A/N: I'm certain that I'm not the first person to think of this (e.g., a complete role reversal for Mark and Henry), but here it is nonetheless:

Chapter 1 - Mom

December 1, 1993

For an instant, one circle eclipsed another. One was a fluorescent light that hung from the ceiling of the gym, the other an orange and black basketball. Twelve year-old Henry Evans caught his breath and positioned himself beneath the one that was falling. It landed in his outstretched hands with a dull smack.

"Go! Go! Go!"

"Defense! Defense!"

"Score!"

The shouts and cheers were coming from everywhere. They came from the bleachers, where well over a hundred parents, teachers, and fellow students watched, some standing stock-still, others – like the cheerleading squad – jumping up and down with great enthusiasm. They also came from Henry's teammates of Rock Harbor Middle School, now spread out beside him as he began to dribble the ball across the court. And they came from the opposing players – out of Biloxi Junior High in West Florida – yelling at each other to get into position.

Of average height and well-built for his age, Henry was athletic and an able basketball player, so dribbling the ball was almost like second nature to him. His eyes scanned the court ahead, looking for a teammate to pass to or a foe to fake around. Two kids from the opposing team were now closing in on him, and Henry deftly passed the ball to his left. Dylan Connors, one of Henry's best friends and his team's small forward, caught it, faked around an opponent, and passed it back to him.

As he dribbled across the midcourt line, Henry could see teammates to his right and left, and two nervous guards from the other team backing up. He knew a good clean basket when he saw it.

He could almost see the ball sailing through the air and dropping through the net...

But then a ref's whistle suddenly blew, halting the game.

Henry stopped, puzzled, and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked and badly tousled shaggy blond hair. He was certain his team wasn't offside, and hadn't seen anyone from his team commit a foul, either. Henry instinctively looked toward the bleachers. There, he saw something that made him freeze: his father on the sideline, holding his jacket and blue gym bag, his younger brother and sister standing beside him. Coach Mason was waving for him to come off the court. Eli Matheson would be substituting for him.

Henry knew well the reason he was being taken out of the game had absolutely nothing to do with sports.

It was his mother.

For a time back in the game, he'd managed not to think about her. But now the thought sent a cold shiver down his spine, despite the stuffy atmosphere in the gym. He started to jog slowly off the court. And as Eli walked by, he patted Henry sympathetically on the shoulder, a solemn look on his face.

"Sorry, man."

Everyone at school – and almost everybody in town for that matter – knew about his mother.

Henry reached the sidelines. He was only half-aware of Coach Mason telling him he'd played a good game. Meanwhile, his father stepped toward him, holding out the gym bag and his jacket, while his sister, six year-old Connie, silently stood back with their little brother, four year-old Richard. Richard often reminded Henry of himself at that age.

"It's not..." Henry couldn't get the words out. It couldn't be the end. Not yet...

"No." Wallace Evans shook his head. Wallace was a handsome man of above-average height in his early forties, with wavy blond hair that he normally combed back. He was wearing a light brown suit jacket and khaki pants that were slightly wrinkled at the knees and elbows.

"Then why?" Henry asked as he slipped on his jacket.

"Dr. Callaghan thinks it might be soon," Wallace answered. "He said you guys should come now."

They started out of the gym and down the hall toward the exit. A loud blaring and then a dull roar went up from the gym behind them, but Henry didn't even consider turning around.

Henry shivered as they stepped out into the parking lot. He was still wearing his basketball uniform, which was hardly conducive to warmth in the thirty-degree winter air of coastal Maine. They stopped to either side of the family car, an early model blue Ford Taurus with lightly faded paint.

"You aren't going to call the rest of the family now, are you?" Henry asked as he opened the back door for Connie and Richard.

Their father was quiet for a moment. Then he responded.

"Yes, Henry. I am," he said in a halting voice.

So this was it.

As he got in and buckled his seatbelt, Henry felt a pang of emotion deep within himself. His father had once told him that he wouldn't call anyone until the end was truly upon them. Ever since then, it had been that one question Henry had always asked.

Wallace gunned the engine and drove from the parking lot.

As long as anyone hadn't been called, there was hope.

The hospital was of late post-war construction and had the overall color of dull gray concrete intermixed with red brick. It was surrounded by a few small gardens of gravel, pine and maple trees, and assorted bushes.

