Thank you so much to sise87, Anthony and kiara87 for your reviews. They mean a lot to me, and really inspired this chapter, which I think may be one of the better ones I've done. Also, thanks for the well wishes! I am actually feeling quite a bit better :)
Note the first: The lyrics in italic are Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. I don't 'em.
Note the second: This chapter was incredibly emotionally draining to write, so I put in some easter eggs for myself. Those of you who recognize the characters - it's not intended to really be them. It simply amused me.
Chapter 25
We'll do it all.
Everything.
On our own.
We don't need . . .
Anything . . .
Or anyone.
If I lay here . . .
If I just lay here . . .
Would you lay with me and just forget the world?
Wyatt was all powerful. He could level a city block with the flick of his pinky. Could hear someone's thoughts halfway across town if he tried. He could summon a protective shield rendering him nearly invincible. Growing up, the abilities he possessed had made him feel almost inhuman. Right now, he didn't have that problem. Right now, carrying the woman he loved limply in his arms into an emergency room, he felt powerless and frightened in an entirely human way.
After Molly's proclamation, Wyatt's brain had turned off save one thought: Save Casey. It meant he'd orbed to the back alley a block away from the hospital without waiting for any of the others. He'd run at full speed, her dead weight in his arms, her head curled into his chest, and he could only think about how her breathing was so shallow and wheezy sounding. Could only picture the flecks of blood when she'd coughed.
The sliding doors opened, and he found he didn't have to seek out help. Three young looking doctors all rushed over in their blue scrubs looking far too excited about seeing the unconscious woman in his arms. One tall blonde woman turned off to get a gurney while a cocky looking brown haired man about Wyatt's size started checking Casey's vitals and shouting unfamiliar abbreviations to the others. He said this one was his - like he was claiming dibs. Wyatt wanted to telekinetically strangle him.
The third physician was a shorter man with a baby face. He had short, curly brown hair and kind brown eyes. He alone addressed Wyatt while the others settled Casey onto the gurney and started wheeling her away without his permission. "Sir, are you the husband?"
Wyatt's heart twisted like a cloth being rung out. He didn't answer, his feet automatically heading after the gurney until a gentle but firm hand landed on his chest. He looked down to find the baby faced doctor looking sympathetically up at him. The Twice Blessed ran his hand over his face and through his hair, struggling to get a handle on his emotions. He could already see the sky outside darkening in storm as response to his pain and fear. He took a deep breath through his nose and shakily asked, "Where are they taking her?"
"They're going to take care of her" the physician answered carefully. "I can't really tell you more than that without knowing your relation to the patient."
"I'm her . . ." Wyatt contemplated lying. He didn't. "No. We're not married. Please, what's wrong with her? She was coughing blood, wheezing and she just passed out. Please, Doctor . . .?"
"O'Malley," the man answered. He looked torn, obviously feeling for Wyatt but not wanting to break the very strict privacy rules governing treatment.
The sliding doors hissed open behind him, and Wyatt turned automatically. A lifetime of fighting demons made one on guard for new arrivals regardless of surroundings. To his relief, it was Chris who jogged into the space looking panicked. He immediately stopped at Wyatt's side asking, "Where's Case? What's happening?"
"Are you the husband?" Dr. O'Malley directed to Chris.
Chris shook his head. "No, but I have a medical power of attorney." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolled through something, tapping a few times and then handed it to the doctor for verification.
Wyatt's head whipped around. "You what? Since when?"
"She couldn't trust her mother, so we drew it up after Lucky was born," Chris replied, eyes on the doctor. "Well?"
Dr. O'Malley nodded, satisfied with the electronic verification. He gestured for the two men to take a seat, which sent both of their hearts racing and stomachs dropping. Sitting was for bad news. They expected as much, but the look on the doctor's face was so painfully understanding and grim they knew it wasn't standard bad news. This was 'the person you love is dying' bad news. Molly was right. They were sure of it.
