Though he would spend quite some time playing it in his head over and over again, the details of what happened and what was said were nothing compared to the spiralling loss of control and inability to help. When he'd recognised the body in Abraham's arms as his child, everything else that might be going on in Alexandria vanished. Panicked thoughts of where Carrie was slipped from his mind as he looked at Carl, seeing only his limp arms and legs swaying, the horrific wound on his face from which a steady stream of blood was coursing. So horrified was he that Abraham managed to run straight past him, ignoring his weak enquiry as to what had happened. While Glenn and the others kept running to the sound of the gunshot Rick followed his son, Michonne rushing ahead and opening the Infirmary door.
"Denise!" Abraham roared at the panicked flurry of residents who had followed. "Someone find Denise, now!"
In seconds Carl was inside, set down onto the gurney Michonne brought to meet them at the door. While Abraham seized the sheets from a nearby bed and pressed them against Carl's face the Infirmary suddenly filled with activity, panicked shouts calling for bandages and towels. Rick on the other hand was silent, horror rendering him speechless as he approached his son's bedside. Had he ever seen his child so small and helpless? He lay motionless, one arm hanging from the bed, a far cry from the young man going through a growth spurt that saw him outgrow two pairs of shoes in as many months. Needing to be by his side, to see for himself what the injuries were Rick came closer. Without consciously deciding to do so he reached for Carl's neck and began feeling for a pulse. As he waited to feel the throb an awful pressure began building in his head, his mind going numb when he struggled to find it. He couldn't feel anything…Carl was dead.
"Everyone get back. Move!" Denise shouted, her tone leaving no room for argument. She strode past the panicked onlookers into the Infirmary, casting her eyes over Carl as she headed for the kitchen and pulled on some gloves. "This is a gunshot?"
"Point blank range," Abraham said, still holding the bedsheets against Carl's face.
"Rick, step back," she instructed, coming over to Carl's side. "Move, now."
His fingers were still pressed against Carl's neck when he tried to speak, to tell her that he couldn't feel a pulse, that she had to do something. She had to save him, he needed to tell her that, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. It wasn't until he felt someone tugging on his arm that he finally complied with Denise's instructions.
"Denise," he finally managed to say. "Sa-"
"Where's the exit wound?" she asked, ignoring him.
"None. It's non-penetrating."
This answer made Denise pause. A moment passed before she took a stethoscope from a nearby cart and fixed the buds into her ear, and the entire Infirmary collectively held their breath as she pressed the speaker to Carl's chest. She moved it around and then closed her eyes. Her shoulder's slumped for a moment, making Rick think the worst.
"Is he dead?" Rick asked hoarsely, needing to know. He swayed where he stood, waiting for the answer. "Denise?"
Again she ignored his question, and she stood straight as she removed the ear buds and hung the stethoscope around her neck. She took a quick look around the Infirmary, taking in who was there and who was not. "Spencer, I need IVs from the fridge and all the clean towels you can find," she instructed calmly. "Abraham stay right there, keep pressure on the wound."
"I'll cannulate," Brody offered, already inserting himself into the flurry and pulling on some gloves. "Annie, can you bring over a monitor? We'll need his vitals."
"Denise," Rick began again, needing an answer. "Is he-"
"He's still alive, Rick," she stated, lifting the blood soaked sheets and looking at the wound. "I need you to stay where you are, don't come any closer."
As everyone crowded around the bed and Rick got pushed further and further back the pressure in his head began to grow, his body trembling with the need to do something for his son, to do anything. He couldn't stand there motionless, he needed to help him, to fix this. Swaying on his feet he pressed his hands against his face, the growing pressure in his head needing a release. It was beyond his comprehension that there wasn't anything he could do, that he was incapable of helping his son. Surely it wasn't too late…there had to be time to fix things, to go back and change what happened. Allowing himself a few moments of anguish Rick finally looked up again, watching as everyone bustled around, Annie pressing round stickers onto Carl's chest and attaching long wires to them.
"I - I don't know how to turn this on," she said, her face alight in panic as she looked around for help. "Pete never showed me…Spencer? Can you help?"
In an instant Rick felt something change, the anguish and terror he felt beginning to recede from his body. There was nothing he could do to help his son, but that didn't mean he had to stand there doing nothing at all. His hands clenched as he remembered who must have done this to Carl, who must be responsible for hurting him. Pete had disappeared from the celebrations, his whereabouts unaccounted for when the gunshots were fired. This was him, it had to be, and Rick knew exactly what he needed to do about it too. He had already turned to track down this mongrel and kill him as promised, pushing away those who tried to stop him leaving.
"I need Pete," Denise called out loudly, she and Abraham swiftly swapping the bloodied sheets for surgical towels. "Someone find him, now."
"No Pete," Abraham said.
These words made Rick stop in his tracks, the entire Infirmary falling silent again as they turned to Abraham. Rick turned too, his train of thought coming to a startling halt. Had he heard correctly? No Pete?
