More to come, this is a short introductory chapter, for which reviews are appreciated.

St. Anne's gave the McCords a private room. It was a dulled-grey monotone room, more desirable than the flickering fluorescent waiting room with its sterile, white anxiety. For close to three hours the McCords waited in that more desirable room-waiting for word on the operation. Elizabeth kept an eye on her children from the corner arm of the couch, taking the phone call when needed. She listened as Stevie paced back and forth on the tiled floor, watched as Alison cried into her knees on the floor; and wondered about her son as he stared out of the hospital window. Although much was silent, tensions were becoming more apparent as the structure of time fell into obscurity.

The knock on the door took everyone by surprise.

"Madam Secretary," a woman's voice called from the doorway.

"Y-yes," Elizabeth answered, quickly sitting up.

"Hi, my name is Margaret Andersen, I'm one of the surgeons-" She was cut off as Elizabeth hastily rose to her feet.

"-How is he?" she sighed in urgency, her ambivalence was evident.

"Ma'am, your husband is still in a critical condition after the surgery. We'll continue to do everything we can… I know this wasn't the news you were hoping for but we'll keep you updated, if you need anything in the meantime, don't hesitate to call a nurse.

As the surgeon left she turned to her children, their eyes were fixed on her, she could see the concern in each of her children.

"Mom?" Stevie broke the weight of the equivocal visit.

"Yeah, baby?" Elizabeth's voice cracked with weakness. She tried to avert her eyes from her children as she looked straight out the window in front of her, in a rather trance-like state.

"... Is Dad going to be okay?" Of course, Stevie knew that was a ridiculous question to ask-as if she was seven and needed a reductive answer to put her mind at ease.

Elizabeth simply sat back down without saying a word. Alison then looked to her sister, more concerned and distraught then she was before.

"Is he going to be okay, Mom?" Alison did need the reductive answer.

"Ali…" Stevie hissed, with wide eyes of agitation.

"What?" Alison panicked, "I need to know if he's okay. He could be… Stevie, I need to know. I need to know, and she's… she's-" Stevie took her sister by the shoulder and lead her out of the room, Jason was quick to follow too.

"Jase… You can't just leave her, in there… all alone," Stevie groaned.

"I can't deal with her," Jason's pitch rose in defense, "If she gets all mushy… I can't, Stevie, I don't know what to do. Please, I can't go back."

"Fine," Stevie huffed, "But can we all agree to pull it together for Mom?" She looked each sibling in the eye and wiped the stray tear from Alison's cheek.

"Yes," the two agreed.

"And Ali? It's going to be okay… You know how Mom gets with this stuff. All we can do is be there for her… Just stay calm."

"But Stevie…"

"He's going to be okay," Stevie assured before she turned to walk back in. All three children entered in silence, unsure of what to do or say. All three settled back to their initial arrangement.

Stevie studied her mother from the corner of the room: She looked so vulnerable, so full of sadness, and so exposed. This wasn't like her mother, she had her usual fortress in even the worst of times. This was different. There was something wrong.

"Need anything, Mom?" Stevie asked.

Elizabeth was quick to answer, "No, no," Elizabeth kept her eyes on Stevie, knowing she needed to finish her thought, "I don't know. I… I don't…" She kept her eyes on Stevie. She could feel her face warm with sadness. The tears were nonnegotiable now.

Stevie and Alison rushed to her side, joining their mother on the small, hospital couch. They cried alongside, bearing their faces into Elizabeth.

"I can't…" Elizabeth choked, "That surgery was supposed…" She wept, all three wept-reality was becoming all too real.

In that moment, Jason turned his head, "Hey, he survived a radioactive bomb. He can survive a stupid car accident," He laughed. Suddenly, the room fell quiet, all three women looked up. Jason knew that he misspoke.

"Way to be a complete asshole," Alison asserted, "That's what you have to say? Do you not realize that Dad could die?"

"I-I'm-I'm sorry, Jason brushed it off, "I didn't mean that."

"You didn't mean what?" Alison questioned.

Jason grew small, "I didn't mean… I didn't-I just made a joke."

"You made a joke while Mom's visibly upset… You wanted to make a joke?

"No…" Jason's face grew tight, he turned back to the window in an attempt to mask his grief. He took a moment to compose himself, biting his tongue, blinking back tears; but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, all was lost. As he felt the tears break his barrier of control, his anger took over.

"I know! I know what's going to happen," he choked, "Alison. I made a joke… I made a stupid joke." Letting himself weep, Jason ran to the door and fell against the wall.

This was it. This was the harsh reality.