Henry nervously counted the seconds that ticked by before the elevator came to a stop at their all-too frequent destination on the fourth floor. As they set out down the long corridor, the late afternoon sun sent yellow shafts of light through the window blinds and open doorways. The sun, as it always did at this time of year, seemed to be in a hurry to turn a fiery red and disappear behind the mountains and hills to the west.

The hall smelled of medicine. Henry's heart beat a touch faster and he experienced the mixture of dread and longing he always felt when they came to the hospital. Ahead was his mother's private room, and as they approached, Dr. John Callaghan, wearing a set of green-blue scrubs and stethoscope, stepped out. The gray-haired older man looked over his bifocals at the approaching family. Sometimes in the past, he'd smiled when he saw them coming.

Today he did not.

Callaghan met them outside the room.

"Can we go in?" Wallace asked.

"She's asleep," Callaghan said. He glanced quickly at Henry, Connie, and Richard. "But I think this might be a good time for them to see her."

"Thanks, John," Wallace said. He and the kids started toward the doorway, but Callaghan put a hand on Wallace's shoulder.

"Wallace, could you stay out here a moment? There are a few things I think we should speak about."

Now without their father, the children hesitated by the door. But Wallace Evans nodded slightly, letting Henry know that they should go ahead.

Henry led his siblings into the dimly-lit room. The lights were off and the shade had been pulled down, allowing only a narrow shaft of yellow-red sunlight in. Susan Evans lay propped up by several pillows, her badly fatigued, shadow-ringed eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape. A nasal cannula ran from a tank of oxygen into her nostrils, while a rack with several semi-transparent bags of multi-colored IV solution hung off to one side of the bed and fed down through a long tube into the back of her hand.

Henry felt a sensation of despair and Connie squeezed his hand. Their mother no longer possessed the aura of energy that had so long sustained her through life.

He could all too easily remember the day that she'd told them what was happening to her.

"It's cancer," Susan said, her face a mix of emotion.

Henry stifled a gasp and choked back tears in that moment, while Wallace did his best to keep a cool and level head about the news. Connie and Richard were still frightened as well, but, for the moment, were blissfully ignorant of the meaning of their mother's words.

"What do the doctors say, Sus?" Wallace asked.

"They – they say it's inoperable, even by NCD standards."

Wallace looked like he had taken a stab to the heart. "Are they certain?"

Susan nodded solemnly in reply.

"Have – have they given..." Wallace stuttered, barely able to form his own words.

"They're not entirely certain, but their best guess is six to seven months."

It was at that moment Henry finally let the tears out and ran over to hug his mother. He hugged her tight and didn't want to ever let go. It wasn't long before Connie and Richard joined him.

"Oh, kids... I – I love you, too," Susan said, her voice quavering as tears began to spill from her eyes.

Before now, Henry and his siblings had never doubted that their mother would somehow get better, but even though they had seen her in this worn-out condition several times, neither Henry nor Connie still couldn't bring themselves to believe it. Richard, young though he was, now reluctantly understood what was happening.

Their mother was really dying.

Connie and Richard sat in chairs beside the bed, while Henry dropped into a worn leather sofa in the corner. Out of a sense of pure curiosity and near-impossible hope, he glanced around at the equipment and the things on her night table, as if there might be something there that would indicate her condition was actually improving despite the grim look on Dr. Callaghan's face.

But nothing was different. All the equipment necessary to keep their mother alive was still there. The vase of roses Connie had specially picked out was still on the night table, only the roses had started to wilt. Next to them was a photograph in a silver frame. It was a photograph of their mother in a long green dress, a broad smile on her face, walking with the three of them through a grove of dogwood trees in full bloom.

It seemed almost impossible that the photo had been taken just the spring before.

Henry reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out the crude wooden statue he'd made for her in shop class. His teacher, Mr. Sean, had, when he was younger, gone down the Amazon in a canoe and visited a remote tribe in the jungle. And he said that when someone in the tribe got sick, they would carve a wooden statue, to help take the sickness away. Henry knew it wouldn't really work. But at this point, even the smallest sliver of hope, no matter how impossible, was better than nothing at all, if only for Connie and Richard's sake.

He walked over and placed it on the pillows beside their mother's head.