"I don't care what's going on," Denise said impatiently, holding the towels against the wound. "I need him. There's an artery severed, it could be the ophthalmic. I can't st -"
"No Pete," Abraham repeated firmly, looking Denise in the eye. "Trust me…no Pete."
The silence continued, everyone looking to Denise as this news sunk in. No Pete…was it really that simple? Rick watched Denise's face, willing her to handle the situation, to take control like he knew she could. It barely registered in his mind that Pete had to be dead, for in that moment his satisfaction was eclipsed by the flash of panic in Denise's eyes, her realisation that she was doing this alone. She looked at Carl and then closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.
"Denise," he croaked, starting back towards her. "Do something, please."
She looked him in the eye and nodded, though her confidence appeared to be lacking. "Get Carrie or Francine," she instructed someone else. "They have steady hands, I'll need them to -"
"No Carrie either."
At this statement Rick swayed precariously, reaching out and pressing his hand against the wall to steady himself. This was too much…too much was happening at once. He felt faint, his head was spinning as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of what was happening. Until now he hadn't been able to spare a thought for the woman he loved, but now? No Carrie either…she was dead too. His knees buckled beneath him, his head feeling as though he had to fight for consciousness. This couldn't be happening…he couldn't lose Carl and Carrie, he wouldn't survive it.
As he allowed himself to sink down to the floor he looked up at his son and watched them working on him, determined to keep himself together. If Carl died he needed his father by his side, he deserved that much. Rick barely noticed when Michonne left his side to help Denise, nor that Rosita had abandoned the eastern watch post and was currently tightening a tourniquet around his upper arm before piercing the crook of his elbow to draw blood. As the excess people were ushered out of the Infirmary and Denise began her work Rick sat quietly on the floor, watching on in silence. Despite not having Pete there by her side Denise seemed to be completely in control, only a slight look of uncertainty revealing itself on her face as she and Francine removed some of the towels and started working on Carl's injury.
Without warning a sound broke Rick from his thoughts, one of the most beautiful sounds he had heard in all his life. From the monitor that Annie and Spencer were working on came a steady beep, the screen illuminating to show a lines of peaks and troughs of a heart beat. Carl was alive, his pulse making itself known to all those who were desperately waiting for it. In that moment Rick felt himself steadying, his foggy mind clearing up and bringing him back to earth. In this moment he was exactly where he needed to be, and the sound of Carl's pulse affirmed that for him.
Taking a deep breath he looked down at his left arm, watching as his blood drained from his body into a bag, collected and ready to help save his son. He watched it pooling for a few minutes, his eyes focused on that while he listened to Denise and the others working. This was the third time Carl had been shot, and as he dwelled on this he recalled a superstition common among law enforcement and health professionals. It comes in threes. Three car car wrecks, three bar fights, three unexpected deaths. This was the third time Carl had been shot, and Rick told himself this would be the third time he pulled through, the third time he beat all the odds. Minutes or hours passed, he didn't know which, and then finally came the time he'd been waiting for. While Rosita disconnected the small bag of Rick's blood and attached an empty one, Sasha appeared by his other side with a juice box in hand.
"Drink this," she instructed. "Then Denise says you can come over."
He tried to brush off the juice, claiming he didn't need it, but Sasha wouldn't hear of it. The idea of taking care of his own body was incomprehensible, but he knew that more blood was going to be taken from him, that if he had any intention of being there for his son he needed to be conscious. Doing as he was told he started to drink, looking up and noticing that Tobin was in the Infirmary too, he too giving blood for Carl, and not for the first time either. Rick didn't have the capacity to extend his gratitude, unable to do anything other than let Sasha help him back to his feet before taking him over to Carl's side.
Just like before he lay still and silent on the bed, a small amount of blood already being transfused. His heart beat in a steady rhythm, it's slow pace indicating that all was well. On the other side of the bed Michonne was cutting Carl's clothing off while Annie thoughtfully covered him with a blanket. Paying attention to the strangest of things, Rick turned back and looked at the clothing properly, taking note that it wasn't his bathing suit but rather his jeans and a tee-shirt. He had departed the celebrations in his bathing suit, and some time had changed into another set of cleaning clothing? When had he done that?
Focusing his attention where it was needed, he slowly approached Carl's side and then took his hand into his own, its warmth a reassurance in the midst of his torment. Despite this comfort Rick looked at Carl in silence, unable to speak. As if he were merely sleeping he lay on his head turned, the overhead light shining directly onto the surgical towel that Denise still pressed against his face. Rick looked at it long and hard, knowing in his head what was left beneath it, but still struggling to comprehend the enormity of the consequences. Surely this couldn't be happened to him, not to Carl…it was a mistake. He kept telling himself that it wasn't too late, trying to bargain with a God who hadn't listen to him in years. There must still be time to go back and fix this, there must be something he could do to set things right again. It was unfathomable that he couldn't do anything to help his child.
