Jackson had never had a panic attack before. He had been numbly led to a chair in the waiting room of the Pit after being forced away from April. It was Bailey pulling him away from her.

"I told her I wouldn't leave," Jackson fought, tears staining his face. He had lost all sense of reason.

"I know," Bailey said, but she continued to encourage him out of the room and Jackson knew he had to go.

They left him alone then only for a short time until Owen appeared and started talking at him. Despite everything he and April had been through, despite their arguments, their divorce, the way they'd acted towards each other, April had kept Jackson as her responsible party, the person delegated to make medical decisions when she could not. She had either trusted him the most to speak for her when she couldn't speak for herself, or forgotten to change it.

He heard Owen talking, but couldn't understand all the words. That's when the room began to spin. His hands were shaking; his heart was racing. His chest hurt. His throat was closing. He couldn't breath. His limbs felt numb, his mouth dry and he was shivering. Why did he feel so cold?

"Jackson, Jackson, Jackson?" Owen was shaking him now, trying to bring him back, but Jackson couldn't see. His vision was tunneling. He put his head between his legs, trying to catch his breath.

"Jackson," he felt a soft hand on his upper back. Amelia was here now, sitting next to him. She pulled against his shoulder, other hand on his chest, encouraging him to sit back and she held an oxygen mask on a portable tank over his mouth and nose. His eyes were still closed, but he started to feel less dizzy, less sick.

"Just breath," Amelia said, putting the strap to the mask around the back of his head to secure it. "Owen, go," she said.

Jackson's head began to clear. Amelia kept her arm wrapped around his back.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "This is my fault," He said, muffled by the oxygen mask.

Amelia's eyes widened, she shook her head no, but Jackson knew the truth. He'd never forgive himself. The words he'd understood from Owen bounced around in his head. April had been intubated for surgery, she had internal bleeding, her blood pressure was extremely low. Because she had a significant amount of alcohol in her system, because she had not been fasting, she was much more likely to be sick under general anesthesia posing a greater aspiration risk. He heard ringing in his ears after that. Of course he knew that, but his medical knowledge seemed to leave him. He didn't want to hear it. This is what he told other families. This wasn't supposed to be said to him. Owen was asking him if he understood. He didn't. This could not be happening. He tried not to think about it. She would be fine; she had to be.

He couldn't sit here. He broke out of Amelia's hold abruptly standing up, pulling the oxygen tubing with him off the tank, forgetting he was wearing it. He ripped the mask off, dropping it on the ground.

"What are you doing?" Amelia asked startled.

"I have to know she's alright."

"You can't," She said. "Jackson, stay out of it. You know you have to."

He did know that, but he didn't care. He couldn't sit there for however long it would take wondering if she was still alive.

"I'm going to the observation deck," he said. "I won't interfere; I just need to know."

"Jackson," she argued, but he was already running away from her, heading quickly towards the double doors of the Pit and into the main hospital.