Nate sat in the car outside the hospital for what felt like hours. It had been years since he'd lost Sam, but it still hurt every day and walking back into one of these buildings made it hurt just that little bit more. Once again, he cursed Eliot for taking this job and cursed himself for allowing it to happen. At this point he wasn't even sure what a successful outcome would be.

With a deep breath, he got out of the car and headed inside. He walked quickly, avoiding contact with everyone until he reached the reception.

"Hi there," the pleasantly plump woman greeted him with a warm and friendly smile, "How can I help you today?"

"Erm," Nate started, partly wishing he could turn and run away, feelings which he knew helped sell the story, "I'm looking for Dr. Clark, Tracey Clark?"

"Can I ask what it is regarding?" she replied.

"It's a personal matter; I was advised she was working here this week?"

"I think she's with a patient at the moment, but if you would like to wait I'll page her for you, Mr..?"

"Ford, Nate Ford," he replied easily, the truth was going to be his best asset in this one.

"Have a seat Mr. Ford and I'll call her for you."

"Thank you," Nate replied with a forced smile, turning to look around the waiting room. He'd been here before, maybe a different hospital in a different town, but one blended into another. They were all as bad as each other, because Sam died in one of them.

He walked to the wall, taking deep breaths, keeping his head down and trying to stop his stomach from doing somersaults when a beautiful young doctor walked up to him.

"Mr. Ford?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied, holding out his hand, "you must be Dr. Clark."

"That's right," she answered with a smile, "how can I help you today?"

Nate was dumb struck for a moment. He'd expected her to be your average over-worked, under-paid ER doctor, and he wasn't wrong. Her blond hair was haphazardly pulled back, with streaks falling down every now and then. Her azure eyes were tired, but that did not stop them piercing into the soul of anyone she turned them on. She was tall and slim and had an almost ethereal glow about her that made her seem like the angel some people probably thought she was.

"Is there somewhere more private we can speak?"

"I'm really very busy, Mr. Ford," she said, turning as if to leave.

"Will Ryan sent me to you," he said, pulling out the first name he could recall from the ledger, "he said you could help me," he finished.

"And just what exactly did he tell you I could do?" She asked, turning to look at him more cautiously.

"He said you helped them after they lost their child," Nate said in a very small voice, almost like he wanted to hide from the words.

"Please," she said "my office is just down here."

"Thank you," Nate replied and followed her down the bustling corridor, filled with patients, mostly with cuts and bruises, very few looked gravely ill and Nate was thankful for that.

"Have a seat, Mr. Ford, and tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry, do I really have to go into details?" he replied, the pain evident on his face.

"If you want my help, Mr. Ford, then I'm afraid so, I don't help anyone unless I am satisfied it is the right thing to do," she answered, with a comforting smile.

"I understand," he replied quietly, "I just don't like talking about it."

"Maybe it's too soon," she said, "give it a little more time," she reached over and patted his arm providing the well-practiced comfort of her trade. "When you can talk a little more freely about what happened, then maybe you'll be ready to move on. Here, take my card and call me when you are ready."

"It's fine, Dr Clark," Nate replied, forcing a smile. He got up and slowly walked around the office, stopping to look out the window at the dark and dank alleyway beyond. Carefully placing a camera on the window frame, he took a deep breath before continuing, "my son had leukaemia, none of the treatment worked, and he went downhill quickly."

"When did he die?"

"Four years ago."

"Any other children?"

"No,"

"Did you and your wife try again?"

"No,"

"Why not?"

"We split up for a while after we lost Sam; it was a really hard time."

"I understand," she said with a smile, "what's your situation at home now?"

"We reconciled last year and are better than ever together except we can't have any more children."

"What about adoption?"

"There are issues that won't allow us to adopt."

"If I'm going to help Mr Ford, I need to know every detail."

Nate took another deep breath and turned from the window to face Tracey. The lump in his throat, the tears in his eyes and the pain in his face were not an act, talking about Sam still had this effect on him.

"I'm a recovering alcoholic."

"I see."

"Will that count against me?"

"How long have you been sober?"

"Just over a year."

"It might be better to wait a little longer."

"I would rather not wait," Nate tried to smile once more, "I don't want to be one of those really old dads whose kids are embarrassed by it."

"I understand, but I don't think I can help you just now, Mr. Ford."

"Please," he said, moving towards her, carefully placing a bug under her desk as he reached for her hands, almost begging for her to help.

"I really am sorry Mr. Ford, but the children we help come from bad backgrounds, have had difficult family lives and we take them out of those bad situations and give them a new life. We need to know that there will be no issues, and I would rather you'd been sober and your marriage back on track for a little longer before we place a child with you, but please," she stood and headed to the door, leaving Nate little choice but to follow her, "you have my card, give me a call in a year or so and we'll have another chat."

"Thank you for your time Ms. Clark," Nate replied quietly, a tinge of anger lacing his voice as he walked from the office.

Nate returned to his car and sat for the longest time, just breathing, trying to calm himself again. The point of the exercise had not been for her to agree to find him a child; it was to plant the bugs, which he'd done, but now all he really wanted was drink!