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Since childhood, Carl’s had a weird relationship with food.
Food and drinks, actually.
When he was very young, he established a metal list of food that he would eat where he went places.
If he went to a restaurant, he would find one thing and order it every time he went back.
At home, he would eat the same things.
Sometimes, if someone mentioned something new to try, Carl would politely decline.
Other times, he would physically recoil.
It was the same with drinks.
His entire life, he’s been a pretty big water enthusiast, to the point he didn’t like soda until he was twelve, almost thirteen.
And even then, it was strawberry and orange flavored sodas, nothing else.
Food and drinks rarely got added to this list, that was until he started drinking orange juice with Michonne.
Orange juice was added, then Sunny D, then lemonade, then apple juice.
Don’t ask how he got from lemonade to apple juice, because he doesn’t know.
It was easy to add drinks to the list, it was more difficult to add food.
So, on the first day Carl was at her house, Michonne asked him “What do you like on toast?” and Carl said “Nothing.” and Michonne looked at him funny, he knew it was going to be an interesting day.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She nodded. “Alright…but have you ever had peanut butter and marshmallows on toast?”
Carl shook his head.
“Are you open to trying it?”
Carl wanted to say no.
But instead, he nodded and Michonne grinned.
She opened the cabinet and took out peanut butter and marshmallows.
Carl found the bread and stared at Michonne’s toaster.
“How…”
“Here, let me. This thing is as old as time.”
Michonne set down the peanut butter and marshmallow before reaching over and giggling the handle thingy on the toaster.
The bread finally went down.
“When I was younger, a friend of mine showed me this. I thought she was crazy, she was not. Actually, this is one of the best inventions known to man right next to Mac and Cheese.”
“Mac and Cheese is good.”
The bread popped.
Michonne took one slice out of the toaster and Carl grabbed the other.
“Nuh uh, you don’t know the proper peanut butter to bread to marshmallow ratio yet.”
Carl laughed. “There’s a ratio?”
“Yes, there is, give me that bread.”
Carl handed it to her and watched as she slathered peanut butter on each slice and then intricately place marshmallows on both slices.
Michonne handed one to Carl.
“Go on, try it.”
He took a deep breath, and then bit into it.
“Try getting more than just the crust.” Michonne laughed.
Carl took another bite, this time he got bread, peanut butter, and marshmallow.
“Oh my god.” He said.
“Good right?”
“The friend who showed you this, yeah, can I make a religion around her? Because this justifies worship.”
Michonne laughed again. “See? I told you.”
“Is this what you eat every morning?”
“Typically, there’s some fruit and stuff with it but typically, yeah.”
Carl ate the rest of the toast, and then chugged orange juice.
Michonne did the same, then told him that neither of them was going to work that day.
Carl didn’t argue.
They sat on the couch and Michonne decided they needed to watch a cartoon called Gargoyles, that Carl had never heard of before.
“What’s it like being a lawyer?”
He wasn’t sure why he asked, but he did.
Michonne chuckled. “You know how in cartoons, at some point a character will get on stage and think they’re doing really well and then people will start to throw tomatoes at them?”
“Yeah?”
“It feels like that. Nobody really likes lawyers, and to be honest, neither do I.”
“But you are a lawyer. You went to school for it and everything.”
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
“If you don’t like it, then why do you keep doing it?”
Michonne chuckled again, it had less humor. “There’s always work, and it pays well. Plus, the people you meet along the way come in handy.”
The, the people I met helped get you here with minimal disruption, was left unsaid.
“I’m sorry you had to call in all those favors for me.” Carl muttered.
“Don’t.” Michonne said.
“Don’t what?”
“Do that. I called in those favors because I needed to, because you couldn’t go back to that damn house, and I wasn’t gonna let you even if it got me arrested.”
Carl nodded.
“Michonne.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re my best friend.”
Michonne smiled. Wide.
“You’re mine.”
Carl knows he’s told her that before, but he can’t remember when.
He’s sort of tired of not remembering things.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah…I’m pretty proud of it myself.”
Michonne’s office is lined floor to ceiling with comic book related paraphernalia.
Posters, figures, not to mention the boxes and boxes of comic books.
Carl stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Go on inside, the plastic action figures aren’t gonna bite.”
Carefully, Carl stepped inside the room.
“How did—”
“I’ve been around a while longer than you, you…accumulate things in that time, and Ebay is a pretty good resource, too.”
Carl looked around slowly, making sure he was processing everything correctly.
