even if you cannot hear my voice / I'll be right beside you, dear


"What the hell is goin' on?" Sonny demanded.

Twenty five minutes ago, he had left Amanda for the waiting room. His parents had been buzzing with excitement and anticipation after such a long labor and his sisters had trickled in through out the day. Audrey had picked Jesse up from school and the little girl was itching to meet her sister, while Luca was ripping pages out of magazines underneath his grandparents' watchful eyes. Sonny had been proud to announce the news: Ruby Isabella was born happy and healthy. He kept forgetting that he hadn't eaten in twelve hours; his elation was all-consuming. Sonny had intended to return to the recovery room to ask Amanda if it was okay to have some very enthusiastic visitors, and instead he encountered an alarming flurry of medical staff.

"You can't be in here," a nurse told him, handing Ruby back to him. "You don't want to see this." She coaxed Sonny backward and he was stunned enough to let her. She pulled the heavy curtain closed, separating them from the rest of the room.

The baby in Sonny's arms scrunched up her little face and let out a wail. He looked down at his brand new daughter and felt a sudden rush of protectiveness. "It's alright, you're okay," he murmured, giving the bundle a loving little jostle. He tore his gaze away from Ruby to look at the nurse, who appeared to be guarding the curtain like she was afraid he might dive through it. In fairness, that was a very real possibility. "Are you gonna tell me what's goin' on?"

Her expression softened, but she looked uneasy. "Sometimes if the uterus doesn't contract quickly enough after labor, the blood vessels there bleed... a lot," she explained. "We think that's what's happening. Her blood pressure is low, her body temperature is, too. The OB on call is bringing her into surgery."

"Surgery? What?" Sonny sputtered. Maybe he was so tired and hungry that he had misheard her. He held out a hand like that would put a pause on everything. "Wait a second, wait a second. Can I see her? I need to see her."

She shook her head solemnly. "You can't, I'm sorry. She's already on her way. We had to send her immediately. They may not even be able to wait for the anesthesia to kick in before they start working on her." She went on to offer gently, "if you want, I can bring the baby to the nursery, so you can go talk to your family."

A wave of anxiety gripped his chest and throat. He took a step forward and with one arm, Sonny yanked the curtain open, causing the nurse to jump out of the way in surprise. The space where Amanda's bed had been was gone. In its place, the floor was littered with discarded blankets and the plastic wrappings from medical supplies. There was a bright red splatter of blood on the linoleum.

Sonny felt a hand on his arm; the nurse was eyeing him sadly. "Let me take her," she suggested again quietly. "Go talk to your family. We'll clean all this up."


Everyone was grinning when Sonny returned to the waiting room - except for Luca, who had fallen asleep curled up in a chair. Jesse immediately jumped up from her spot by Audrey, running toward Sonny excitedly.

"Can we see her? Can we go in now?" the little girl asked.

Sonny swallowed thickly. "No, not right now."

His mother took a step closer to him, her smile faltering the longer she looked at his face. "Sonny, what's wrong?"

His eyes flickered to Jesse, then to Luca, then back to his mother. "I don't really know, I..." he started off quietly. He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, afraid the kids would realize something bad had happened. "I went back to the room and they wouldn't let me in. The nurse said they had to rush her into surgery, she's bleedin' really bad."

"Oh, God," his mother whispered.

"I don't know anything else," Sonny admitted weakly. "It all happened so fast."

"Call her mother," his father instructed him, voice low. There was concern etched in his features.

Sonny dragged his fingers through his hair. "They aren't really on the best terms lately..."

"Why can't we go now?" Jesse demanded at his feet.

He looked down at her; he never thought he would have so much trouble meeting a child's gaze. "Mom's not feelin' so good," was the explanation that left his mouth.

Jesse's brown eyes grew wide. "You said!" she shouted with surprisingly force. "You said she wouldn't get sick! You said I didn't have to be... have to nerve! N-nervous!"

Sonny crouched down to Jesse's level. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Audrey get to her feet, like she was debating whether or not to intervene. "I know, Jesse, I know. But sometimes things don't go as planned and-"

"I wanna see mama!" she insisted loudly.

The funny thing was, Jesse never looked more like Amanda than she did in that very moment: her little fists were clenched at her sides, her eyes were narrow with determination. She was fiery, passionate, but she was still just a kid. Her lower lip began to tremble and Sonny's heart clenched in his chest. He glanced over at his sisters, at Luca napping peacefully, at Audrey biting her thumb nail. His parents still hovered close, but Sonny couldn't rely on any of them to fix this. Nobody knew what to do, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was going to shelter all three children from the situation as much as he possibly could.

