Maxon awoke that afternoon, feeling rested and insisting that nothing was wrong with him. America forced her family to leave when she delivered the news. He sat in disbelief, his mouth agape.

"America, I feel fine!" he said again.

She nodded sadly. "Give it a few days."

He shook his head and his face fell. "You've already given up," he stated. He looked away from her and bit down on his bottom lip. "And there's no cure?"

"Maxon, you said that you didn't want a cure."

He looked back at her, his eyes locking on hers. Brown to gray. "That was before I knew how much I would be leaving behind. How am I supposed to accept the fact that I'm leaving my four children and my wife behind?"

America felt tears gather in her eyes as she said, "I don't know how you do that. I guess you just live life day to day, enjoying the menial things about it."

"I can't believe this is actually happening," he whispered, leaning his head back against the pillow and looking at the ceiling.

"Look, Maxon," America started, reaching for his hand but he pulled back from her.

Cutting her off, he said, "America, I love you but I really need a few minutes by myself."

She hesitated, not completely comprehending his words. Then fear settled into her heart. She was scared that if she left for even five minutes, he would be gone when she got back. "Okay," she sighed, walking out reluctantly.

Out in the deserted corridor, the overwhelming realization of what her life falling apart swept over her. She suddenly had too much energy. She had to run somewhere. Pulling her heels off, she held them by their straps and took off down the hallway, relishing in the freedom in the air rushing past her, tossing her red hair back over her shoulders in swirling waves of red. She allowed the sound of her breaths and footfalls to soothe her breaking heart. Coming to a stop in the gardens, she instantly regretted running.

Leaning into the closest hedge, she threw up what little she ate for lunch that day. She was no stranger to pregnancy nausea after having four children but she never seemed to be able to get used to it. When she was done retching, the tears came. She tried to pull herself together but her hormones had other plans. She collapsed on a nearby bench and cried, knowing that Maxon was still with her, still alive and her crying was nonsensical.

"Your Majesty?" a voice said from behind her.

America turned and saw Graham standing behind a few bushes, a book tucked under his arm casually. "You just keep turning up, don't you?" she asked, trying to sound normal but her voice still sounded thick with sadness.

He shrugged and walked around the bushes, plucking a rose off on the way. "Ow, damn!" he exclaimed, throwing the rose down on the gravel and sucking his thumb where a thorn had obviously pricked him. "That looked a lot more romantic in the movies I've seen."

"I'm a married woman; you shouldn't be displaying romantic gestures for me," she snapped.

He laughed and sat down on the other end of the bench. "Actually, I'm your brother-in-law, technically, so it would just be a friendly display of kinship.

America shook her head and looked away, well aware of how much of a mess her appearance probably was. She didn't know why she really cared what she looked like though. "And you always having a witty answer too," she told him.

He shrugged. "I'm a worldly person, I know a lot. Being a knower of all things kind of allows me to have a good sense of humor."

"I never said anything about you being funny."

"I made you smile though," he pointed out. "And judging by her behavior this morning and the fact that you are tossing cookies and crying in gardens now, you needed a reason to smile." She smiled coyly and blushed. "Now I'm flirting," he added.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Will you be staying here at the palace long?"

"Only as long as Her Majesty wants me to stay."

She didn't want to take the bait. She knew what he was eluding to; that she would want him there in the palace as a companion. Her husband was dying and she was doing nothing to turn down the advancements of this young man. Her husband was dying… "I'm sorry, but you should probably be returning to your proper home sooner rather than later."

He frowned and looked away, nodding and clearing his throat. "I see," he sighed, standing up from the bench.

She stood up and took a couple steps toward him. "No, what I meant is that Kenna and James don't normally stay here so when they leave, you should probably go with them."

"And May?" he asked. She didn't have an answer for him. "America, she really needs some guidance. I promised her I wouldn't tell you what's wrong but she needs some kind of support. I'm afraid that you're the only one capable of giving it to her."

America narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you just call me America?"

His eyes widened as he realized his mistake. "Oh, I'm sorry…"

She cut him off. "When Kenna and James leave, you should be going with them. I don't know what you think we are but we need to stop this before you get too comfortable." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Graham was gracious enough to simply nod his head and walk away.

America went back to the hospital that night after dinner. Maxon rolled his eyes when he saw her walk in. He was out of bed and actually pulling a sweatshirt over his head. "I've been discharged," he explained, seeing the questions in her eyes. Dr. Macky passed him a paper to sign and Maxon smoothed his hair down after signing.

"Are you sure that's wise?" America asked Dr. Macky, ignoring Maxon's waspish attitude.

Dr. Macky just shrugged. "He's not going to get any better America. There's no sense in keeping him here."

She shook her head, not understanding. "Wouldn't you want him to stay here?"

"If his death is so imminent, he wants to die in the comfort of his own bed," Maxon cut in. "Are we done talking about me and pretending I don't exist? Good. Now, I would really like to go up to my room now."

He proceeded to walk out of the room by himself and America hurried after him. "I really think you should stay in the hospital Maxon," she told him.

He turned and faced her. "I really think you should let me make my own decisions." He turned on his heel and started back to their bedroom again.

She followed him up the steps in the foyer and the further they got from the hospital, the more anxious she became. "Maxon, be reasonable," she pleaded. "We live on the third floor. What if you pass out again? I can't get you down to the hospital myself."

"That's why we have sons," Maxon said curtly.

"Christian is twelve."

"That's about the age I started lifting. Perhaps I'll start taking him to the guards training facilities with me."

America frowned. "What? You shouldn't overexert yourself by lifting!"

With a heavy sigh, Maxon faced her again. "America, if I want to be smothered, I will go to your mother for help. For right now, let me sort through this myself. Stop treating me like another one of your kids."

She stepped back, tears pulling in her eyes for the third time that day. "Our kids," she corrected quietly.

"Well, they'll be yours soon enough."

She gasped, not knowing where that was coming from. She retreated like he had slapped her. Never had this angry side of Maxon been directed to her in the last several years. She watched him walk up the steps and disappear from sight around a corner and then leaned against the wall and cried.

Poor Maxerica! I finally finished this so updates should be a bit more regular over these next few days!

good news though; I may be starting a new fanfic for the Selection aside from my one-shots. I may have more information on that and i'll keep y'all posted on all of that. thanks for reading y'all!