She doesn’t show her panic. Not right away. She’s too well-trained for that.
And Monica doesn’t need to see that.
Because she’s already seeing her other mother disoriented and vomiting blood and trying to be cavalier about how bad her pain is and failing, bad and hard.
“Monica, Carol’s going to be just fine, but I need you to wait in your room or out on the porch.”
“But Mom -”
“I need you to do that for me, Monica.”
“Go ahead, Lieutenant Trouble. Go grab that mixtape I made you, okay? Put that in your headphones nice and loud, huh?”
Maria glares down at Carol for talking, but she sighs because it works. Monica nods and sprints out of the room in search of her walkman.
“What the hell happened?” Maria asks, and only then does her voice shake, even though her hands don’t: her hands are sewing Carol’s skin back together, calm and collected and contained.
Because if her hands aren’t controlled, she won’t be controlled.
And if she’s not controlled, Carol’s pain’s going to get a whole lot worse.
“The ultimate case of you-should-see-the-other-guy?” Carol wheezes, and Maria glares harder as she continues to stitch.
“Are you capable of taking this seriously, Car-”
“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry. New weapon. Dropped it off with Shuri, figured she could figure out how to dismantle the damn thing.”
“If you dropped it off with Shuri, why didn’t you get her to heal you? You’d be on your feet by now, not coughing up blood on our living room -”
“I said I dropped it off. Really I meant I hurled it through Wakanda’s barriers, with a note. My body was on autopilot, and I didn’t have enough strength to get anywhere but home.”
Maria’s hands still, and her eyes lock into Carol’s. “You’re very stubborn.”
“You’re very beautiful.”
“Flattery’s not going to make me less angry with you.”
Carol hisses as Maria finishes her stitches, but her lips are curling upward somewhat. “Yeah it is, look, you’ve got that little I-don’t-wanna-admit-that-I’m-smiling smile going on.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“No, I don’t.”
A long beat of silence. Carol is still breathing. Her breathing’s getting calmer. Her forehead is shining with sweat.
“Wait here.”
“Wasn’t planning to go anywhere.”
Maria rolls her eyes as she jogs into the closet for a towel. She runs it with cool water and lets it rest on Carol’s head.
She groans with the relief of something not burning on her body.
“That’s nice,” Carol murmurs, angling her body ever so slightly so she’s leaning into Maria’s lap.
“I love you,” Maria whispers like it’s an accusation, and Carol smiles because she knows.
“‘M sorry I came right here. I didn’t want to scare you. Or Monica. I just… scared.”
Maria hasn’t heard Carol admit that she’s scared, not in so many words, in years.
“We got you. Both of us do. You hear me?”
Carol nods as she falls asleep, safe, now that her bleeding’s stopped.
The next morning is Saturday cartoons on the floor with lots of cereal and lots of a giggling Monica and a smiling Maria, Carol doing her best to tickle their daughter during every single commercial.
When Tony and Shuri come to check on her, they agree that she’ll be just fine.