"How about... how about, you and me, we go take a look at your sister, huh?" Sonny suggested with all of the enthusiasm he could muster.

Jesse's pout remained as she contemplated his offer. "Okay," she eventually mumbled.

Standing upright again, he saw his parents nod in encouragement. Sonny and Jesse walked side-by-side down the hallway and around the corner until they encountered a long window that looked into the nursery. Sonny's eyes scanned all of the plastic bassinets until they settled on the one in front with the label Carisi, Ruby I. written in pink. Ruby was asleep again, wrapped up in her receiving blanket with a hat on her head. Jesse was too short to look in, so Sonny picked her up, balancing her on his hip so she could see.

"There she is." Sonny pointed through the glass at the baby. "See her? Right in front."

Jesse leaned in, pressing a palm to the window. "She looks kinda like... like my baby doll."

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Yeah, except she's a real one."

"Can I hold her?" she pleaded.

He supposed he could take her inside the nursery and let Jesse sit with Ruby, but he couldn't stomach the idea of Amanda not being there to see her two daughters meet. "Later you can," Sonny promised, swallowing down an onslaught of anxious nausea. "When your mother is feelin' better."

She rested her forehead against the glass. "When's that gonna be?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

"How come?" Jesse pressed.

Defeated, all Sonny could do was shrug.


One agonizing hour later, a physician appeared in the waiting room wearing green surgical scrubs. Everybody's heads swiveled around in anticipation, but he only gestured for Sonny. Sonny passed Luca over to his mother, his heart in his throat. He had been so desperate for information, yet now that he was about to get it, he was terrified. He had tried to pray, but he couldn't concentrate. His thoughts kept straying to Amanda, to the joy that had overtaken her features just a couple of hours ago, how she had told him, love you, Carisi...

"Hi, I'm Dr. Sinclair. I'm the OB on call tonight," the physician introduced himself once Sonny met him at the threshold of the waiting room. He gave a small wave of his hand and murmured, "walk with me."

Sonny glanced over his shoulder at his anxious family then matched the slow pace of Dr. Sinclair as they moved down the hallway. "Hi. Dominick. What's goin' on?"

"Your wife is out of surgery. She lost just about half of her blood volume," the physician explained.

Somewhere in the darkest corner of his mind, for the past couple of hours, Sonny had entertained the idea that Amanda could be dead. It was only when the doctor spoke of her in present-tense that he realized how horrific that thought was - and how relieved he was that it would remain only a terrible what-if. "What... what does that mean?" he asked tentatively.

"She's going to need several blood transfusions," Dr. Sinclair said. "As many as it takes to get her red blood cell and hemoglobin levels to go back up. Each transfusion will take two hours, with an hour waiting period in between to assess her." He glanced over at Sonny. "We have her on morphine now, to manage the pain from the surgery to contract her uterus."

The crushing weight of his worry began to lift. "Okay, so, you're gonna replace the blood she lost and she'll be alright? She'll be fine?"

"As long as her levels return to normal consistently. The next couple of days will be crucial." Dr. Sinclair stopped walking; so did Sonny. The doctor crossed his arms over his chest, sighed, and continued quietly, "I'm going to be upfront with you: this is... well, a potentially life-threatening situation. Hemorrhaging is the leading cause of postpartum maternal death. Without enough blood, organs don't get enough oxygen and they can't function. So we can't move her to postpartum or a lower level of care like this - we can't do anything at all until her blood volume is restored. "

Life-threatening. Death. Can't function. The words were like shards of glass, sharp and stinging in their ominousness. Whatever small flash of relief Sonny had felt moments earlier was gone, replaced now by more dread than he ever could have conjured up on his own. He opened his mouth, then shut it, because talking wasn't going to change anything. Sonny was good at that - blabbing until the other person put their hands up in defeat, exasperated, and let him win - but this was not the precinct or a courtroom. This was the physician's area of expertise. Sonny had to believe that the man knew what he was doing, because as much as he wished for all of this to be a mistake, one didn't just casually imply a person's wife was very close to dying.

"Until she's in the clear, we can't allow any visitors except immediate family. Adults only," Dr. Sinclair said. "Would you like to see her?"

Amanda had been returned to her original room. Her bed was angled for her to sit up, but she hardly looked alert. Her pallor was alarming - her porcelain skin usually had a healthy, rosy tint to it, but now she appeared paler than Sonny had ever seen her before. Her hospital gown hung off of her shoulder; how could she look so terribly thin just hours after giving birth? He saw that an intravenous port was positioned by her collarbone, the tubing filled with dark red blood flowing from the bag hanging off of a metal stand by her bed. Another line protruded from her hand, taped thoroughly into place up her arm.