He walked over to one of the boxes and delicately moved back the comics to look at each one.
“How in the world did you find some of these?”
“Thrift stores, garage sales, I have a friend—his name is Glenn—and he knows some collectors that are willing to sell or trade, and this may be morbid but…estate sales.”
Carl turned toward Michonne—she was sitting at a chair in front of a desk with a computer and other various things sprawled across its surface.
“I thought those were only for furniture.”
“Mostly, but sometimes you find a few gems.”
Carl turned back to the box of comic books.
“Dead people’s comics…so you’re haunted.”
Michonne scoffed. “I am not haunted. I think I’d know if I were haunted.”
“How?”
“I’ve watched every episode of Supernatural, I think I’d have a clue.”
“Oh God, Supernatural, why would you put yourself through that?”
Carl sat down on the ground against the wall.
There were other chairs in the room.
Carl liked the floor, the carpet felt nice.
Michonne sighed and got on the ground with him.
“Because it is a terrible show, and it is so good.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Oh yeah? Dead Poets Society.”
“Do not compare Dead Poets Society to Supernatural, I swear to god.” Carl laughed.
“What was it you said again after you watched it for the first time?”
“Oh no…”
“No, no, refresh my memory.”
“Please don’t!” Carl was laughing so hard his side hurt.
“You called me at two in the morning, sobbing and said ‘ I just watched Dead Poets Society. It was amazing and I hate it. It’s now one of my favorite movies and I never want to watch it again.’”
Carl groaned.
Now that, that he did remember.
“I thought you had gotten hit by a car or something!”
“I’m sorry! It was just so— depressing and so good!”
They establish a routine.
Michonne’s alarm wakes up Carl, which is fine, and so they get ready at the same time and are typically ready to go around the same time.
There was one time about two weeks into Carl staying with her when Michonne’s alarm didn’t go off and so Carl woke up at nine to a text from Daryl asking where he was, which, of course had sent everything into chaos.
He’d gone into Michonne’s room and shaken her awake and said, “It’s nine!” and Michonne had woken up and as soon as she processed that it was nine… well, let’s just say she was frantic.
Besides that, smooth sailing.
Michonne had worked something out to get Carl’s phone back from Shane, for which he was grateful.
Carl was glad their town was small.
He could still walk everywhere, even though he was living in a different spot.
Michonne had a car but didn’t use it all that much, she liked to walk everywhere too.
They walked together a lot, which meant she had become privy to Carl’s habit of picking up loose change and bills from the road.
Carl had done it subconsciously the first time on his second day of staying with her, and then tensed up immediately after he pocketed the coin.
He had expected Shane to scoff at him, telling him “I thought I told you not to do that.” and then the awkward silence that followed.
Instead Michonne looked over at him and said, “What’d you find?”
“Dime.”
“Cool.”
And that had been that.
It was around eight and they were walking to the diner.
He had been staying with her two—nearly three—weeks.
“What lawyer-y stuff do you have to do today?”
“I have to go and battle it out with another lawyer in a judge’s quarters today because that other lawyer wants to basically dis-acknowledge a statement from an eyewitness.”
“Why?”
“Can’t tell you that.”
“Right.”
They walked into the diner, and Daryl threw Carl’s apron at him.
He walked behind the counter and Michonne sat down on one of the stools.
“What’ll you have?”
“Orange juice.”
Carl went back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, glancing over at Daryl’s skillet.
“What the hell are you making?”
“Hash Browns.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just pour the damn orange juice.” Daryl smirked.
Carl did.
He went back out to the front and handed Michonne her orange juice, well tried to hand it to her.
She was staring very intently at her phone, she looked focused.
Actually, a little pissed off.
“You alright?” He asked.
Michonne snapped out of it, setting her phone on the counter and running her hands down her face.
But she took the orange juice.
“Turns out I’m gonna have to battle it out a different day, emergency came up.”
Michonne chugged the glass of orange juice, paid, tipped, and left.
Carl tried to ignore the feeling of dread festering in the back of his head.
“According to my precise calculations, approximately everybody in the entire world is currently sitting out there in the diner.” Carl said, grabbing two plates that had burgers on them and running back out into the chaos.
“Not just the world, the fucking Matrix too.” Daryl called back.
“Daryl, we would be in the Matrix!”
“Whatever! It’s been a while since I’ve watched that movie.”
Carl ran back to the kitchen and leaned against the doorframe.