"He's stable," Denise said to him quietly. Perched on a low stool she still sat by Carl's head, her voice slightly muffled by the blue mask she wore over her mouth and nose. "Do you want to see?"
He nodded, still unable to speak. In truthfulness he never wanted to see Carl's injury, he wanted to pretend it didn't exist, that this was just an awful nightmare, but this was his duty as a father. He braced himself as Denise gently pulled back the surgical towels and began talking him through what had happened. The injury was worse than he had expected, and he struggled to make out exactly what it was he was seeing.
"He was shot point blank range," Denise began, indicating to his cheek. "See the muzzle burn and the cut on his nose? The trajectory is upward. The bullet hasn't penetrated the skull, it looks like it's just passed over the superior and inferior orbital bones. It probably grazed the eyeball enough to destroy it completely."
Rick nodded again, managing to keep up with what she was telling him.
"The sphenoid and ethmoid bones are still intact, so the internal orbital structure is intact. That means no apparent brain injury, but we won't know for sure until he wakes. The optic nerve and some ligaments have completely retracted back into the skull. I've closed the severed artery and I'm just keeping it clamped for a little longer."
He nodded a second time, peering a little closer when she prompted him to. He could hardly make out what she was referring to…Carl's eye and cheek were now a mutilated mess of blood and flesh, the intricacies of the injury indistinguishable to him. "Is he going to live?" he finally managed to ask, the words almost to difficult to ask.
"My tentative assessment? Yes, he's going to live," she stated. There was a short pause before she sighed heavily, readjusting a clamp before replacing the surgical towel she had pressed over the wound. "I've got to keep cleaning debris from the wound, and once I'm satisfied with the artery I'll pack the wound and put on a dressing. Antibiotics, morphine when his blood pressure is a little higher…that's all I can do."
All the breath seemed to leave his body, Rick slowly coming around to the realisation that Carl was going to survive, that he was going to live. "Thank you," he said heavily, unable to convey the depth of his gratitude. It was impossible to put into words the gravity of what Denise had done, that she had saved his child's life, that he'd never be able to repay her.
With that, it seemed to be over. Sooner than Rick expected Carl was moved into the front bedroom, Abraham and Denise moving him into the bed and getting him warm and comfortable. A bandage had been wound around his head, hiding the extent of the injury that had nearly taken his life. Still struggling to comprehend it all Rick had taken his place at Carl's side and not moved, sitting by his bed with his hand in his, waiting for his fingers to tighten and indicate that he was alright. But as the hours slipped by, Denise coming in and out every fifteen minutes to check on him, Carl showed no sign of waking.
With the understanding that it could take hours for him to rouse Rick sat and waited, the shadows of the room growing longer as the sun began to set. Night soon fell, the only light illuminating the small room coming from the bedside lamp. By now Rick should have been resting at ease by now, comforted and reassured that his son was going to be alright. He should be trying to get some sleep, preparing himself for the long night that would be ahead of them when Carl eventually awoke. The idea was simple in thought, but infinitely difficult in execution. How could Rick possibly sit back and close his eyes now? How could he possibly rest when he was the only one there by his son's side, listening to the sound of his heart beat on the monitor, holding his hand to keep it warm. While he knew that Denise would be alerted by the slightest change in Carl's condition, this didn't help him relax. Rick needed to be awake, ready for his son to rouse at any moment.
It was odd to see just how peaceful Carl looked as he lay there in the bed, his chest slowly rising and falling. His head was slightly turned to the left, and all Rick could see was the bandage covering his right eye. With a jolt of heartache he corrected himself…the bandage was covering his right eye socket. Carl's eye was gone, and all that was left was a gaping wound of tissue, ligaments and tattered skin. Rick had to constantly reassure himself that although the injury was horrific, although Carl would never quite be the same, he had survived with his other eye in tact. He would still be able to see the world, he would still be independent and able to look after himself. If he'd lost both his eyes…if he'd gone blind and become completely helpless, Rick didn't know how either of them would cope.
Taking a deep breath he sat up a little straighter in his chair, clearing his throat and letting go of Carl's hand long enough to wipe his cheeks. He allowed himself a few moments of anguish before forcing himself to hold it together, needing to stay in control. He wiped his cheeks again then settled back into the chair and resumed his grasp on his son's hand. It's warmth was comforting, the steady pulse a reassurance with every beat. That was what he tried to focus on, the steady thud that promised his son was still there, not the spiralling anguish he felt.
It felt like hope had been ripped away from him again, his very heart torn from his own chest as soon as that gun had been fired. Until the moment his vigilance lapsed and Pete had slipped from their collective supervision, everything had been perfect. He and Carrie had talked about the future, Carl had accepted their relationship and begun working on developing his own with her. They were happy, all four of them starting out on something together, on being a family. In minutes it had changed, Carl getting shot and clinging to life…hours later Rick still didn't know what had happened to Carrie. He'd heard her name mentioned, he knew from the way people were talking that she must be alive, but that was all he knew. He hadn't asked what had happened, he hadn't asked what Pete had done to her…he wasn't sure he was ready yet to hear.
