For ninety minutes, he waits. He waits, and he prays. He prays, and he curses. It's the longest ninety minutes of his life. It is the shortest ninety minutes of his life. This paradox of time is like nothing he's ever experienced. A rollercoaster of emotion takes over his body. Every second of his life seems to stretch out forever. It's not just the waiting that makes him frantic. Elizabeth texts him every ninety seconds. And he has to worry her further every minute and a half by saying no update.

When a doctor appears, he has an innate sense that that doctor is there to talk to him. He doesn't know why, but he knows it nonetheless. His gut tells him so. So, instinctively, his hands fold into a prayer position as his wife isn't beside him to grab onto.

"Family of Jason McCord?" Henry notes the somberness, the reverence in the doctor's voice. And he shakes his head. He knows bad news is coming. He knows but somehow doesn't believe it. But that doctor isn't the first person to look at him like that. When Tommy never emerged from the ice, the EMT looked at him like this. The OBGYN, who told him Elizabeth was losing too much blood and the baby was in distress right before the emergency c-section with Allison. The hospice nurse who told him his mother was dead. The detective who told him his father had committed suicide. He looked at him like that too. He can't stand up. He can't say that he's Jason's dad. He knows what will happen when he does. And he's not ready. He wants to live in this willful ignorance for as long as possible. But the doctor meets his eyes, and he identifies him as Jason's family.

"Mr. McCord?" the Doctor kneels in front of him. And Henry nods—a solemn unfortunate nod. "When Jason came into the ER, he wasn't breathing. During our assessment, we administered Naloxone via IV to rid his body of the opiates. Unfortunately, we believe he suffered a hypoxic or anoxic brain injury due to a lack of oxygen. We have been able to stabilize him. However, he still is not breathing on his own." Henry swallows as he tries to pay attention to every word leaving the doctor's mouth. But at some point, he sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher.

"Mr. McCord?" The doctor repeats himself. Henry feels weak. He feels cold. He feels alone.

"I thought Naloxone was supposed to be some kind of miracle drug?" There's a slight nod from the doctor.

"It is. However, people only walk away unscathed if it's administered before a hypoxic or anoxic injury to the brain occurs. It's a time-sensitive drug. We don't know how long Jason had gone without breathing before being found." Henry nods.

"So the problem isn't the overdose?"

"Not anymore. Jason has a brain injury. Most likely a severe one. He's being transferred from here to the ICU, where he will undergo quite a bit of tests. The neurologist should consult on him in a few hours."

Henry squeezes his eyes shut. He clenches his jaw. Tears begin to form in his eyes. He fights them back. He doesn't want to cry. Instead, he wants to scream and yell and curse. His phone dings again. Elizabeth.

"Can I see him?" Henry is sure he's never sounded so broken and so defeated.

"Of course. Fair warning, he doesn't look great. He is intubated and on life support. There are a lot of wires and tubes."

Seeing his son sends a shockwave of hurt through his body. Jason looks so lifeless. So fragile and small. Henry walks closer to him and kisses his forehead. He ruffles his hair, which he hasn't done since he was a toddler.

"Oh, buddy. We're going to get you through this?" He whispers to his son.

…..

Elizabeth's flight feels like it takes hours longer than it is. Every minute that passes seems to drag on forever. She spends hours praying, praying harder than she ever has. Never before in her life has she begged so hard. Not even when she was a little girl who still believed in God, she doesn't recall a time when she was this scared. Her son overdosed. Her son could die. How could she not have seen how much pain he was in? How badly he needed help? She should've seen it. Henry should've seen it. She's not home enough; she knows that. And Henry isn't home a lot anymore, either. The girls are older; they understand. But how did they let their son fall deep down a rabbit hole without noticing? Suddenly, she's angry at Henry; they agreed he would be home when she took this job so she wouldn't have to worry. And then he returned to working for the federal government and working 60-hour weeks alongside her. But he promised her. He swore up and down that he'd be home more. He would be the man beside the woman, but he wasn't, and their precious baby boy fell through the cracks.

Her motorcade is waiting for her when she lands at Andrews. She's never disembarked off Air Force 3 so fast, jogging down the steps right as the door opened and slamming the door to her motorcade before Blake could get in. She doesn't care whom she's slighting; she's losing her mind.

She's tempted to take her heels off and run barefoot to the ER; she'll do anything to get there faster. But she stays quiet in the car; she takes deep breaths and tries to keep herself calm. She doesn't want to scare Jason by showing up all hysterical and upset. She lets out a small shocked laugh when she gets to his room. He looks so small. So helpless. His body is draped in blankets, and his chest rises and falls in time with the ventilator. Jason's face is pale. Elizabeth can't help the hot tears that run silently down her face. She reaches for his hand.

"Hey, slugger, mommy's here. It'll be okay." She speaks quietly to him. She strokes his hair. She closes her eyes and prays to God again and again. Praying that she hears him and that he answers her prayers.

She reaches out to Henry, her hand landing on his shoulder. No words are spoken between the couple. Elizabeth studies her husband. He looks exhausted. Tired and worn. She can barely make eye contact with him. The guilt that she feels over what happened to Jason is almost unbearable. When his eyes meet hers, she knows he's blaming himself just like she is. She wishes that there was something more he could say. Or do.

"Are there any updates?" Her voice is raspier than it usually is. She sounds like she hasn't slept in days.

"They took blood, which will tell them the effects of the injury. They gave him an MRI, and they haven't shared those results. He's not breathing over the ventilator. I called Will, and he said that doesn't mean anything yet." Henry's voice is weak. He's holding himself together for now. But Elizabeth knows that it won't last long.

"How are the girls?" She asks softly.

"Worried," Henry says flatly. Elizabeth can feel the anger radiating off of her husband. But she can't tell where it's directed. At the situation? At God? At her?

"I'm sorry I wasn't here. I should have known. I should have been here." Elizabeth shakes her head.

"You were doing your job, Elizabeth." His reassurance doesn't carry its usual gusto. Instead, there's a heaviness in his voice and his eyes that she's never felt. They both realize they blame themselves, and they blame each other. Neither of them blames Jason. How could they? It's their job to keep him safe, even from himself.

"Did the doctors tell you his chances?" She asks painfully.

"He's stable, Elizabeth. We're in a good place right now." Henry answers her, omitting that his brother-in-law was brutally honest with him and said the phrase ten minutes, no oxygen equals brain death.

Elizabeth nods at her husband. She stands beside him as both stare at their son. Keeping watch over him and praying that he pulls through this.

"Henry?" Elizabeth whispers, turning to look at her husband. He doesn't look at her. Instead, he continues to stare at Jason.

"Jason may not survive this, Elizabeth."

It's not his words that hit her like a ton of bricks, but rather his tone. Elizabeth's breath catches in her throat, and her heart drops into her stomach. Jason may not be the only casualty of this event. She turns away from her husband, unable to find the three words she was previously going to say. Instead, she settles in a chair on the opposite side of Jason's bed. She holds his hand and remembers how tiny it used to be. The newborn fingers that used to wrap tightly around her own. The little boy who would excitedly run to her when she got home from work every day. Her light in the post-9/11 darkness that had surrounded her. She'd spent a lifetime trying to protect him. From bullies, from bad decisions. And now, she's failed.

"I'm so sorry, Jase. I love you. I love you so much."

The tone in her voice causes Henry to reach across their son with his hand that is not holding Jason's. She meets him in the middle. Their hands entwine, and they hold onto one another for dear life. Elizabeth has no idea what to expect or where things will go from here. Henry doesn't either.

"One minute at a time." She nods as the words leave Henry's mouth.