After the brothers had taken their seats, Dr. O'Malley began slowly, "Your friend presented with what appears to be a severe pneumothorax, which means her lung has collapsed. My colleagues are running tests to determine the cause, but in the meantime, they're going to need to insert a chest tube to relieve the air compressing her lung. The fact she was coughing blood likely indicates some form of lung disease, but-"
"-No," Wyatt shook his head. "That's not possible. She's never smoked a day in her life. She's allergic."
"Cancer?" Chris asked numbly. He looked at the doctor. "Is that what you think?"
The physician tried to offer a reassuring smile. "There's no need to jump to conclusions. The only thing we know right now is the remaining lung sounded obstructed, so we need to find out what's causing that. Once we know more we'll let you know."
"How long will that be?" Wyatt demanded, sharper than he intended.
Chris put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head in silent reprimand.
Long used to getting the brunt of family frustration, Dr. O'Malley let out a sad breath. "Hopefully, within the hour. I'll come fill you in as soon as I know more." He locked eyes on Wyatt. "I promise you."
000
I don't quite know . . .
How to say . . .
How I feel.
Those three words . . .
Are said too much . . .
They're not enough.
If I lay here . . .
If I just lay here . . .
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
Casey felt like she had cotton in her ears, everything was muffled, and the painful humming in her head wasn't helping. Her lower back hurt, her chest felt like it was in a vice grip, and she couldn't breathe. She felt like she was drowning on dry land. She could feel Wyatt's strong arms behind her back and knees. She could feel his heartbeat pulsing under her ear. He was scared. She wanted to open her eyes and give him some comfort, tell him no matter what happened, she loved him, but she couldn't.
Something shifted and she felt a hard surface below her. She could tell they were moving because her mind spun making her dizzy and nauseated. Someone slid their hand under her shirt, touching her chest with a cold circle - stethoscope she guessed. Someone else had put a small clamp on her finger. The voices grew worried.
A female voice said quickly, "Pulse Ox only 90%, she's getting cyanotic. She's clearly hypoxic."
"I hear severe Tachycardia. Pulse rate is 135 and rising," a baritone added. "This chick is toast if we don't do a thoracotomy. Now."
Those comforting words were the last she heard before the darkness fully claimed her.
Forget what we're told.
Before we get too old.
Show me a garden that's bursting into life.
All that I am . . .
All that I ever was . . .
Is here in your perfect eyes.
They're all I can see.
Casey was standing in the Halliwell Manor's garden. White chairs wrapped in baby blue and silver bows lined a walkway on both sides leading toward the white gazebo. Wildflowers lined the makeshift aisle, dazzlingly brilliant in shades of red, yellow, orange and purple.
The entire Halliwell Family was seated outside in their Sunday best. Even the boys' Grams and Great Grams had been summoned and were smiling widely at her. At least when Great Grams wasn't bickering with a smartly dressed Victor Bennett, who seemed more amused by her antics than anything. The twins were both beaming happily while Henry Jr. snapped his fingers in mock disappointment, a huge smile on his face. Paige was pretending not to be teary, rolling her eyes at something her husband said in her ear before lightly slapping his chest with the back of her hand. Phoebe's entire crew were crying openly, even Coop seemed misty-eyed.
She moved slowly up the aisle to find her high school friends, Kip and Jessica present as well. Kip gave her a double thumbs up while Jessica had her hand over her heart, a soft look on her face. A little further up sat Piper and Leo. Piper's eyes were melting chocolate pools of pride and joy, while Leo looked so purely happy his face was sure to burst. Next to them was Perry, whose arm was draped over Bianca's shoulders. He gave a nod of approval, a discreet smile on his face before bending to whisper something in Bianca's ear making her look at him in amused frustration, digging a finger in his ribs, eliciting a laugh. Based on the ring Casey saw on Bianca's finger, the two were happily married.