How had it come to this? How had he let this happen to his child?
He wanted Carl to wake up, to ascertain for sure that he hadn't sustained brain damage from the gunshot, that he would still be himself. But at the same time Rick dreaded his son's return to consciousness. As soon as he came around the horrific events would truly become reality…they'd both have to face what had happened. Rick didn't want to tell him, he didn't want to tell his son that although he was alive he was permanently disfigured. He would never feel the same way about himself again, his confidence and self-esteem would never be what it used to. Carl's life was irrevocably changed, and there was nothing at all Rick could do to make things alright again. He couldn't go back in time, he couldn't take his place even though he would have in heart beat.
There was a soft knock at the door, and he roused from his thoughts to see Michonne standing in the doorway. Denise had restricted the visitors to an absolute minimum, and so far it had been just Rick and Michonne there by Carl's side. She'd been in and out in the hours that had passed, sitting by Carl's side and stroking his hair, bringing what comfort she could for Rick. Seeing her now he cleared his throat and sat up a little, knowing where she had been. "How's Judith?"
"Still awake," she said softly. Coming in she looked at Carl sadly, taking a seat on the end of the bed by his feet. "She's resisting bed time with everything she has. She's got her head on Maggie's stomach, feeling the baby move. They're going to let her fall asleep there on the couch. The travel crib is in Maggie and Glenn's room."
"They'll take care of her," he stated, having always known that his daughter would be cared for when he couldn't.
With a long sigh Michonne kicked off her boots, not needing an invitation for what she did next. In a gesture that was completely natural she stretched out alongside Carl, propping her head up on her hand as she looked at him sadly. She straightened the blankets a little, pulling them further up under his arms, but then she settled her fussing and put her hand on top of his.
"You should get some fresh air," she murmured quietly. With her free hand she absentmindedly stroked his hair, the familial affection her own source of comfort.
He shook his head automatically, not even considering the suggestion.
"Rick," she repeated, her tone making him look at her. "Get some fresh air."
"I want to be here," he stated simply. "I need to be here."
Surely she understood, right? He absolutely had to be here, he had to be by Carl's side for every moment, he couldn't leave him. It felt like if he stepped out he'd be inviting something terrible to happen, as if his mere presence was what kept his son alive. The idea of setting foot outside this room was incomprehensible. If Carl woke up and he wasn't there with him, Rick would never forgive himself.
"Rick…I'm here."
He knew what she meant…after all this time how could he not know. Michonne was there too, she was by Carl's side right now, and she would be over the coming months. Carl's friendship with her was just as important as his relationship with Rick, perhaps even more important given that it was one entered into voluntarily. Friends were chosen for a reason, and despite the differences in age and maturity Carl and Michonne had chosen one another. She was right…she was there by Carl's side, she could take Rick's place for a short while.
Slowly he stood to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself. He hadn't stood up in the hours that had passed since Carl had been laid into this bed, and the blood he had donated left him feeling a little light headed. He set Carl's hand onto the bed and then slowly made his way out of the room, stopping in the threshold and looking back. It went against his instincts to leave his son's bedside, but Michonne was right. She was there with him, he wouldn't be alone for even a moment…and Rick needed to take care of himself too.
The main area of the Infirmary was darkened, lit only by a lamp at the desk where Denise sat writing some notes. She looked up when he emerged, apparently pleased to see him, and she gave him a short nod of reassurance. Wanting to get back quickly Rick didn't waste any time as he made his way down the hallway to the bathroom to freshen up. The solitude was surprisingly nice, the ability to be alone for a few minutes helping him regain a semblance of control. Michonne was right…she was always right. He washed his face in the bathroom sink, splashing some water over the back of his neck to wake himself up a little. It was refreshing, exactly what he needed right now.
His hands braced against the counter Rick stood with his face over the basin, letting the remaining water drip down his nose and chin. It was with apprehension that he stood straight and looked at himself in the mirror. Unsurprised to see that he looked just as good as he felt, he pushed some wet tendrils of hair off his face and observed his features, his eyes bloodshot and defeated, his lips pressed into a thin line. He could see the regret in his own eyes, the cruel blame he was laying upon himself…it didn't matter what other factors had been in play, this was his fault. His instincts told him weeks ago to deal with Pete the way he wanted to, to make sure he wouldn't be a problem anymore. But he had tried to barter for peace, for the sake of Maggie and the baby. But Pete didn't want that, he wanted only vengeance, and before Rick knew it the situation had spiralled out of his control. It was cruel, it was unkind, but he should have put his own children ahead of Maggie's health, ahead of her baby. They were family, yes…but his own children should have come first. He was their father, he was tasked with protecting them above anyone else, and he had failed Carl. He had failed Carl every time he tried to compromise with Pete.