After staring down at her for a time, Henry walked over to the window and peered through the blinds. He was greeted by a fierce glare of yellow sunlight that half-blinded him and carved a narrow path through the semi-darkness. Just as quickly, Henry closed the blinds once again.

Susan Evans' eyes suddenly flickered and opened on the sight of her children. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Henry got the feeling that she didn't know where she was. Then, she seemed to focus on him, and a small smile appeared on her badly chapped lips.

"Hey, you guys..." She spoke slowly and with effort, but even in her debilitated state, Henry could still feel her love for him, for all of them, if only from a few short words.

"Hi, Mom." Henry sidled back up to the bed, and Connie led Richard over by the hand.

"Why didn't you wake me?" his mother asked.

"We thought you probably needed the sleep."

"You know I'd rather see my kids," Susan said. "I've been waiting. To talk with you."

Henry stopped breathing for a moment, and Connie audibly gulped, while Richard clung tightly to his sister. They had all been dreading this.

Did she want to say goodbye? Or tell him how he had to be strong for the rest of the family? Or talk about the things he'd have to do after she was gone? Henry couldn't bear it.

He quickly tried to distract her by pointing out the carved statue on the pillows beside her.

"Look what I made for you," he said.

Susan turned her head slowly, and Henry quickly regretted not getting the carving himself and holding it up to where she could see it.

"It's beautiful, honey," Susan whispered. "Thank you."

"I made it in shop class. Mr. Sean helped me. He told me that when he was younger he visited a tribe in the Amazon, and whenever someone got sick they would make..."

Henry's words trailed off. He wanted to keep talking, to tell any old stupid story that would prevent his mother from saying what she wanted to say. What she had to say. But Susan slipped her hand over Henry's, and she motioned for Connie and Richard to come over. And in her eyes, Henry could see that she knew he was just trying to stall.

"Has your father told you everything?" she asked.

Henry nodded reluctantly, while Connie just stared at the floor, trying to fight off her tears, and Richard buried his face in his small hands.

"Yes, Mom," Henry whispered in a slightly trembling voice.

"Then you know there's going to be some difficult times ahead. You're going to have to be strong for your brother and sister."

Henry nodded.

"How are we going to get along without you?" Connie asked, looking up at her, her voice audibly trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Sweetie...You're my children. You've all been strong since the day you were born. Use that now."

Susan took a deep breath.

"And don't worry. I'll always be with you. Always."

Henry looked up at her curiously. The effort to speak had made her tired already. He could feel her grip on his hand weakening. He placed his other hand on hers and held it.

"I know," he whispered through his tears. "You're not going to die, Mom, I promise you. I won't let you. You're not going to because I won't let you. I promise. It's my promise..."

He could tell that their mother was fading. The effort to talk had finally caught up with her. But for a brief moment, she looked back into each of their eyes, and he could have sworn she was agreeing with him. Her lips moved slightly, and it seemed she was repeating that word again.

Always...

She wasn't going to die. Not really.

He wouldn't let it happen. He couldn't let it happen...

Then her eyes fell closed.

A sense of panic grabbed at Henry and Connie gasped.

But then they saw the slight rise and fall of her chest, and relaxed.

She was still breathing.

Henry heard the door open and footsteps coming up behind them. Wallace stared at his wife for a moment and then turned to his children.

"Has she been sleeping?" he asked.

"She was awake for a couple minutes," Henry replied.

"Did she say anything?"

Now Connie nodded in reply. Wallace waited for one of them to say more, but when everyone stayed quiet, he didn't press the issue. They all had to find a way of coping with what was about to come.

They stayed for another fifteen minutes, just sitting in silence, listening to the faint noise of Susan's breathing. As they stood to leave, Henry leaned in over his mother and parted her straight brown hair before giving her a final kiss on the forehead, as did Connie. Then Richard kissed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

They very well knew that this could be the last time they'd be able to do so.

A/N: To help change things up a bit for this story, I will be using some plot elements and "spoken" text from Ian McEwan's draft of the film from July 1991.

Disclaimer: I do not own TGS.

And, the whole 'Biloxi, West Florida' thing is part of an AU I'm currently working on over at the AltHistory Wiki. It's called 'Alternity'. Check it out for a bit more background info on the world this takes place in.