“But if we are going to discuss the Matrix, can we wait for Michonne to come in for lunch? Or when she gets here for dinner? Because it’ll take two people to explain to you what a trans allegory is and where is the Cobb salad the woman in the red dress ordered?”
Daryl handed him the cobb salad. “I know what a trans allegory is, thank you very much.”
“What is it?”
“When I looked it up it said something like when, like, what a trans person goes through is like represented through something else.”
“Color me impressed. Hand me that iced tea while you’re at it.”
The iced tea was handed to him.
Carl ran back out, handed the woman the cobb salad and a guy in fisher hat the iced tea.
“Carl!” He yelled from across the diner.
“Oh my God what?”
“M. Night Shyamalan! Opinions and recommendations!”
“Signs, The Village, and The Sixth Sense! Don’t watch Lady in the Water!”
Carl didn’t have anything against Lady in the Water, it just wasn’t his favorite.
“Thanks!”
“Why?”
“I saw something ‘bout him and had nothing to watch tonight so I figured, ‘Hey, what the hell?’. Also, uhh…Caesar salad!”
Carl ran back. “I don’t remember who ordered the Caesar salad.”
“I think it was the guy with the New York accent.”
“Right, thanks.”
At two fifteen, the diner phone rang.
It was a blue landline in the kitchen.
Sometimes people called the diner to place a takeout order, or if they wanted to place a big order ahead of time.
Carl remembered one time the past December that he was all but certain had been a fever dream.
He had walked in that day and Daryl had looked at him and said, “Can you stab me in the face?”
Carl had said in return “If you write a note saying it was assisted suicide then I’d be delighted to. Can I ask why?”
“Because these guys just called me, thinking I’m sort of a fancy French restaurant, and made reservations for the entire circ dis ole, plus a few cowboys and a catholic priest.”
Carl had walked over behind the counter and Daryl showed him a paper with a time they wanted reserved for a table of twenty.
“We don’t have a table for twenty! We don’t have a table for five! The highest number of people that can sit at one table is four! Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro!” Carl yelled.
“I know! But…look at how much they’re willing to pay.”
Daryl’s finger moved down to the number at the bottom of the paper.
Carl had to grip the counter to stop himself from falling over.
“Christ on a stick, I guess there is a God.” He muttered. “Are you sure they meant to put all those zeros on the end?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“So…we’re doing it?”
“Hell, yeah we are.”
“ How?”
“We’ll put some tables together, light some candles, throw a red tablecloth over the tables, show up wearing a black vest and white button up shirt, ditch the hat for the day and we won’t yell at each other across the diner.”
“What about the other people?” Carl asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The other people that come in every day.”
“We’ll put the closed sign up until they’re reservation time, and then put it back up when they’re here.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect.”
“You know what else?” Daryl started. “I bet they tip really well.”
Carl hadn’t ditched the hat; he’d hidden it on top of the fridge in the kitchen.
However, there was not an acrobat, cowboy, or priest in sight when the customers entered.
All guys that wore suits and had the same laugh.
Daryl and Carl had looked at each other, with wide eyes (or eye) and shocked expressions.
After the guys had ordered, Carl and Daryl had two hours where all they were doing was sitting in the kitchen on the counter next to each other making up theories about what they were talking about.
They had tipped well.
That wasn’t the case when the phone rang this time.
There had been a brief conversion on the phone, Daryl had slammed the thing down, ran out into the diner and yelled. “Everyone out! If you haven’t paid for it either drop some cash on the table or it’s on the house!”
Carl ran behind the counter and grabbed his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Michonne—she’s in the hospital.”
“What?”
“Everybody—out!” Daryl yelled once more. “While they leave, go get my keys, hanger in the storage room!”
“It’ll be faster to go on foot.” Carl said.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s lunch rush, people are heading back to work and summer school just left for the day so buses—c’mon you have to trust me on this!”
“Fine, whatever, but still go get my keys so I can lock the door!”
People were scrambling to get out, Carl was pushing past them.
He got Daryl’s keys, by the time he was back at the front of the diner, everyone else was gone.
He handed the keys to Daryl, and they were outside.
“Which way’s the hospital?” Daryl asked.
Carl pointed left, and they started running.
From where they were, you could actually see the top of the hospital building.
Carl was right.
The streets were jam packed with cars, traffic on nearly every street.
Did it take them twelve minutes of straight sprinting to get to the hospital?
Yes.
But it would have taken them longer in traffic.
They ran into the hospital and up to the front desk.
The man standing behind it looked at them funny, slightly judgmentally, actually.