Needing to resume his place by Carl's side, he washed his face once more and then left his solitude. Though he had forgone the fresh air he was instructed to get he felt sufficiently refreshed, feeling ready to get through the rest of the night and whatever else was to come. His intention was to resume his former place at Carl's side, but when he came into the living area again there was something else that got his attention. He could hear soft voices now, a hushed conversation taking place in the light of a second lamp that had been lit. Denise and Carol stood in the far corner, talking softly between themselves, and though he could hear a small alarm coming from a monitor there was no sense of panic.
Although his obligation and duty was to return to Carl, Rick allowed his feet to guide him in the opposite direction. Carol looked just as tired and haggard as he did, and she stood protectively by the back of a large armchair, the one Pete most often occupied while he was drinking and watching television of an afternoon. Not wanting to intrude Rick stayed back and waited for the right time, letting Denise fuss over the patient before pressing a button on the monitor. The low alarm stopped sounding, silence taking it's place. Unconcerned by whatever it meant, Denise scribbled something down on a clipboard and then set it aside. She glanced up at Rick as she stood, but then turned back to Carol.
"Just press the reset button on the side if it starts again. It doesn't mean anything, it's just annoying."
Without further fuss Denise returned to her desk while Carol resumed her own seat in front of the arm chair, and it was now that she noticed Rick's presence. She seemed glad to see him, and gestured to one of the other chairs nearby, telling him to take it. Though he nodded he hesitated before actually doing it. He didn't need to ask who the patient was, and it was this knowledge that made him hesitate. The moment he came around the chair and looked he would know what had happened to Carrie, Pete's attack on her would become as real as his attack on Carl. He didn't know what to say to her…he didn't even know what had happened to them, not really anyway. What was he supposed to say? Was he even capable of offering the comfort she would surely need? Finding his courage he took the chair and sat down next to Carol, bracing himself before he raised his head and looked at Carrie.
At first glance she seemed perfectly fine. She was curled up in the armchair, her knees pulled to her chest and warmed by the blanket over her lap. There was a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm and a pulse oximeter on her finger, supplementary oxygen provided by nasal prongs, yet despite all this she looked somewhat comfortable. Her eyes were half open, but he sensed that she wasn't awake, not really anyway. They were glassy, her eye lids slowly closing and then opening again as she looked at Carol, a soft sigh passing her lips. A moment later she looked up at Rick, but he didn't allow himself to feel comforted. She was looking at him, but it was clear she wasn't seeing him. Her affect was low, her body almost completely still until she winced painfully when she tried to swallow. A more difficult sigh passed her lips now, compelling Carol to gently place her hand on her knee.
"Go back to sleep," she encouraged softly.
Carol repeated her instructions until Carrie complied. She looked at Rick a moment longer before giving in, her eye lids closing as she turned her head back into the arm chair. Silence resumed, and when she was certain she was comfortable Carol sat back in her own chair with a weary sigh.
"She's going to be fine," she began, answering the question Rick didn't know how to ask. "She's sedated right now, and Denise wants her to stay the night. I'll take her home in the morning."
He nodded, but didn't say anything. His heart was aching, the pain in his chest growing the longer he looked at Carrie. There were red blotches on her cheeks and bags under her eyes, her lips were swollen…coming closer he looked at her right arm. The plaster cast had been removed in exchange for a temporary split, her wrist and hand swollen, but it wasn't that was most concerning. Two of her fingers were bandaged, her hands and knuckles covered in scratches, dried blood under her broken fingernails. Before he pulled back the collar of the loose shirt she was wearing he knew what he would find, he knew what Pete had done to her. Her neck bore an array of scratches and bruises, ones that would develop over the next few days and possibly take the shape of two hands. As Rick sat back down Carol lifted the blanket and revealed to him Carrie's bare legs, showing him the dark shadows on her inner thighs, one bearing a long, inflamed scratch. Rick's heart sank even further as he observed these injuries in conjunction with the rest, clearly able to picture Pete pinning her down, imagining the sheer terror she must have felt.
"Did she say what happened?" As he made this enquiry he gently brushed her hair behind her ear, wincing when he saw the dressing on her right ear lobe. She'd been wearing hoop earrings that day, an unusual indulgence given the state of the world.
"Bits and pieces," Carol replied, replacing the blankets and making sure she was warm enough. "Her throat's very sore, we didn't want her to talk too much. Pete cornered her. She tried to make Carl leave, to make him go and get you, but he refused."
"She wanted him to leave?"
Carol nodded. "She was trying to protect him, but he wouldn't go. He got his gun from the safe…somehow he got shot. That's about all I know."
He looked at Carrie sadly, having always trusted that she would try to protect his children. "And Pete?"
