This is another peek at the events described in chapter 66, although this one is from Derek's perspective. A hauntingly lovely tune by the name of "We Move Lightly" by Dustin O'Halloran served as the inspiration for this one. It really made a great writing soundtrack for me, and seems to fit with the overall feeling of this one.

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." - Khalil Gibran

I rub my tired eyes as I try in vain to think about anything else. I'm hunched over in my seat, my elbows balancing on my legs, and my head in my hands. I look up when I hear her footsteps approaching. "Hey," I say quietly as she sits down next to me.

"Hey," she echoes, her voice sounding every bit as strained and shaky as my own. "Any word?"

I shake my head sadly. "Not since the last update they gave me."

Emily lets out a shaky breath. I glance up and find that her normally strong walls have been destroyed. Just one look at her expression and I reach out to grab her hand. She needs the support. Hell, I need the support. It looks like one bad thought could push her over the edge, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit the same about myself.

"How's Tegan?" I ask.

"They gave her a mild sedative so she could get a bit of rest and wouldn't move around so much," she answers, and I can't help but notice again how shaky her voice is. I don't think I've ever heard her this rattled. "She should be out for a couple hours."

I close my eyes as I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly. This is not the kind of thing they prepare you for when you have kids. No one writes about the terror that courses through your body when you get a call from your wife telling you your kids have been in an accident. No one tells you how it feels like your heart has stopped completely when you hear doctors uttering words like "significant damage". No one explains that the feeling of being completely unable to do anything to comfort your wife and the mother of your children is so infuriating and defeating at the same time.

I feel her grip my hand a little tighter as her body shakes with the sobs she's trying desperately to suppress. "What if he's not okay?" she whispers through her quickly forming tears.

I blink as I try and figure out a way to answer her question. I'm wondering the same damn thing, so I don't know what to say. I stare at the ground intently, finding every imperfection in the tile before I can find any words at all.

"Emily, you can't think like that."

"He's been in surgery for hours-"

"Emily-" I start, but am interrupted almost immediately by her continued worrying.

"What if they can't fix him?" A painful moment of silence follows her question as we both consider the consequences of it being the case. She takes in a shuddering breath. "What if he can't walk?"

"Emily, I-"

"He won't be able to play-"

"Emily," I say loudly to interrupt her, my frustration bubbling over. She looks at me with wide eyes filled with the same fear and uncertainty I feel bubbling inside of myself, and I feel a tinge of shame and regret at my tone. I take a deep breath to try to calm my own nerves. But it doesn't work. I'm still overwhelmed by the possibility that my son could never walk again. That my daughter will forever have this terrible memory that haunts her. That Emily will never quite be whole again.

"C'mere, Em," I whisper as I pull her closer before I let go of her hand and instead wrap my arms around her to hold her tightly, letting her bury her face in my chest and clutch my shirt tightly in her fist. I feel and hear the sobs wrack her body and feel tears of my own begin to form.

"Shhh, Em," I try to soothe, but my voice is far from convincing. I bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying that it will be okay, because I don't know that. Neither of us does.

"Derek," she whispers, fear and anxiety muddying her tone, "what if he's not okay?"

Before I can answer, another voice sounds. "Mr. and Mrs. Morgan?"

Our heads both snap up to find a doctor in front of us. Neither of us bother correcting him – Emily has never been Mrs. Morgan – because it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we're about to find out if our son is going to be okay. Emily's hand grabs mine once more, her grip tight as the doctor begins to explain the extent of Matthew's injuries, and what they did to repair them. I know the doctor is talking, but I don't hear any of the words. Maybe my mind is processing his explanation on some level, but all I can think of is Matty on an operating table. I feel sick at the thought that my son was so broken and so hurt that he needed surgery to fix him.

Apparently Emily has been able to process the doctor's words better than I have, because I hear her ask him, "So he's going to be okay?" in a quiet and uncertain tone.

"Yes," the doctor answers with a nod. "With rehab and physio and the like, he'll be able to walk and have a normal life."

We both breathe sighs of relief and I feel Emily turn and once more bury her face in the crook of my neck as she wraps her arms around me.

"What about sports?" I find myself asking.

The doctor's expression shifts before he answers, and I feel my stomach drop. You didn't need to be an expert in human behaviour to notice the uncomfortable shift in the doctor's confidence. Here he is on shaky ground.

"It's hard to say at this point," he hedges, and I see it for what it is – a dodge. "We'll have a better idea in a few weeks once the swelling has started to go down."

He stands there for a moment as he waits for one of us to say something, but we're both too shocked and too emotional to form words. I meet his gaze and give a small nod of thanks for taking the time to explain everything to us.

"I'll come and get you when you can see him," he says quietly before he strides back toward the doors that take him back to where my son is lying somewhere in a bed, broken nearly beyond repair.

His footsteps fade and Emily and I are alone again. Her grip has not loosened, and I feel her smaller body shake lightly with the worry and fear that is escaping her with her tears.