Sonny approached her bed cautiously. The closer he got, the worse she looked. He was glad she wasn't allowed many visitors, because he was certain her state would traumatize Jesse. Sonny wasn't even sure if he would ever be able to get it out of his head. He pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey, you."

Amanda's eyelashes fluttered but the rest of her barely moved. "Hi," she exhaled.

He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed and covered her hand with his despite all of the IV material. Her skin was ice cold and he squeezed, as if he was hoping to transfer some of his own warmth to her via osmosis. "How are you feelin'?"

Amanda's eyes opened further, but it seemed like an effort. "Not so good," she whispered.

"You're gettin' a lot of blood. You're gonna feel better soon," Sonny promised her with certainty he didn't really possess.

"They won't let me see the kids," she croaked. She was visibly tremulous; he gripped her hand tighter. "I need to talk to them and tell them..."

His brow furrowed. "Tell them...?"

She swallowed. "To tell them that if something happens to me-"

"Hey, no. Don't be crazy," Sonny interrupted her, panic rising inside of him again. "You're gonna be alright."

Her chest began to rise and fall quickly. She licked her lips, which seemed dry. "I'm scared."

The Amanda Rollins Sonny knew was never scared. She was all fight, all resilience and I'll show 'em, and she would do anything before she ever let anybody know she was anything less than fine. Sonny had watched her kick open doors in high-heeled boots, knock out men three times her size and now give birth to three children - she was strong and that was beautiful to him. Amanda had always been so unflinchingly tenacious, but in her hospital bed, she was very different.

She was fragile and frightened. She was looking at Sonny desperately, like a wounded deer caught in headlights, waiting for the inevitable crash. It was then that he realized that her fear was truly justified; something was very wrong and she knew it. She knew it with enough certainty that she couldn't even be bothered with her usual mask of strength, maybe because she thought there was no time for it.

"I know," he whispered. His voice sounded oddly strangled. "But it's gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay."

"What if... what if I'm not?"

"Amanda, please. C'mon, don't... don't talk like that."

"I heard them talkin'," she insisted hoarsely. "They won't transition me to the postpartum side because they know I'm, that I'm too messed up to go. I have to stay here so they can watch me."

"And they're gonna do that. They're gonna watch you and they're gonna take care of you. So am I," he promised her earnestly.

She studied him in silence, appearing almost thoughtful even in her distress. "You always take care of me," she whispered with the barest hint of a smile. "You're so good at that, takin' care of people. But... who's gonna take care of you?"

Sonny felt a lump rise in his throat. "You are." He mustered a grin, but it felt too painful to maintain. "Just like you always do."


Sonny was startled awake by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Eyes flying open, he looked around: he had been awkwardly crammed into an armchair in Amanda's hospital room in a feeble attempt to get some rest. The room was almost dark now; it was eleven o'clock at night. Amanda's eyes were closed, but he guessed that she wasn't sleeping. She was weak and fatigued, but the loss of blood had made her heart rate quicken. The two-hour transfusions made her itchy and nauseous and a nurse had come in to replace the bag with a fresh one just forty-five minutes ago.

Untangling his long limbs, Sonny walked out into the the hallway before answering the call. "Fin. Hey."

"Carisi, what's goin' on? How's she doin'?" Fin asked.

"Uh, well, not great," he murmured honestly, beginning to pace. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free palm, hoping to ease some of the tension there. "They've been givin' her blood every couple of hours and her levels go up, then they go back down again."

"What's that mean?"

"I dunno. They're supposed to be up consistently, I guess."

"Ah... Liv is gonna help Audrey with the house and Frannie. The kids okay?"

"Yeah, my parents have them. Ruby's fine."

"You need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good." He exhaled audibly. "Thanks, Fin. But uh, actually, if you could pick Amanda's mother up from the airport in the mornin'..."

"On it," Fin assured him. "Text me her flight info."

"I will."

"Hang in there, Carisi."

Stretching his legs felt good. Sonny began to wander down the hall aimlessly, contemplating another cup of coffee. He thought of Jesse and Luca and hoped they were okay, that they had all done a good enough job keeping the situation from them. Luca was too young to understand, Sonny figured. He would fall asleep after a bath and a story. Jesse would be more difficult: she was smart enough to read into the expressions on their faces, to piece together that 'not feeling well' at a hospital was never a good thing. Sonny was grateful for his mother, who was the most comforting person in the world. He hoped she could soften all of this for the little girl.