Casey next saw Chris and Lucky. They were standing up front in matching black tuxes with blue cumberbuns and ties. The son was standing in front of his father. Chris was mouthing the word, 'breathe' while smiling lovingly at her. Their little boy made a face and pulled at his tie until his father subtly smacked his hand at which point Lucky fiddled with the rings on the pillow he was holding instead, looking the picture of bored, and it made his mother laugh.
Molly was dressed in a champagne colored bridesmaid gown, looking classy and beautiful. As Casey drew near, she took the flowers Casey hadn't even known she was holding and pulled her in for a quick hug, whispering, "Congratulations. We love you so much."
Then, Casey turned and her whole world narrowed down to a pinpoint. Wyatt. Her sweet, handsome, funny, strong amazing Wyatt. His cerulean eyes were locked on hers, a telling shine to them as he gave her the same dazzling smile, which had been responsible for making her knees go week countless times over the years. He dipped his head to murmur in her ear, "Ready to become Mrs. Halliwell?"
Her heart fluttered into her throat, and she could only smile and nod.
Wyatt took her hands in his big, warm, powerful ones. She instantly felt steady, safe and calm. He was her rock. Her safeplace. Her everything. And he was fading away into blackness. . .
Casey could hear herself moan, and it hurt. Her mouth and throat were painfully dry. A funny taste, metallic and bitter was stuck on her tongue. She knew she was conscious because every part of her was in pain. Especially her chest.
Opening her eyes, she instantly regretted it and squeezed them back shut. She blinked a few times and caught someone sitting in a chair off to her left. She was going to turn her head when she felt tubes going up her nose. She tried to raise a hand to touch it only to find her right hand burn painfully as something pulled at the skin on the back of it. Her eyes slid down to reveal an IV hooked into her hand. Various monitors were attached to her chest and fingers and arm.
She tried to called out, but her throat was so dry the words came out broken and weak. "Wy-att? Wyatt?" Hearing herself so frail and feeling like a science experiment, her eyes started to sting, panic welling in her, and she tried to sit up, flight instinct kicking in.
Strong hands held her down, stopping her, which she realized was a good thing because the slight movement she had managed sent a blinding pain through her chest. Her vision blacked out a minute, and she became so dizzy she thought she may be sick.
"Shhh," a familiar voice soothed. "He'll be right back. I made him take a walk before he started an earthquake. You scared the hell out of him, so you're stuck with the less powerful but decidedly more handsome Halliwell brother for now."
Casey groggily turned her head toward the voice to find Chris leaning over her. His green eyes were dark and a little crinkle was between his brows. He wasn't hiding his own terror very well. Trying to lighten the mood she croaked, "Perry?"
"Fun-ny." Chris rewarded her with a weak smile despite the eye roll.
A pregnant pause filled the space between them before she asked, "What happened?"
Chris brushed her hair off her face, a somber look filling his. "Your lung collapsed. They had to put in a chest tube."
She blinked rapidly, trying very hard not to cry. "Lucky?"
"He doesn't know anything yet. Molly's watching him."
A knock on the door drew their attention, and the kind physician from earlier poked his head into the room followed by an older, sharp featured asian woman in a lab coat that identified her as Dr. Yang. While the young man, who was clearly an intern set about entering various numbers from the monitors into a tablet, the older doctor put on a grave smile and moved to stand in front of Chris and Casey.
"My name is Dr. Yang," the woman curtly introduced herself. "I'm a cardiothoracic surgeon, which means I specialize in conditions related to the heart and lungs."
"Surgeon?" Casey repeated feeling her stomach knot and twist. "Why . . . why do I need a surgeon?"
The woman's face showed nothing. Brown eyes were sharp with intelligence but seemed incapable of basic human emotion. "You suffered a collapsed lung, and your other lung wasn't functioning at normal capacity either. Due to this we ran many tests, including a biopsy." The surgeon paused, thin lips nearly disappearing in a stern line. Finally, she announced, "We found benign tumors as well as numerous cysts. One of those cysts had burst near your lung's edge, which is what caused the pneumothorax."
"Benign?" Chris repeated. "Not cancer then?"
