A short chapter this time, but I didn't want to keep you in suspense for too long!

Harry

I'm thinking that the longer she's in surgery, the better her chances are. If she'd have died straight away, surely I'd have been told by now? The last image I have of her is when the helicopter landed, her being wheeled away from me, covered by machines and doctors, and the only part of her I could see was her spill of dark hair. God, if she doesn't make it…

I wipe away my tears impatiently, I've been crying on and off since I got to the hospital waiting room and I can't seem to stop it. I'm usually so in control of my emotions, but not now. My phone rings and I ignore it. There is absolutely no one I want to speak to right now. Five hours and counting. How long should this take? I know her lung collapsed, and she was coughing up blood. And her heart stopped for a few moments, all of which are bad things, but surely I should have had some news by now. I debate talking to the receptionist again, but I know I'm annoying her, and she doesn't have anything to tell me either. We've already established the fact that I've been listed as Ruth's emergency contact, something I didn't know before today. I wonder when she did that, after we became a couple, or before?

There are two windows in the waiting room, and it's gotten dark by now, the orange glow of street lights cutting through the blackness. It feels strange to me. How can the world keep turning, how can time keep passing when Ruth may be dying somewhere in this building?

Oh God. I see a doctor approaching me and I have a sense of foreboding I want to push away, but can't. "Mr Pearce, if you'd like to follow me." I get up, but the fear that fills me is indescribable. I'm being led to an empty private room, and surely they'd only be doing that if it was bad news.

"Is Ruth alive?" I ask impatiently. At this moment in time it is quite simply the only thing that matters.

"Yes," the doctor tells me and I close my eyes in pure relief, sighing heavily. She's alive. I open my eyes and look at the doctor again and I can read him well.

"But?" I say, knowing there's a problem from the worry in his face.

"But we had to remove a portion of her left lung. She should be able to recover, almost fully, but she probably won't be as active as she was before."

"Okay," I say. "And?" There's something else, I know there is.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but she was pregnant."

"Oh," I say blankly. Then I latch on to the important word. "You said... was?"

"The surgery to save her life was too invasive. She lost the baby. I'm so sorry. It was very early, she may not have even known she was pregnant."

"Okay," I say. I have no idea what to say to that news. It's so far removed from anything I expected to be told and I'm so unprepared for it. "Can I see her?"

"Of course," he says. "She has a tube helping her with her breathing, but she should come around in the next day or so."

"Okay." I follow the doctor blindly, my mind in turmoil. Ruth had been carrying our child, for a brief moment in time. And that chance has now been taken from us. Had she known? And if she had, why hadn't she confided in me? Would she have wanted the baby? So many questions are milling around my head, with no chance of answering them. At least until Ruth wakes up.

The doctor opens the door and I see Ruth lying in a hospital bed, looking so small which momentarily drives out any thought of our child. I immediately rush over to her and kiss her forehead. Her skin feels clammy, and she doesn't look like her. Keeping my eyes on her face, I say, "I'm staying with her tonight." I'm careful not to phrase it as a question and my tone brooks no argument. I don't look away from Ruth until the door closes and I see that we're alone and I sigh with relief.

"You're going to be fine," I tell her, kissing her cheek. I'm not sure I believe this, she looks so frail and fragile. I take her hand and squeeze it tightly. "Why didn't you tell me, Ruth?" I ask. "If I'd have known about the baby I never would have let you anywhere near the Gavrik's." As I say this it occurs to me that this might be the exact reason why she didn't mention it. She wouldn't have wanted to let me face their threats and lies alone, I know that. I stroke the back of her hand in the quiet and I hate how still she is. Not once have I ever seen her sleeping and being this immobile. She's always fidgeting, turning over and twitching. Now that she's so still it feels horribly wrong.

"Don't leave me," I quietly beg. I couldn't bear it if she did.