It is the thunk of the door closing that pulls Henry's attention away from the hug his children have enveloped him in, and he realises that Will has left the room. He kisses Alison's hair, as she's the closest to him and tells them, "Hang on a minute. I'm just going to check on your Uncle Will."

He steps back from them, feeling a slight pull of guilt at leaving them so soon, but he's concerned about just what his brother-in-law has stormed out of there to chase after. His concern is proved to be well-founded when he finds him questioning the younger of the doctors in the corridor. Will's stance is unfriendly, bordering on aggressive. He's standing a touch too close for comfort, his arms crossed across his body, and a tight scowl set on his features as he interrogates him.

"When you prescribed the diuretic, what were her symptoms?"

"It was the resident on-call who prescribed it at the time, but I believe there had been a slight increase in your sister's oxygen requirements."

"How slight?"

"From 30% to 40%, which was still within the initial parameters laid out by the anaesthetist."

Will shifts on his feet. "What were her sats?"

"As I said didn't provide the initial review, so I can't be exact, but they were in the 90s."

Henry calls out as he steps forward. "Will."

Will shakes his head at him and turns back to Lewis. "Did her vitals improve after the furosemide?"

"They stabilised."

"Then what happened?"

He's like a dog with a bone, Henry thinks. He throws question after question, never satisfied with the answer. The young doctor is handling it fairly well, his answers calm and level, although Henry can see the nervous bob of his Adam's apple as he replies, "There was slight increase to her heart rate and a drop to her blood pressure along with another increase to her oxygen requirements."

Henry tries again, he can sense his brother in law's growing agitation. "Will, they've explained what happened."

"I know what happened, but I want to know exactly how it happened," he replied shortly.

Lewis managed a small, tight smile. "It's fine. I'm happy to explain. Given the change, I requested a set of bloods and asked for a chest x-ray."

Running a hand through his hair, Henry tried again. "Will, I already told you about this bit."

Will doesn't even look at him, his tone brusque. "I want to hear it from them. You asked for a chest x-ray, so did you suspect a pneumothorax?"

"It was a possibility, which is why I requested the x-ray."

"Did you take blood gases?"

Lewis nodded. "We did. Her PaO2 was slightly low, but she was only on 50% oxygen. I felt increasing that would help hold her saturations until we got the chest x-ray."

Henry is lost now, the words they're using have no real meaning to him and he's beginning to wonder if this is how others feel when he starts talking about his saints and moral constructs. A slow thump starts at front of his forehead at their conversation, as Will continues to press on with his interrogation.

"Did you consider a needle decompression?"

"The guidelines only suggest carrying out a needle decompression if there are signs of a tension pneumothorax. At that time, although Elizabeth's symptoms didn't indicate that. When they did, I carried out a needle decompression."

"Before or after she arrested."

"Before. The needle decompression failed, and the arrest happened following that but before we could carry out a thoracostomy."

"What gauge of needle did you use?"

"A sixteen."

Henry shook his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he didn't want to listen to this, he'd lived it and he didn't want to have more details to add to the already vivid memory that replayed over and over in his head. "Will, stop this. It's not going to help."

Will drew in a sharp breath. "Why a sixteen?"

"I based it on Elizabeth's slight build and the literature regarding the sizing-"

"Will!" Henry snapped, his voice rising slightly, he wasn't quite shouting, but he wasn't far from it. "Stop it!" He could tell that Will was about to turn back, start another volley of questions and so he turned to the doctor instead. "If you could give us some time."

He gave a nod. "Of course."

A growl of annoyance escaped the back of Will's throat as he rounded on Henry. "What did you do that for?"

"Because it wasn't helping anybody."

"It might have helped!" Will insisted shortly.

Henry scoffed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Really? And how's that?"

Will pressed his fingertips into his forehead, his voice was low and raspy when he replied, "It might help me make sense of what happened."

"You were the one telling me that this didn't make sense, remember?"

Will's lips pursed. "I told you it wasn't fair. Not exactly the same thing."

Crossing his arms over himself, Henry told him. "Then explain the difference, because to me it looks like we were both trying to find reason in a situation where there is none."

"There's always reason in medicine," Will replied. He threw an arm outwards, letting it arch aimlessly through mid-air. "Why Merchant picked Lizzie, why it happened today, why his letters got lost; that doesn't make sense, but medicine does. It's fact, evidence, patterns…" He tailed off for a moment, his eyes flickering shut for a moment as his head fell back. His face tilted towards the ceiling.

Henry wondered if it was a co-incidence that both Elizabeth and her brother had sought out careers where reason prevailed, or whether it had been another thing that their shared loss united them in.

A second to collect himself and Will brought his face forward again. "Lizzie was stable. All the numbers said so. All the evidence pointed to it." He licked his lips nervously, as his fingers danced against the side of his thigh. "She shouldn't have been able to compensate for so long, not with the trauma she already had."