“Can I help you?”
“Michonne—Michonne Hawthorne.”
The guy looked under some papers. “Are you family?”
“I’m a child in her custody.”
The guy cocked his head toward Daryl. “And him?”
Carl took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t need the details, I just need to know whether or not she’s in a coma or something like that.”
“I can’t tell you unless you're family. I can tell you, because she’s your guardian apparently, but I can’t tell him.”
Another deep breath.
“Daryl, go stand over there.” Carl gestured vaguely to a corner.
Daryl looked at him, confusion evident, but walked over to the corner anyway.
“Now it’s just us.”
“I have reason to believe you’ll go and tell him.”
“What are we? In first grade? Tell me whether or not Michonne is gonna fucking die or not.”
Carl could hear his voice shake, and that it was not adding to the intimidation he was going for, but he couldn’t control it.
They stared at each other for a while, eventually he figured out that Carl wasn’t going anywhere and sighed, leaned over to a computer, typed something and turned back.
“She’s in surgery but should be out soon.”
“Surgery, for what?”
He leaned forward and whispered, “GSW.”
GSW.
GSW.
Gunshot wound.
Carl’s eye widened. “O…okay, thank you.”
He walked back over to Daryl.
“So, what’s the word?”
“She—she’s in surgery.”
“Surgery? Surgery for what?”
“Gunshot.”
Daryl’s face went blank.
“She got shot.” Carl said.
Then, he started laughing.
“She got shot!”
“Okay—okay, kid, c’mon.”
Daryl was leading him somewhere.
He wasn’t sure when, but at some point, Carl had latched onto his arms.
Then, they were in a bathroom and his hands were under cold water.
“Breath, kid. Try not to move your shoulders, it’ll make getting air harder.”
Carl hadn’t realized his breathing was weird until Daryl pointed it out, and now he was all too aware of it.
“I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
“Well, you haven’t lost consciousness so clearly, you can. Maybe not well— never mind, here.”
After a few minutes, Carl could sort of breath again.
He could breathe enough that it processed how cold the water was, so he turned it off.
“You good?” Daryl asked.
“Yeah—yeah, I’m good.”
People in the hospital were looking at him weird.
It wasn’t a normal ‘oh wow that kid only has one eye’ kind of looking either.
They were all doctors, too.
One person that had been looking at him weird had walked over and asked what his name was.
Carl didn’t tell him.
Just glared at him until he went away.
Daryl walked over with two cups of water and sat down.
“People keep looking at me like I have four arms.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.
Carl looked over at him.
“You know why.”
“I have an idea.”
“Care to share?”
Daryl sighed. “If I were a betting man, I’d guess it’s because this is where you got taken when your old man be rid of your depth perception.”
Carl froze.
It made sense, but it was still weird.
“And they still remember me?”
“Who else in this town is your age and only has one eye? Hell, who else in this town only has one eye, period?”
“Fair.”
A doctor walked into the waiting room and made a beeline for him and Daryl.
They stood.
“Carl Grimes?”
“Yes?”
“She’s out of surgery, a little groggy but she wouldn’t answer any questions from us before she saw you and,” He gestured toward Daryl “You.”
They followed the doctor and took turns asking questions.
“So, the surgery went well?” Carl asked.
“Yes.”
“And she’s gonna make a full recovery?” Daryl.
“Yes.”
“Where was she shot?” Carl.
“Not for me to say.”
“We’ll be able to tell based on where the bandages are.” Daryl interjected.
“Looks like we’re here.” The doctor opened the door. (Carl swore he heard him sigh in relief.)
Her shoulder.
She was shot in her shoulder.
“There you are.” She said,
She smiled.
With the arm that wasn’t bandaged up, she gestured to a chair near her bed.
Carl sat down.
Daryl sat on a chair on the other side.
“Now, are you in any pain?” The doctor asked.
“You guys gave me enough drugs, if I was in pain I’d find it funny.”
The doctor went through some other questions, and then left.
“So, what happened?” Carl asked.
“Well,” Michonne sat up a bit straighter on the bed “do I have a story for you.”
“God, do I need popcorn?” Daryl said.
“Probably. So, I hear there’s been a bank robbery which is why I left the diner so early this morning. I’ve been selected to defend the people who robbed it, and guess who I see when I get there.”
She looked over at Carl.
“Shane?”
“Nope. Worse.”
Daryl’s eyes widened. “No.” he said.