"He's okay," I say softly, rubbing her back to soothe her. She's taken this a lot harder than I have – and that's not to say that it's not difficult for me, because it definitely is – and it kills me to see her like this. It's not that I'm stronger and she's weaker. Anyone who knows Emily would be able to attest to that. I think it's just different for her. Yes, I contributed to the creation of Matthew and Tegan, but Emily's part was so much bigger. She carried them inside her for all those months, and I think it's because of that fact that her reaction feels so visceral. It's just natural for a mother to react so strongly to her children being hurt, and being unable to fix it for them.

"He's okay," I repeat when my words don't have their intended effect. I think maybe I'm saying it for myself too. It's something I need to hear over and over to let it sink into my brain. "He's okay."

It's a few moments later that she sniffs and steps back from me as she wipes the stray tears from her face. Her head tilts as she scrutinizes my expression. "He's okay," she whispers. It's as though she read my mind – but that's the point that we've reached in our relationship. We have an intuitive understanding of each other now, so we know what the other needs in each moment.

She opens her arms and invites another hug. While it's still a hug, just like the one we'd just shared, this one feels different. Where I'd been the one holding us together before, now she's the one holding us so we don't fall apart. Where I had whispered the words of comfort, now she offers the phrase I need to hear. The dynamic had shifted, but ultimately it's what we both needed. She needed to be comforted, and then given an opportunity to compose herself. I needed time to process and protect her, and then an opportunity to vent. It's a big reason why we fit together so well – our needs are balancing that way.

My arms squeeze her tightly as I feel some tears form in my eyes. Our son is going to be okay. He's going to be okay. We don't know about him playing sports, but…in the grand scheme of things, he's going to be okay. He's going to be okay. It's a mantra I repeat over and over to myself, and Emily whispers it to me every so often as she convinces me and convinces herself of that fact.

I don't know how much time has passed, but the doctor reappears and tells us we can see Matty. He leads us through the hallways and to the room they have him settled in. I feel Emily stop in the doorway as she inhales sharply. I follow her gaze to the bed where our son is lying, bruising marring his face and arms, and bandages and wraps covering much of his legs and abdomen. I swallow the lump in my throat and give a gentle push on Emily's lower back to help her into the room.

She moves deliberately then, as though getting into the room was just a small hurdle and she's in the clear now, and comes to stand next to the bed. I join her almost immediately and watch as she takes in every inch of her baby boy.

"He looks so small," she says softly, her brow furrowed and her lips beginning to quiver with the effort of holding in her tears. She reaches a hand out tentatively and ever so gently strokes his cheek lovingly. The dam breaks for her in that moment and I see tears make their way down her face once more as her gaze is completely focused on her son.

"How long until he wakes up?" I ask, remembering that the doctor is still in the room with us.

"It's hard to say, but my best guess is a couple hours," he answers as he replaces the chart at the foot of the bed. "I'll leave you folks with him – the nurses know you're in here, so if you need anything just ask one of them."

"Doctor?" Emily says just as he's exiting the room.

"Ma'am?"

"I'm sorry, I just realized I don't know your name," she admits.

"Dr. Quinnet," he supplies with a gentle smile. Clearly he's dealt with his fair share of distraught parents.

"Dr. Quinnet," Emily repeats with the tiniest of smiles, "I know it's probably not possible right now, given that he's just gotten out of surgery, but…is there any way we can get him moved to the same room as his sister? They're very close, and she's been asking about him."

He looks pensive for a moment as he considers the request. "I don't see why it would be a problem, but I'll have to speak with the doctor treating your daughter to see if we can arrange it."

"Thank you," Emily says.

"You're quite welcome. If you have any questions, just ask the nurses and they'll get a hold of me if need be."

"Thank you," I say, echoing Emily's sentiments from a moment ago. "For everything."

Dr. Quinnet nods and then exits the room, leaving us alone with our son. The quiet beeping of the machines is the only noise that breaks the silence we're left in. I spy a chair in the corner of the room and bring it over for her.

"Here, Em. Sit. I'll go check on Tegan," I say, realizing in that moment that she's torn between which of our children to sit with. We'd both already spoken to Tegan in the brief moments she had been awake, but emotionally speaking she hadn't been in the greatest shape. Guilt had overwhelmed her, and Emily had needed to calm her down and soothe her back to sleep.

Just as I'm about to leave the room, Emily turns and grabs my hand to pull me to her. "Derek," she says quietly, her voice still containing traces of being that little bit shaky, "I love you."

It takes me a fraction of a second to comprehend her actions. Almost losing her children had spooked her, and she's making sure I know exactly how much I mean to her on the off chance that a similar fate could befall me in our time apart and she doesn't get a chance to do so again. I don't blame her – my gut reaction has been to tell her and the kids, and everyone in our extended family that I love them and appreciate them.

My hands come to rest on either side of her face as I lean in and kiss her. "I love you too, Em."

Her eyes close as I wrap my arms around her and pull her in tight. "We'll get through this, Em. All of us."

I feel her nod and I let out a breath. Matthew is gonna be okay. Tegan is gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay. It's a long and terrifying road ahead, but we have each other, and hopefully that will be enough.