Dr. O'Malley winced, his hands shaking as he checked the IV feed. It made Casey's throat feel thicker, and the monitor for her breathing started amping up. Off a nod from his superior, the intern pushed a button on the IV and a burning cold entered the back of her hand. Almost instantly Casey felt calmer and she realized they sedated her. The news was sedation worthy.
"Ms. Alvarez," Dr. Yang continued, "based on the biopsy and results from a chest x-ray I believe you have a very rare lung disease called lymphangioleiomyoma. LAM for short."
Casey couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the word. It kept slipping around in her head like a snake. In and out and over and under. She blinked groggily. These drugs were strong.
"So, how do we fix it?" Chris asked, taking control of the conversation since his friend obviously couldn't. "Drugs? Surgery? What?"
A tiny crack showed through the surgeon's steely mask. Her voice was low, almost but not quite sympathetic as she said, "There is no cure. Your friend will need a lung transplant, and even then life expectancy is only three years. The muscle cells will continue to grow abnormally, and I fear they may have already spread to her kidneys, which means the chances of a transplant are minimal."
Casey vaguely recalled thinking how her back had been hurting a lot lately. She'd also been really nauseated and not wanting to eat. Guess that explained that. Then she recalled the words three years and felt her eyes start to sting again.
Chris had balled his hands into fists, green eyes boring into the doctor. "And without the transplant?"
"I really couldn't say for sure without further testing."
"Guess," he ordered.
The intern softly whispered to Casey, "I know it's scary, but we're going to do everything we can to help you. There are drugs to lessen symptoms, and transplants happen in this hospital every day. Medicine improves every day too." He squeezed her fingers lightly in comfort. "Don't lose hope."
"Six months," the surgeon stated. "Barring complications."
Chris' jaw twitched, and Casey wasn't sure if it was the drugs or not, but it certainly looked like he was close to tears. Only Chris never cried. Well, she hadn't seen it happen since Molly's funeral . . . oh.
"Since you can't fix me can I go home?" Casey asked numbly. Her left hand immediately received a firm squeeze from Chris, who was staring fixedly at the doctor.
"Not yet," the surgeon said, her face softening just slightly. "I can't give you a definitive answer, but you'll need to stay here at least a week while we monitor your incision and oxygen levels. We'll know more when we get the rest of your test results."
Casey's eyes finally filled with tears, and she shook her head. "No. My son's birthday . . . I can't . . . I have to go home. I have to be with my son. Quiero irme a casa. Quiero ver a Lucky. Sácame de aquí. Ahorita." She started trying to pry the tubes from her nose. "Necesito ver a mijo."
Dr. O'Malley held her hands, preventing her from removing the nasal cannula or any other of the tubes or wires. He was making shushing noises, and while his previous sympathy and gentle nature had been soothing before, she couldn't handle it anymore, flicking her hands and freezing him and Dr. Yang.
Chris took over holding her arms. "Case, you're going to hurt yourself. Stop it."
"I'm going to miss all the birthdays and first days of school and sporting events . . ." She was sobbing now, which only served to make the pain in her chest, back and throat burn in rage. She petered off, gasping and wincing. Broken, sounding small she finished, "I'm going to miss Lucky growing up."
Chris clasped her face in his hands, fixing her with shining but firm green eyes. "I swear to you I will not let that happen. If they," he gestured toward the doctors, "can't fix this than I will. Personal gain consequences be damned, you hear me? Our son is not losing his mom. He needs you." Chris' breath hitched, and he bent to kiss her forehead, murmuring, "I need you. I can't do this without you."
"Okay," she said through a shaky breath.
Pulling back, he brushed her hair away from her face again. "You have to unfreeze them before someone comes in."
She twitched her fingers in their direction, and the physicians unfroze. Dr. O'Malley immediately adjusted her meds again before ducking out of the room. Dr. Yang informed them the patient needed to rest, and they would return once the test results were back.