"Mr. Carisi, hi."

He stopped suddenly in his tracks and looked up. He had unknowingly made his way back the nursery around the corner, and the young nurse who had kept him behind the curtain in Amanda's room earlier that day stood before him. Her name Gina; he remembered because so was his sister's. Gina hovered in the doorway, smiling at him.

"Call me Sonny," he insisted automatically. He quirked an eyebrow. "You're still on, huh?"

"Yeah, double shift till seven in the morning," she sighed. "How's your wife doing?"

"Okay," was the answer he settled on. He glanced over her shoulder into the nursery. A few nurses and parents milled around the bassinets, speaking in hushed, adoring tones. "This must be a good gig, huh? Hangin' out with babies all the time?"

"Everybody says that. It's not as happy as people think it is, I think," Gina replied sheepishly. "I mean, a lot of the time it is. But then you have those other times... when things go wrong. It's one thing when regular people get sick or die, but... everything seems somehow even worse when it happens to an infant or a new mom."

Sonny nodded solemnly. "Well, uh, I appreciate everything you guys are doin'." That sounded... insufficient, he thought. 'Thanks for taking care of two very precious people' is probably more accurate.

"Of course." She motioned him into the room. "Y'wanna come in?"

He followed her to the front row where he knew Ruby to be. She was asleep, a small fist curled against her pink cheek. He looked up at Gina, standing on the other side of the bassinet. "Y'think it'd be okay if I brought the baby down to see her?" he asked carefully.

Gina shifted uneasily. "I'm not supposed to... not when women aren't stable." She cast a glance around the space then met Sonny's eyes. "Just... well, don't tell on me, alright? The charge nurse tonight's a real bitch."

He grinned, appreciative of the nurse's flexibility and sense of humor. "Not a word."

She scanned Ruby's tiny hospital bracelet before passing her over to Sonny. The baby made a few squeaks of protest but never opened her eyes. As he walked back down the hallway with her, the motion seemed to settle her down almost immediately.

"You've got a visitor," Sonny announced once he was back in Amanda's room.

Amanda turned her head against her pillow and smiled. "Oh, there she is." Her voice was hoarse but happy; she wasn't allowed to drink anything in case she needed surgery again.

He sat close to her on the bed. "She wanted to see ya."

"She told you that? Talking already, she must be related to you," she teased quietly.

It was an immense relief for Sonny to hear her sense of humor. Amanda reached her arms out for the baby, but the lack of blood and fluids in her body meant she was still weak and tremulous. He carefully passed Ruby to her despite the way she was shaking. Sonny's eyes flickered to Amanda's face - she looked both determined and alarmed by her own struggle to keep a secure hold on a six pound infant. "Here..." he offered as he adjusted the baby into the crook of Amanda's arm, so her little cheek was pressed against the bare part of her mother's chest. Sonny set a hand under one of Amanda's elbows, both steadying her and urging her to relax.

"Thanks," she sighed.

"Feelin' any better?" he asked hopefully.

Her eyes remained on the sleeping infant. "It makes me so itchy. And I feel like I'm gonna puke, but there's nothing to throw up..." Looking up at Sonny, she wondered anxiously, "are the kids okay?"

"They're fine," he promised her. "They're with my parents. Your mom is flyin' in first thing in the morning."

"Beth Anne Rollins, getting up early to fly here? Wow, things must be really bad," Amanda joked crassly.

His stomach coiled in revulsion. "Amanda..."

She shrugged, then frowned.

Sonny squeezed her elbow. "You're gonna be alright soon."

Her arms began to tremble and she winced. "Can you take her? I thought I, I can't..."

"Yeah, I got it. I got her," he assured her gently, doing his best not to look concerned by how weak she was. The moment he took Ruby from her, Amanda's arms dropped to her side like she had been carrying one hundred pounds of weight.

Amanda watched him cradle the infant with a sad kind of envy. "I can barely hold my own kid. I can't even..." There was a distinct hitch in her voice. "I can't even feed her..."

He swallowed thickly, for once unsure of what to say. He realized that she must be terrified. In the course of a day, Amanda had gone from fiercely independent and capable to totally reliant on the medical care she was receiving. After having both Jesse and Luca, she had been out of bed in an absurdly short amount of time, demanding to leave Bellevue. When she had been shot or injured, she was still feisty and opinionated. She didn't want medication, or a wheel chair, or people incessantly asking are you okay? Of course she was okay. She was Amanda Rollins. Whatever happened, she had endured worse.

Except now, this was the worst.