Days passed and Sharon's life at the Playground settled into a frighteningly dull routine. She came to know most of the base personnel by sight and was granted conditional access to the kitchens and common areas, as well as the Wi-Fi. Leo's teammates took turns sitting with her. She and Jemma read the entire Musketeers series out loud. Dr. Chris tried out various drug therapies. Leo wasted away slowly.
Sharon did her best to stay optimistic, but privately her hopes were fading. Hour after hour, the machines went sss-whoo and beep and drip. No change. No progress. It's enough to drive one mad.
By her fifth day there (Leo's eighth day comatose), she felt she had cried herself out. She had read every scrap of research she could lay her hands on. Most of it went far over her head, so she had to rely on Jemma's summaries. It all amounted to "Give various drugs, give IV food, give oxygen, then wait and see." Although she was not religious, she found herself saying little prayers. Let him open his eyes, and that will be enough. Let me see them, and I'll have hope. Give me some sign he can still hear me, and that will sustain me another week. All went unanswered. Or maybe the answer was "no." It made no difference. Leo and his mother were both stuck in limbo.
Jemma had tried to return to work—S.H.I.E.L.D. needed her, after all—but was still nearly glued to her best friend's bedside. She and Sharon had spent quite a bit of time together. Out of habit, Sharon had tried to start helping her through the painful transition from denial to anger, bargaining, and despair. Not really stages, just ingredients in the same stew of grief, she had explained to her son's best friend.
But it was a transition she wasn't ready to start herself, no matter how hopeless things might seem. My Leo is not dead. He's not going to die. He's young, he has his whole life ahead of him. I won't start to grieve before his time.
That morning, she heard familiar voices in the hallway. "Wait here, please," she heard Director Coulson say, just before he walked into the room. "Ms. Fitz—" he began.
"Sharon," she corrected.
"Sharon," he began again, "How are you doing?"
"As well as can be expected," she said. "I'm a bit exhausted. The worry wears me out. But I'm sure you know that a mother never truly stops worrying."
He smiled and sat down. "I know mine never did. From the moment I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. until the day she died, she called me every day to see if I was ok."
"How long ago did she pass on?"
"Five years. Cancer took her fairly young."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Fortunately, I've had some time to adjust." His smile faded. "Listen, I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but we lost our personnel records in the takeover, so you're our only resource . . . does Leo have a living will, or did he ever make his wishes known about living in a coma?"
Sharon couldn't believe her ears. "A living will? I think it's a bit premature to discuss that!"
Coulson had the decency to look uncomfortable. "It's been over a week, Ms. Fitz. I think we need to be prepared for the possibility that Leo may not wake up."
"Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!" It came out as a shout, though Sharon hadn't meant to raise her voice at all. For a time she couldn't speak and stared at her lap, struggling to blink back tears. You've cried enough. Calm down. Be rational. Coulson seemed to have nothing to say in response. "No," she finally answered, "he's never said anything about a living will. But I will never let you turn off these machines. Not while I have my strength."
Dr. Chris chose that moment to walk in and ask, "How's the patient today?"
Later, Sharon would reassure herself that if he had come in during any other conversation, she might not have lost her head.
"How do you think he is?" she snapped. "He's in a coma. And he might stay there until kingdom come, for all you care."
To his credit, Dr. Chris was a professional. "I'm doing all I can for your son, Ms. Fitz. I know the situation is very frustrating, but—"
Sharon wasn't done, though. "Yes, I'm sure you're doing all YOU can. What a help that is right now. The efforts of a single doctor administered in a poor excuse for a hospital room must be doing so very much for my son's health."
"Sharon, calm down," Coulson said.
"I will NOT calm down!" She was on her feet now, and found herself getting closer to Coulson with every word. "You dragged my son around the world for months, put his life in danger, deleted his identity, got him drowned, tried to nurse him in a makeshift hospital, and now you want to kill him! HOW DARE YOU!" They were only inches apart, now.
Before Sharon realized what she was doing, she hauled off and slapped Acting Director Phil Coulson across the face, then stepped back and stared down at her hand in shock.
In a matter of seconds, Agent May was between Sharon and Phil while Agent Triplett pinned Sharon's arms down from behind. A thought broke through the shock—He kept them waiting outside.
"Please record the wishes of the next of kin on his chart," she heard Coulson say to Dr. Chris. "Life support to continue for the time being. Trip, get her out of here." He's calm. He expected this.
"Yes, sir," Trip scooped Sharon up. She didn't resist or protest. She couldn't even think of anything to say. "I don't think we'll need a sedative, Dr. Chris, thanks anyway."
As Trip carried her towards her room, Sharon realized he was whispering "It's all right, it's all right" to her. No it's not, she wanted to shout, but found herself voiceless.
A/N: I took a while rewriting this chapter in the hopes it won't come off as totally out of character. The fact is, anger is a major part of how loved ones deal with illness. That's why medical professionals are trained to expect hostility from the people they're trying to help, especially if the patient's prospects are dim. As a former EMT I can tell you that family members can get completely in the way because they're panicking. So, let me know in the reviews whether that all came through in the text (but please be kind; I've never written an OC before).