Alone with Chris, Casey felt the sedation kicking in again. Everything felt heavy, and her mind was growing fuzzy and warm. Still, she could feel the warm tears rolling off her lashes. She rolled her head to look at Chris. "I'm really scared. I d-don't . . . I don't want to die."
Somehow Chris managed to slide into the tiny bed next to her, careful not to snag any of the tubes or wires. He held her tight against him, placing his head on hers. "Remember when you got panic attacks and I'd orb into your room? Same thing. Just listen to my breathing and try to match it. Focus on the rhythm of my heart." He felt her breathing get more steady, though still unnervingly shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut. "You're not alone. I'm right here, Babe. You just sleep now, okay? I've got you."
Half-asleep, she asked, "His party . . . Lucky has to have fun. Don't let him worry 'bout me, prometeme."
"I've got Lucky covered," Chris said, the back of his eyes burning. "Just rest now, okay?"
A moment later she was asleep.
Wyatt appeared in the doorway, his face falling to despair as he spotted his younger brother struggling not to cry as he held his childhood friend. The Twice Blessed couldn't move, paralyzed with fear at what could have happened in the short time he'd been gone to put that look on Chris' face.
Realizing his brother had arrived, Chris quietly, carefully slipped off the bed making sure not to wake Casey. Facing Wyatt, he opened his mouth but no words came out. He winced, obviously not sure how to break the news. His eyes dropped, his adam's apple bobbing as he struggled with his emotions.
Chris had only ever cried three times that Wyatt could recall. When he'd realized Molly was dead, the day of her funeral, and the day Lucky was born, and the doctors told him his son might die. He looked precariously close to shedding tears now, which really only meant one thing.
"How long does she have?" Wyatt softly asked, already feeling the moisture in his own eyes rapidly building.
His younger brother struggled to get the words out, and his voice was thick when he finally said, "Six months but the doctor . . . I think that might be best case scenario, and I'm pretty sure this isn't."
Chris then relayed everything the surgeon had told them, and as he spoke, the Twice Blessed closed his eyes and felt warm trails of tears roll down his face. He swallowed hard, scrubbing his hand over his face trying to get a grip on his emotions. He'd nearly caused an earthquake earlier, having to go for a walk to clear his mind, but he was dangerously close to releasing so much worse right now.
Wyatt moved numbly over to the bed, looking down at the love of his life. She was so pale, chest barely moving. So many tubes and monitors everywhere. He'd always thought she was tiny, but right now, without her feisty attitude, she looked small. Fragile.
"I need to get back," Chis announced, running a hand through his hair, avoiding looking at either his brother or his friend. "I have to figure out how to help Perry with that potion, and I need to talk to Lucky about this. . .somehow."
Wyatt pulled up a chair next to the bed and palmed the side of Casey's face, his attention wholly on her. "Go."
Chris paused on his way out, putting a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "If you need me or if there's any change . . ."
The older brother silently nodded agreement, eyes still locked on his girlfriend.
After Chris had disappeared out the door, Wyatt telekinetically shut it and lowered all the blinds. He took a deep breath, raising his hands over Casey's chest. He stared at them waiting for the familiar warmth to come, for the brilliant golden glow to appear. It didn't happen.
Thunder clashed deafeningly loud and rain began to hammer on the hospital roof. The perfectly blue sky was growing darker by the moment, and Wyatt found he didn't care. What good was having all this power if he couldn't even save the woman he loved?
She's going to die, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, a voice crooned in his ear. You will fail her just like your nephew said you would.
Wyatt took Casey's hand in one of his while using the other to lovingly stroke her hair. He glanced up to the heavens. "You take her from me, and I'm done. No more Twice Blessed. I won't do anything for you people ever again. You hear me up there?" The ice of his eyes melted and raced down his face as he added brokenly, "That's a promise."
A loud crack of thunder punctuated his statement, and Barbas, who stood invisible in the corner, smiled.
000
I need your grace.
To remind me . . .
To find my own.
I don't know where.
