Mary McGinnis slumped against the wall head in her hands, shaking it gently. "I can't...I can't go through with this..."
She had said some version of this several times now. But it was somehow harder each time Terry heard it.
The hospital waiting room was just as he remembered it. Some rerun played meaninglessly on a screen in the corner. A white noise machine made calming sounds in the opposite corner. Magazines were scattered across the little end tables. It was all clean, comfortable, well lit, and completely uninviting.
His eyes moved across the room, finally arriving at Mary. She turned away, but before she did, Terry caught a glimpse of...what? Anger? Suspicion? Had he imagined it?
Terry looked at his mother, unable to think of anything to say. Or rather, he could think of many things, but couldn't bring himself to say any of them out loud. So he stood next to her in silence, squeezing her hand.
She withdrew her hand. Again, he thought there was something in her eyes he could not name.
Sighing, he reflected on how little had changed. This felt exactly like the last time they'd been here, waiting for a doctor to come through the door and tell them that Warren McGinnis had died on the operating table, as doctors tried to repair the damage after the attack.
That night had been awful. He'd returned to his father's apartment to find his mother with several Gotham City cops. They wouldn't let him in the apartment, wouldn't let him though, but he'd forced his way in and found the EMTs loading his father onto a stretcher. After that, his memory was a blur: his father bloody and broken, an EMT snarling at him to get out of the way, someone pulling him aside when he didn't react, the cops rushing him and his mother in a squad car behind the ambulance, and finally ending up in this very room, waiting for news...
Tonight had been much the same...a blur. Terry could only remember what had happened as though he were watching a movie of himself. He had dug through the scrap iron that buried Matt, frantic, praying that he had somehow survived. After several minutes, he'd found the boy, covered in blood, his right leg bent at an unnatural angle. Blood bubbled from his mouth; his breathing was ragged and unnatural, but at least it was there. He could hear sirens in the distance, converging on the steel yard, but Terry had not waited. With strength that could only come from the suit, he ripped the chains still binding Matt to the track, scooped up the boy, and flew straight to Gotham Central.
He'd carried Matt into ER, not bothering to remove the suit. He'd told them the boy's name and left before they could ask more questions. By the time he'd changed out of the suit and returned, Mary had arrived.
She had been sitting alone in this room. He had gone to her, telling some story of where he'd been, how he'd heard. He'd taken her up in his arms, holding her tightly. She had allowed the embrace, but not returned it, and had said not a word. That had been three hours ago.
A man in surgical greens and a cap walked through the door. "Mary McGinnis?"
She stood up a little, collected herself. "Y-yes?"
He offered his hand. "I'm Dr. Graham. We just finished surgery on your son."
She swallowed. "How is he? How is Matt?"
Dr. Graham was silent for a moment. "First of all, we think he'll live. He lost a lot of blood, and it was pretty iffy for a while. But at least he'll live."
Mary seemed to relax, letting out a deep breath. Terry hadn't realized until that moment he was clenching his fists.
After a moment, Mary opened her eyes. "Can we see him?"
The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid he's in a drug induced coma. He's still in a lot of pain. He wouldn't be able to respond to you."
"I don't care. I want to see him."
Dr. Graham hesitated. "Ms. McGinnis, I'm afraid it isn't that simple...."
Mary looked at him, face hard. "What is it? There's something you're not telling me, isn't there. What?"
The doctor looked uncomfortable.
"What is the matter with my son?"
Dr. Graham gestured to one of the couches.
"From what we can tell, your son was crushed under a massive amount of corroded steel. Both legs were crushed. The femoral artery in his left leg was lacerated, and he developed a rampant staphylococcus infection in that area of the body. I'm...I'm afraid his legs were damaged beyond repair."
Mary gazed at him for several moments, shaking her head. "No...No..." she began to moan.
Terry cleared his throat. "Will...will he ever walk again?"
Dr. Graham sighed. "With physical therapy and prosthetics, he very likely will be able to recover sufficient mobility to--"
"Is he going to walk?" Terry could hear his own voice rising.
The doctor fixed him with a stare. "Both legs were amputated above the knee. Matthew McGinnis is never going to walk the same way again. I'm sorry."
Mary began to sob, burying her face in her hands. She sank onto a chair. Terry tried to gather her up. She fought him off, trying to push away his arms, but he persisted, and finally she capitulated, surrendering to his embrace, and as the doctor again offered his apologies, they clung to each other in the sterile waiting room, beneath the fluorescent hum.