"But she did," Henry pointed out saliently.

Will continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I didn't see it coming, I got it wrong, so wrong."

Henry took a step forward, his hand lifting to rest on Will's upper arm. "I don't think anybody saw it coming."

He blinked, his head tilting as he stared at Henry. "You did," he croaked. "I could see it on your face, that blind panic."

"If I'd seen it coming, I wouldn't have sent you home." His grip tightened momentarily on Will's arm. "There's blame enough to go round at the moment if we look for it, but Elizabeth is alive."

Will jerked his arm out of Henry's grasp. "No thanks to me." He shook his head, his finger levelling at him. "You don't get it. I became a doctor to save lives, so that what happened to…" he broke off, shaking his head before trying again. "So that I wouldn't let anyone down again. And when it mattered. When it came down to it, I let Lizzie down." His arm dropped to his side. "You're a doctor of theology, those numbers on those monitors, they mean nothing to you. You look at Lizzie in that bed and you just see her clinging to life. But those numbers meant something to me, I looked at them and I saw someone who was getting better." His fingers gripped his forehead again, before running up into his hair. "I went home, not because you told me to, but because I thought she was stable. So, when Lizzie needed me, when she started to deteriorate, where was I? I was in my bed!" His rant finished on a hiss, his face twisting in self-loathing.

Henry considered his next words carefully. "You told me that I couldn't blame myself for something that wasn't within my control. Well this wasn't within yours."

"I get that I couldn't have prevented it; not all of it anyway, but if I'd stayed then I might have spotted the initial pneumothorax. Then it wouldn't have converted, it wouldn't have been an emergency and her heart wouldn't have stopped."

"Lot of ifs in there," Henry pointed out. "Still wasn't in your control."

For a moment, Will was silent as he stared towards the doors of the ICU, then his shoulders gave a judder and he pulled his gaze away. "I'm going to go," he told him quietly.

Henry felt a bubble of anger and frustration well up at Will's tone. "You didn't let Elizabeth down, but if you go now then you are."

"You don't get it; I can't sit in there with her. Not after this."

"No believe me, that I get." Henry's voice rose slightly, his jaw gritted. "You think I found it easy to sit with Elizabeth and feel like I was responsible for her being in that bed in the first place?"

"That's different."

Henry's palm scrubbed across his jaw, his thumb rubbing at the side of his mouth as he forced himself to stay calm. "No, it's not. Elizabeth needs us."

Will gave a humourless laugh. "No, Lizzie needed me hours ago and I wasn't here." He held his hand up to stop Henry from objecting again. "I spoke to her surgeon last night. When I went to take Alison back to the waiting room; he was at the nurse's desk. I wanted to know exactly what her injuries had been, but I knew that you wouldn't want to hear it."

"Why?" Henry asked, a confused frown creasing his brow. "Why did you need to know?"

"So, I could figure out what was going to come next. Henry, Lizzie shouldn't even have made it into theatre."

Henry blanched, the colour draining from his face. "He said that?"

"He didn't need to. Her injuries they spoke for themselves. Lizzie got lucky; you know what saved her?"

"I don't think I want to hear this," Henry told him, half turning away from him. He'd heard enough about how close he'd came to losing his wife to last him a lifetime.

Will continued unabated. "The damage to her heart caused the sac around it to fill with blood, which meant it couldn't beat properly, so her blood couldn't circulate as well."

"Stop it." Henry held up his hand in a half plea.

"If it hadn't been for that, the blood loss from her injuries would have been catastrophic. She'd have been lucky to have made it to the ER, and she sure as hell wouldn't have made it to theatre." His eyes looked up, meeting Henry's. "I knew we'd need to wait to find out how well she was going to recover, but I thought if she'd came through that, if she'd made it to the ICU and she was stable, with her obs improving, then we were home safe." He took in a deep, shuddering breath. "I got it so wrong. I had the power to make a difference to her. I let her down and sitting by her bed now isn't going to change that. She doesn't need me now."

"You're not leaving because you're not needed, you're running because you're scared," Henry countered. "And if you walk out that door, I promise that you'll regret it." His voice dropped, it was low, cajoling, "The kids need you here."

Will's head shook slowly from side to side. "No, they don't." He looked away from Henry. "If anything changes, then give me a call."

"Don't do this, take a few hours and clear your head. But don't turn your back on her, if this was the other way round, she'd be here, and you know it."

Will's mouth gave the slightest twitch, a small almost half smile. "Yeah, but then Lizzie was always the better of us."

Henry felt a surge of anger. "You're being a coward."

"I'm being pragmatic, Lizzie has you and the kids; she doesn't need me sitting staring at her." His hand lifted slightly before fluttering uselessly back down to his side. His face set in grim determination as he stated again, "I'm going home."