"I didn't see what happened…by the time Daryl got there he was on top of her. He shot him with a bolt and went straight to help Carl."
"Good," he said softly, reminding himself to thank Daryl later. From the north post three houses away he would have been the first on the scene, followed by Abraham who had been the one to bring Carl to the Infirmary. Hearing Carol clearing her throat he turned to her.
"Daryl isn't the one who killed him."
Rick frowned. Daryl didn't kill Pete? "Who?"
Without saying a word she gestured to Carrie, her answer making Rick laugh incredulously.
"You're telling me that after Pete nearly strangled her to death, she killed him?"
"Yes. Daryl's the one who shot him, but she killed him with the crossbow."
He looked at Carrie and tried to understand, taking in her injuries. "How did she load a crossbow with her arm like that?" he questioned skeptically.
Carol smiled. "I never said she loaded it."
Rick frowned at Carrie, putting the pieces together in his head. "She - she beat him to death?"
"According to Daryl, yes. We were starting to think Pete wouldn't even turn given his state," she said, smiling at Carrie proudly. "She didn't hold back."
"No, she didn't."
He continued looking at Carrie in disbelief, pride for her swelling in his chest and temporarily taking place of the sadness and anguish he felt. He pictured her picking up Daryl's crossbow and turning towards Pete with it, he pictured her hitting him again and again, his imagination making him wish he had been able to see it himself. But by now the evidence would have been cleaned up, Pete's body removed and being prepared for burial. But as he knew it would his pride and sense of satisfaction began to fade, his anguish inevitably returning. Now he pictured Carrie on the ground beneath him, terrified and fighting for her life, unable to help Carl who had been shot. Rick knew first hand how quickly someone could die from strangulation. He had strangled that Claimer, he had almost strangled Carrie's rapist Granger on the supply run before she stepped in and shot him. A man of Pete's size and strength against her? She stood no chance of saving herself from him…Daryl had saved her life.
"Where is Daryl?" He had expected to find him here, waiting for the opportunity to see Carl.
"Drunk."
"Oh," he said in disappointment, though he ought to have known how Daryl would have coped with what had happened that afternoon.
"Last I heard he passed out in Rosemary's strawberry patch…we've left him there for the night."
Rick didn't say anything, and as silence resumed he started thinking about Carrie. He dwelled on what Carol had told him, that Carrie tried to make Carl leave, to get him to safety. All of this had happened while he was completely unaware. While they were scared and fighting for their lives, he was on the other side of Alexandria enjoying the celebrations. He felt negligent, that he had failed them. No amount of reasoning or logic was likely to convince him otherwise.
"Let's step outside for a few minutes," Carol suggested, already standing up.
Rick immediately went to shake his head, not interested in her suggestion. He wanted to stay right here, to be with Carrie or Carl, he didn't want either of them to be alone. But when he looked up and saw the small box of cigarettes Carol held he was tempted.
"This is a hell of a time to quit smoking," Carol said kindly, then gesturing to Carrie. "She won't even notice we're gone."
He hesitated a moment longer, and then nodded his head in agreement. "I'll be out in a moment."
Letting her go on ahead of him he stayed a few moments longer, watching Carrie as she slept fitfully. When he felt ready to leave her he wearily got to his feet, entering the kitchen as he rolled up his sleeve and removed the nicotine patch he had applied earlier that day. Carol was right, this was one hell of a time to give up smoking. Finding the trash he dropped the patch in with the intention of quickly checking on Carl, but something else inside there caught his attention, a pattern of colours he was quite familiar with. It was difficult to be sure until he picked it up and held it in the light, but when he looked at it properly his heart sank. It was the dress Carrie had been wearing that day, whose mid thigh hemline she had chosen with him in mind. It was spattered in blood, small droplets and misting covering what few parts of the fabric hadn't been soiled by heavier drips and smears. Was this Pete's blood? Carl's? Carrie's?
Both physically and emotionally exhausted, he didn't even have the mental energy to throw it back into the trash in a fit of anger. He felt drained, completely empty after everything that had happened, and so he simply let go of the dress and allowed it to fall back into the trash. Now genuinely needing that cigarette Carol had suggested he ducked into Carl's room and checked on him, glad to find that he and Michonne were both fast asleep. Confident that his presence was not being missed Rick departed again, passing by Carrie before joining Carol on the deck outside. He was gentle, cautious of rousing her even though she was sedated, but he leant down and kissed her forehead. He let his lips linger there for a few moments, enjoying the opportunity to touch her, to remind himself that she was still real, that she was still there with him. Tomorrow would be a new day for her…for both of them.
When he stepped outside it was with a deep breath in, the fresh summer air filling his lungs and clearing his head. Despite everything a slight weight lifted off his shoulders with the breath of fresh air, the space out on the Infirmary's desk reminding him how stuffy and claustrophobic one could feel when they sat by another's bedside. As he closed the door behind himself he took a moment to look around at the night sky, observing the stars and the glow of the waning moon. The lake outside was perfectly still, it's glassy surface reflecting the moonlight and shadows of the trees. Like it always did, the world outside continued even though Rick's had ground to a halt.