“Yep. Sitting there with his hands cuffed to the table, across from the cop that was also in there, none other than the main bastard from Peach Street.”
Carl stiffened.
“So,” Michonne continued “I go out to call someone to tell them there is no way in hell I’m defending this guy, and I hear a ruckus from the room. I went back inside and this guy had hidden something in his sleeve to pick the lock on the handcuffs and had managed to get the cop’s gun away from her, he’s pointing it at her and as soon as he sees me, he shoots me!”
Michonne took a breath. “Next thing I know, I’m being wheeled into the hospital and people are asking my name and who they can call and so I blurt out the diner’s number and then…I’m waking up in this room.”
Carl’s mouth hung open, Daryl’s was much the same.
“Best part? I’m pretty sure he’s still in jail, too. We don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Michonne paused. “He may not be locked for…yeah, but at least he’s locked up.”
Carl wanted him locked up for trying to rape him.
It was good he was locked up.
Carl nodded.
Carl ended up staying at Daryl’s place for six days while Michonne was in the hospital.
He had honestly expected them to want to keep her longer, but he was glad they didn’t.
He missed her and her apartment.
Michonne had to wear a sling.
She didn’t seem that affected.
She had been told (forced, actually) to take some time off to heal, and Daryl told Carl to stay with her while she did.
He woke up at six in the morning the day after they came back to the apartment.
Carl walked out into the kitchen and there was Michonne, chopping up and orange with one hand.
“Jesus, let me do that please. ”
Michonne handed him the knife and leaned against the counter.
“Why are you up? It’s six.” She asked.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing, you’re recovering from a damn gunshot wound.”
“I’m fine. I have enough pain meds to get a dragon high.”
“Oh god, a high dragon—no, you’re not distracting me with talking about mythical creatures. You should rest.”
“And I will. I just wanted half an orange.”
“Why half?”
“I was gonna leave the rest for you.”
Carl smiled.
He finished slicing the orange and pushed half of the slices towards Michonne and half toward himself.
Michonne picked up a slice and stuck it in her mouth.
Shortly after, she smiled and where her teeth should be, there was an orange peel.
Carl laughed harder than he’d like to admit.
Then, he did the same thing.
It was stupid.
It was also six in the morning and he had fallen asleep at eleven, woken up at one, fallen asleep again only to wake up at three, and then woke up at six.
“So,” Carl took the orange from his mouth “I was talking to Daryl about The Matrix the day you got shot.”
“Really? How’d that go?” Michonne also removed the orange from her mouth.
“He knows what a trans allegory is, which made it easier.”
“Did you get to the part where Neo and Morpheus had more chemistry than Neo and Trinity in the first movie?”
“No, no I did not.”
They threw away the orange peels and Carl grabbed the tiny plates from the cabinet to put the remaining slices on.
With their plates they sat on the couch.
“Favorite Disney movie, go.” Michonne said.
“Either Big Hero 6 or Onward. You?”
“Sleeping Beauty.”
Carl raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. I always liked her dress.”
Carl could picture Michonne in Aurora's dress.
“You’d look pretty in her dress.”
Michonne smiled. “You know, my wedding dress had a similar shape, minus all the colors Aurora had on her pink one.”
“You were married?”
“Yeah.”
Then, Carl remembered the photos on the wall.
“I saw the pictures. On the wall.”
“Oh…those.” She seemed sad.
“Sorry, did I drag something up?”
“No, no. You would have found out eventually, anyway. I had a husband and son, long story short, one day I came home to find my husband had overdosed and my son had…drowned, in the bathtub ‘cause my husband had been too high to pay attention.” Her voice wobbled.
Carl’s eye widened.
“Jesus. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
Michonne smiled sadly. “Thanks.”
Carl set his oranges down on the coffee table and hugged her best he could without messing up her sling.
She wrapped her good arm around him.
They stayed like that for a while.
They had the bright idea to watch the entire Twilight saga.
About halfway through the second movie, Carl looked down at Michonne who was laying with her head up against a pillow that was on Carl’s chest (He had no idea how they had ended up here), and said “Why did we decide to watch this again?”
“Because it was the first thing, I saw on the DVD shelf.”
“Okay, different question, why do you own this?”
“I remember when it was released, I watched it in theaters, I have to own it.”
“Does that apply to every movie you’ve seen in theaters ever?”
“Just the stuff I remember.”
“Why would you remember this?”
“I have no clue, kiddo.”
Shortly after that, they both fell asleep.
And they both dreamt of orange juice.