There's a small cough from behind them and Henry turns on his heels to see his eldest standing watching them, her eyes wary as they flicker between both of them. "I came out to check everything was ok."

Will answers before Henry can. "It's fine." His gaze moves to Henry but avoids making eye contact. "I'll be in touch to find out how she is."

Feeling Stevie's gaze on them, Henry bites back a plethora of insults, forcing his rage back into the box he's been forced to push it into for the last sixteen hours and silently watches his brother in law walk away from them, not once looking over his shoulder. He lets out a quiet, annoyed tsk. When he turns Stevie is looking at the retreating form of Will's back, her expression of disappointment is so reminiscent of Elizabeth's whenever she lamented Will's latest choice in life, that for a second his breath catches in his throat. Her brow furrows in confusion as her eyes meet Henry's. "He's really leaving?"

"Looks like it."

"Do you think he'll come back?"

Henry tuns a harried hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admits. "I hope so." He steps towards his daughter and drapes his arm around her shoulders.

"Maybe he just needs a break."

"Maybe," he replies non-committedly before making the decision to change the subject, asking her, "You guys holding up?"

"Yeah. We just want her to wake up soon."

Henry kisses the top of her head. "I know, me too."

The clock in the waiting room ticks away another half an hour before the waiting room door clicks open again and they're told that they can see Elizabeth. Henry is surprised when it's Jason who asks, "Can I come in with you first?" His son has been the quietest of his kids since his early outburst and his discomfort had been evident earlier on.

"Of course you can," Henry assures him.

Jason falls into step with him as they walk down the ward, but when Henry looks across at him so he can at least try to offer him some reassurance, he sees that Jason is looking down at his own feet.

Elizabeth's room smells like soap, the light scent of jasmine lingering in the air from her shower gel. Henry flashes back to that morning, to when he leaned into kiss her goodbye and he could smell it on her skin, mingling with her perfume. It's a jarring memory, he feels like this side of her doesn't belong in such a clinical environment.

Elizabeth looks the same, her face smooth, unconcerned, as though the last hour and a half hadn't happened, it was almost as though he'd dreamed it all. Henry leans forward, kissing her forehead, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. Relief thrums through him at the ability to touch her again, that she's really still with him.

Jason is lingering at the door and he's tugged his jacket around himself, one of the laces to his trainers has come loose and is trailed across the floor. He looks younger than his fifteen years, his teenage bravado gone now. "You want to come up here, Jace?"

He hesitates for a second before he nods, shuffling forward. His hands dig into his pocket as he looks down at the bed and the only sound punctuating the silence is the beeps from the monitor and the quiet, rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator. Jason hesitates, one hand reaching out of his jacket, the fingertips slowly coming to rest on top of Elizabeth's, his touch as light as a feather as he fights the urge to pull away.

Henry rests his hand on Jason's shoulder. "You alright?"

Jason gives a slow shake of his head. "Not really," he admits, his voice low. "I was a jerk to Mom this morning."

"I told you, she wasn't angry," Henry tries to reassure him.

"I know, but I still feel bad." He looks briefly at his Mom's face and then looks back down at her hand again before he continues. "When we visited earlier, I couldn't even come up to the bed." He swallows against a lump in his throat. "Because she didn't look like Mom, and I was scared."

"I was scared as well," Henry admits. "I still am."

"But you still sat with her." Jason's fingers twitched against Elizabeth's before they finally curve around hers, loosely holding them. "I didn't even want to look at her. I figured I could see her and would tell her I'm sorry when she woke up. Then you phoned and…Dad…" He looked up and briefly met Henry's gaze before he looked down again. "What if earlier today was the last time I'd seen Mom, and I hadn't been brave enough to see her, to properly see her I mean."

Henry doesn't know what he can say to that, any words he can think of sound trite, cliched and he knows they won't make any of this better for Jason. He squeezes his shoulder, a silent sign that he's there, that he's listening.

Jason rubs his eyes with a clenched fist, frowning, annoyed at the fact he wants to cry. "I don't know what to do. I can't take back this morning and I don't know if she can hear me now."

"Tell her anyway," Henry suggests. "Your Mom will always fight for you, and she'll always listen out for you. There's lots of things that I regret from yesterday, lots of things I wish I had said."

"Have you said them to her now?"

"Some of them."

Jason's grip tightened on his Mom's fingers, squeezing them tightly. He took a deep breath, in and out before his shoulders deflate further. "Don't know if I can."

Henry considers his options. "Why don't I wait outside, give you five minutes and if you want to say something to her then you can, and if you don't," he shrugs, "Then that's ok as well."

"Suppose we could try it."

Henry gives a nod, squeezes Jason's arm before he walks to the door. He waits by the window, and through the slatted blinds, he can see that after a minute or two of hesitation, that Jason's mouth is moving. He hopes that he's right, that Elizabeth can hear him, or at the very least saying the words brings some comfort to his son.