Needing it, he gratefully took a cigarette from the packet Carol offered to him. "I didn't know you smoked," he commented as she lit one of her own and passed him the lighter.
"I'm much better at hiding it that you."
The familiar click of the lighter was just as comforting as the first draw he took, the taste of the tobacco and ritual of drawing it into his mouth bringing the relief he sought. Returning the lighter he slowly exhaled, wearily rubbing his face as he sank down onto the end of the wooden deck chair. Carol on the other hand remained standing, one elbow resting on the deck railing.
"When things were good, Ed used to light two cigarettes at once and then give me one. I could always tell how things were going to be based on whether or not I had to light my own."
"How kind of him," he muttered sarcastically, taking a long draw on his cigarette.
"I think he thought it was romantic," she continued, sounding wistful. "I used to hope he'd get lung cancer."
A laugh erupted from his chest, Rick smiling in amusement at her blunt remark. The motion felt unnatural, despite how recently he had spent the afternoon laughing joyously with his friends and family. He looked up at Carol now, the two of them sharing a brief smile before their amusement faded and was replaced once again by reality. Focusing on watching the end of his cigarette burning red Rick waited for her to speak. He sensed that she didn't bring him out here just for the fresh air, that she really want to talk. She had something to say, she was just mulling it over first. He waited patiently, and was halfway through his cigarette when she started.
"There's change coming," she commented softly, looking out across Alexandria.
Rick nodded in agreement, casting his eyes towards Jessie's house. Having barely spared even Carrie a thought in the last few hours, Jessie had been the last person on his mind until now. He could see the soft glow of light from behind her drapes, a sense of activity indicating that there must be people over there with her, bringing her comfort despite what Pete had done. She was grieving for her husband, for her children's father…she hadn't asked for any of this.
"What change?" he enquired when Carol didn't continue.
"Roles," she said shortly, giving a great sigh. "You'll always be our leader, that's never going to change…but you need to be with Carl. He's going to need his dad, and you can't fuck this up," she said bluntly.
"No, I can't."
"You and Michonne have to focus on Carl, get him through this. Carrie, she…she'll be okay. I can get he-"
Rick cut her off before she could continue much farther. "I'll get her through this," he stated. "I will."
There was a long pause before Carol spoke. "What about Carl?"
"I'll make it work," he insisted in determination. "I have to get them both through this, no matter what it takes. But you're right. I need to be with them. Things have to change for a while."
"We should let Maggie step up a little, take your place with Deanna."
This suggestion took him by surprise. "Maggie?"
"She'll manage."
"Her doctor was just beaten to death, and she's got pre-eclampsia."
"She'll manage," Carol insisted. "I'll make sure she does. Carrie's not going to feel up to taking on such an important role, and we can't entrust that fragile relationship to Abraham or Rosita. They're smart, but they're like a bull in a China shop, not at all political or tactful."
"They aren't exactly my greatest qualities."
Despite his arguments Carol stood firm in her plan. "You manage Deanna well, while still telling it like it is. Maggie can emulate that. She already does."
"What about you? Glenn?"
"I need to continue being the person I am. You know what I'm like, I see and hear everything…changing my status quo could change that too. We need Glenn to stay with the supply runs if he's willing, we're going to need them. Abraham and Daryl can handle security with their eyes closed…Sasha can help Maggie with Deanna."
Too drained to do anything else, Rick simply nodded in agreement, trusting her judgement that Maggie would be able to handle the fragile relationship with Deanna. Carol was right…he couldn't fuck this up. Both his son and Carrie were depending on him to be there for them, he needed to focus on them.
"It won't have to be for long," he muttered, stubbing the cigarette butt out on the deck floor and putting it back into the box. "It will be hard, but once things settle down…once I get Carl home and back on track, I can make time for other things."
"No, Rick-"
"I can make time," he insisted. "Deanna, the Wolves, the safe houses…I can-"
"Pete told him about Lori."
Rick's plans fell silent on his lips, his heart giving a painful clench as he absorbed what Carol had said. His eyes were trained on the wooden deck beneath his feet, but as the still lingering pressure in his head began to grow again he raised his eyes and looked out across the lake. This was partly what he had been trying to prevent, what his threats were meant to stall…it had all been for nothing.
"What exactly did he tell him?"
"I don't know. Carrie just kept saying that he told him."
"That's all she said?" Rick clarified, clinging to hope. Perhaps Pete had said something else, something that had nothing to do with Lori. "Maybe she meant something else."
Carol shook her head, confident of the conclusions she had drawn. "She hasn't been in a state to explain properly, but I don't see what else she could have meant."
