Broadly, there's nothing to do. A hundred little things that will forestall the inevitable, if it's inevitable, but no way to fix the creeping problems he's seeing. Carol can do a hell of a lot but she can't get the weather working again.

"I'm all right," he murmurs, not stubborn but honest, trying to be reassuring. There's nothing he needs her to do, no more than this.

He needs her to stay, but he won't ask that. If she gets a say in the matter, he knows she will; if she doesn't-- well, it's why he can't ask her to promise anything.