Confused about how as well.
Just know that these things will never
change for us at all.
Molly picked up the book setting on the nightstand by Lucky's bed. The Fellowship of the Ring. There was a bookmark in the shape of a motorcycle sticking out the top, and the whitelighter flipped to the page it was marking. She cleared her throat, opening her mouth to begin when she was interrupted by her charge.
"-Where's Momma?"
She turned to look down at the little boy, who was sitting in the small bed next to her, back against the headboard. His hair was still wet from his shower, dark bangs dangling into his crisp green eyes, which were full of concern and distrust. Despite the brown motorcycle covered pajamas, he looked pretty intimidating for a little boy right now, and she swallowed nervously. "She's with your Uncle Wyatt. Remember?"
Lucky's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. I don't sense her at Uncle Wyatt's. Where. Is. Momma?"
"I didn't say she was at your Uncle Wyatt's," Molly corrected, flushing at being called out by a not-quite-six year old. "I said she's with him."
"We just met Tom Bombadil, and Momma said it was one of her favorite parts," Lucky said firmly. "She wouldn't skip it for a dumb date. Our bedtime story is important to her. She always says so."
Molly took a breath, trying to smile reassuringly and certain she was failing. "It is, but your mom couldn't be here tonight, so she asked me to read it to you. So, how about we find out about this Tom guy, huh?"
As she opened the book again to start reading, it disappeared in a swirl of orbs, soared across the room and hit the far wall with a resounding thwak before falling hard to the ground. Lucky's green eyes were burning emeralds as he stared at Molly. "Stop it. Stop lying to me! I'm not stupid. I can feel something is wrong. I wanna see my mom. I wanna see her right now!"
Molly put her hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him down and stop him from orbing away. "Okay, Lucky, calm down. Yes, something is going on right now, but your dad and Uncle Wyatt are taking care of it. You trust them, right? You know they'd never let anything bad happen to your mom."
Lucky deflated, visibly slouching in the bed. He nodded but his eyes were still hard.
"So, how about I read a chapter then you try to sleep. Maybe have dreams about your party?" Molly suggested. She rose from the bed to fetch the book only to have it telekinetically scooted away from her.
"Not that one," Lucky quickly stated. "That book is mine and Momma's. Pick a different one."
Molly sighed but nodded, crossing over to the bookshelf. She perused a few of the titles before picking one off the shelf. She held it out for Lucky's approval, and when he nodded, she returned to sit next to him on the bed. Opening the book, Molly had just read the first paragraph when the sound of orbs drew their attention to the door.
Chris was standing at the threshold, and one look at him made Molly's chest constrict and stomach drop hard. His red rimmed eyes were focused on his son, and the green of them looked hauntingly bright in the dim light.
"Dad," Lucky drew out, not missing the somber look on his father's face. His little voice was quivering as he asked, "Something bad happened, right?"
Chris nodded, swallowing thickly. He moved slowly across the space, taking a seat on the bed next to his son. He lovingly brushed the bangs back from the child's face before his hand came to rest on the boy's cheek.
"Daddy?" Lucky asked, slipping into the more childish title as fear gripped him tight.
"Lucky, your mom . . ." Chris took a shaky breath. "She's sick, Kiddo."
"We can make her soup," Lucky suggested softly. "You make me soup when I'm sick, and I feel better."
Molly didn't miss the distinct shine forming in Chris' eyes, and she realized if he was telling Lucky then whatever was wrong wasn't something he and Wyatt could easily fix. It meant Casey might not make it, and Lucky had to be prepared. With that thought, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her hand going up to her mouth to stop herself from releasing the pained gasp that wanted out.
"No, soup isn't going to fix this one," Chris answered slowly. "She's, uh," He licked his lips, struggling to get the words out. "She's in the hospital, Lucky. The doctors are going to try to fix her, but she's really sick, so I don't know when she'll be home."
Lucky's chin had started to shake. "W-what's wrong with Momma?"