Though he was reluctant to do so, Rick had to agree. What else could Carrie possibly mean other than Pete had finally followed through on his leverage? This was what Rick had been trying to protect Carl from, the emotional torment of learning that his mother was a human being, that she was capable of making mistakes. He had been determined to protect Carl from that, while also ensuring that Maggie and her baby still had access to the best medical care they had, but he had screwed everything up. He'd nearly driven he and Carrie apart with the way he handled the news of their relationship, he'd betrayed Carl by lying to him, and now keeping Lori's secret had nearly gotten their son killed. Did it get any worse than this? What was he going to screw up next? What other suffering would Carl and Carrie have to endure thanks to him?
Without warning it suddenly hit him, his chest beginning to feel tight as he tried to keep his thoughts in order. Carl could wake up and at moment, and he was going to have to tell him what had happened. With a heavy sigh he put his hand into his hands, despairing at the thought of what he had to do. He felt completely ill prepared, unable to face what had to be done. He'd rather be a coward, he'd rather lie to protect his child from the awful truth for as long as possible. His heart was pounding inside his chest, and tears welled up in his eyes as he raised his head with a shuddering breath.
"What do I do?" he asked weakly, admitting that he didn't know. "How am I supposed to tell him what happened? That he…"
He trailed off, unable to verbalise it even to Carol. Carl had been shot in the face, his right eye was forever gone, he'd never look he same again, his self-esteem would be crushed. The facts were easy to acknowledge inside his head, but impossible to say out loud. Once he said the words, they would be the truth, it would be real.
"You just tell him," she stated, her voice heavier than before as she held out the pack of cigarettes again, offering him a second. "Tell him the truth, all of it. Then tell him that it's going to be okay."
"Is it?" he questioned, taking a cigarette and gratefully lighting it. "Is it going to be okay?"
There was a brief pause, Carol considering his question as she lit her own cigarette. "That's up to you…that's up to him. All three of you," she stated confidently. "You, Carrie and Carl. You're the ones who decide whether or not you survive this. That's what you tell him."
As tears rolled down his cheeks he brought the cigarette to his lips and took a heavy drag, using the crux to help him think. He wanted only to be a coward, to take the easy way out by lying to his son, by delaying the agony he was going to feel. But Carol was right, he had to tell him the truth, even if he didn't know for sure that it was going to be alright. Finally he nodded his head, understanding what he had to do. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"You three are going to be fine. In a couple of months, this will all just be a bad memory."
Restless now, Rick stood up and resting his elbow against the porch railing, looking out across the glassy surface of the lake. The moonlight was reflected there, casting an etherial glow around the vicinity. Was it really that simple? In a few months this would be just a bad memory? It wouldn't be that easy, not for Carl…this injury was permanent, it would haunt him for the rest of his life. Despite Carol's encouragement and reassuring words, Rick wasn't sure he was yet ready to feel so hopeful. This wasn't like the other times when Cael had faced adversity and come out the other side…this was permanent…forever.
Though he had been grateful for it, Rick was glad when his second cigarette was burnt down to the filter. He stubbed it out and then put the end back into the pack, resisting the frustrated urge to simply toss it into the lake where the children often swam. Neither he nor Carol spoke as they lingered out there a little longer, and no words were necessary when he turned and went back inside alone. The arrival of Rosita and Francine had prompted Denise to retire upstairs, and despite all they had done for Carl he couldn't find it in himself to thank them yet. Instead he went back into the bathroom and washed his face again, pulling at his shirt and trying to air it out as he hoped he didn't smell of tobacco.
When he checked on Carrie he found her still sleeping, having not moved and inch from the position in which he had last seen her. Had it not been for the sight of her pulse on the monitor he wouldn't have been sure that she was still alive, her chest barely moving as she breathed slowly. Confident that Carol would be back soon and that she was kept company by the others, Rick leant down and pressed his lips to her forehead once more. The gesture of affection was not for her benefit, but for his own. He had to leave her for now, knowing that his duty was to be by Carl's side, to prioritise his children above her. Confident she would support this he left her side and returned to Carl's, knowing that in the morning she probably wouldn't remember him being there at all.
A/N Thanks for the fantastic reviews everyone, they're so encouraging to read and I absolutely love the feedback about your enjoyment. Thanks to all!
A guest reviewer asked if I am introducing Negan to the third story? The answer is tentatively yes. I'm still working through the overarching plot, and I'm 11 chapters in and have done some set up for a Negan storyline. That said, I'm not entirely sure where AMC are going to go with it, so the depth of my Negan arc will depend on what episode Season 7/8 reaches at the time of writing. In general I like to follow the tv series and add my own twists to the existing material.
Sorry for a slightly shorter chapter - there was a Part 2 of this chapter but it's currently unfinished (I've been moving house again). I figured I'd prefer to post the finished first half rather than make you keep waiting. Next chapter posted in 4-5 days, most likely Thursday.