"She's having a hard time breathing," Chris answered. "Her lungs aren't working right."
The child's green eyes were brimmed with tears now. "Daddy, is she . . . is she going to die?"
Molly's breath caught and she opened her eyes, focusing them on Chris. The love of her life was struggling to stay strong for his son. The child probably didn't notice the way Chris' adam's apple was quivering or how his eyes were dark like a thrashing sea, but she did, and it hurt her heart.
Chris' voice sounded brittle as he answered, "I . . . I don't know, Lucas."
"No! Momma!" Lucky cried. He immediately tried to orb out only to get pulled back down by his father. He struggled against Chris' hands, green eyes frantic as tears streamed down his face. "I have to see her. I have to see Momma. Let me go. Quiero ver a Mamá! Déjame ir!"
Chris pulled the boy tight against him, stroking his hair, ignoring as tiny fists pounded his chest. He closed his eyes, tears finally slipping down his face too. After several more minutes of sobbing and struggling, Lucky finally went still in his arms, and Chris pulled back to look into his son's face. He wiped the remaining tears away, despite his own still falling. "Lucky, we are going to do everything we can to help your mom. I swear, I'm not going to rest until I figure out a way to save her. I just need you to be brave in the meantime, okay? Can you do that for me?"
Lucky sniffled as he nodded. He swallowed a half-sob. "C-Can I see her tomorrow?"
"We'll see," Chris answered. Before Lucky could argue, Chris whispered something into the child's ear and a moment later the youth's eyes slipped closed and he slumped forward into his father's arms. Chris kissed the top of his head before gently laying him down. He tucked the blankets around his son before rising to face Molly.
"It's that bad?" Molly said more than asked.
Chris nodded, his eyes not able to meet hers.
Molly swiftly moved to him, wrapping her arms around him, and no sooner had she done so then she heard his breath hitch in a dry sob. He was shaking in her arms. Chris. Indomitable, funny, neurotic Chris was breaking down in her arms, and it broke Molly's heart like nothing she'd ever experienced before. She put her hand to the back of his head, tangling her hand in his hair as she tried to soothe him.
Holding her desperately, Chris brokenly told his fiance, "I don't know what to do, Molly. Lucky told us this would happen, but . . . I can't lose her. I can't watch my best friend die. I can't raise our son alone."
"There's a way to save her," Molly told him. She kicked herself as soon as the words were out. Her need to comfort the man she loved had her speaking without thinking.
Chris pulled back to frown at her. "You say that like you know something."
Molly pursed her lips, cursing her slip. She couldn't take it back now. "Lucky's futureself told me there was a way to save her, but . . . it sounds like it may have bad consequences."
"Worse than losing her?" Chris questioned incredulously. "Molly, if you know something that can save my son's mother, you need to tell me."
"Nothing concrete," she hedged. "Just . . . apparently, Perry figures it out."
Chris took a moment to absorb the information before turning and walking away from her. As she chased after him, asking where he was going, Chris shot over his shoulder, "If Perry is the key to saving Casey, I'm going to go figure out how to save him from that stupid potion, so he's free to help her."
"But Lucky said it would be bad. The consequences-"
Chris whirled around on her, eyes flashing. "Damn the consequences, Molly. Telling Lucky his mother was sick damn near destroyed me just now. I'm going to do whatever I have to do to make sure I never have to tell him she's dead. You hear me? It's not happening."
Watching Chris stomp up the attic stairs, Molly knew she'd just made a critical error. Once that man got something in his head, there was no stopping him. If Perry saving Casey triggered some horrible, exploding chain of events, Molly was pretty sure she'd just lit the match.
If I lay here . . .
If I just lay here . . .
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?
TBC. . .
AN: So, everyone still want Casey dead? (Yeah, this was me trying to get the poor girl some sympathy after putting her through the wringer repeatedly. Figured I owed her one)
Next time: Lighter fare! Kip and Perry have an amusing/awkward encounter, and Lucky's birthday party with some special guest stars!