On their way to the hospital, Lizzy told her Harraël had flown back to NYC after the meeting with management and his -now- ex-bandmates. But instead of going straight home, he'd gone to his mother's house to ask for advice and try to figure out the mess he'd gotten himself in -once again.

After nearly two days, he'd decided it was about time to go back home. Sitting in her window, Cassie was still watching him drive away when it happened. He'd ran a red light, presumably in his eagerness to get back to his family. And another car had crashed into his from the side.

Together, they rushed down the hospital halls, with Lizzy leading them.

After Cassie had called 911 and they'd tended to her son, she'd followed the ambulance to the hospital and called her daughter to tell her about what happened. She would've preferred to be the one to break the news to Moira, but fate had other plans.

Once the two of them entered Harry's room, Moira's eyes zoomed in on the bed and everything around her faded into nothingness. It felt like someone had wrapped their hands around her throat, desperately trying to choke her.

The world was spinning out of control and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it, or even steady herself. It felt like a punch to her lungs, managing to squeeze all the air from her body, leaving her breathless.

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't fucking breathe.

With his eyes closed, his skin looking sickly pale and his body stiff as a wooden plank, Harry laid in there. Several tubes disappeared into his nose and they'd hooked him up to a breathing machine. He was battered in cuts and bruises. Some cuts bigger or seemingly deeper than the other, judging by the bandage wrapped around parts of him. The majority of his body was hidden away by the white covers, though his hands were folded together atop of them.

Her eyes widened as she backed away, breathing heavily. Short, ragged breaths fell from her lips, her heart rapidly pounding against her chest as she came to the realisation that this was her Harry, lying lifeless in a hospital bed. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to calm and mentally count to ten. Placing a hand over her heart, she felt the thumping as she tried to level her breathing.

Slowly walking over to his side, she took a seat in one of the chairs. Barely noticing the presence beside her. She let her hand softly rest on top of his and flinched at the feel of his usually warm skin -now ice and ice cold. As if the life had already left him.

A slight catch of air hitches in her throat at the thought.

"Is he... is he going to die?"

"He is not." An unfamiliar voice answered.

She looked up at the source of the voice. It was a male doctor. He extended a hand which Moira shook. "I'm Dr Aaron Janssen, and you must be Mr Stones' girlfriend?"

"I am, yes. Moira King."

Clearing his throat, the doctor continued. "The blow to his head, caused Mr Stones' brain to move forward and back, such that it collided with the bony skull around it. This jarring movement bruised his brain tissue, damaged part of the nerve cells, and tore blood vessels. After a closed head injury like Mr Stones', damage can occur in specific brain areas or throughout the brain. To reduce the swelling, we're keeping him in a barbiturate induced coma." he explained. "So it all depends on his progress, on how fast we can wake him up."

There was a momentary silence.

"How long are you planning to keep him like.." Moira gestured towards her unconscious boyfriend. "...like this?"

"As long as needed. We're expecting him to wake up in a few days. However, we can't say for sure that he will. The extent of his injuries are far from fatal, still, his brain is in a bad shape."

"Will he have any permanent damages to his brain when he wakes up?"

"We'll have to do an MRI-scan after he awakens, but before then, we won't be able to guarantee anything."

"Okay," She swallowed, processing the information and trying to gain control of her emotions. "Does he have any other injuries?"

Her eyes meet the doctor's and it took him by surprise to see how empty and dull they were. No sign of tears or trace of any other emotions whasoever. Her face was entirely and utterly blank. Like she was in shock or simply couldn't bear to view the situation from an emotional perspective or in a vulnerable light. It wasn't something the doctor experienced often and he admired her strength. Or he assumed it must have been strength.

"Let's see," he said, taking a peek at the clipboard in his hand. "Three cuts on his abdomen that had to be stitched and five on his left arm, two broken ribs that nearly pierced his lungs but luckily didn't, whiplash, a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist. Mr Stones has been very lucky." He concluded, looking up from the medical report and sending her a reassuring smile.

The doctor performed a physical exam, and took a blood sample for further research. Harry had to be under strict surveillance 24/7, in case of any drastic changes, which was why he had a private room at the Emergency Ward.

------------------------------

The third day was hell.

Whether his brain couldn't handle the pressure, or had simply shut down from its damage, the doctors didn't know. But Harry had fallen out of an induced coma, and into a natural one.

Not being able to deal with the blow of the news, Moira had spent the remains of the day crying at home. And went back to the hospital the following morning, after a good night of sleep.

On the sixth day, nothing much had changed. Nurses regularly came in for check-ups and every evening, Dr Janssen would visit for a more extensive physical exam, and to take him to a nearby room to perform an MRI- and CT-scan.

It was an exhausting routine; stay at the hospital for the majority of the day, go home to spend some time with Ollie, go back to the hospital, try to get a couple of hours of sleep, repeat. And also manage to eat in between it all -for as far as her stomach could bear.

All that clouded her mind was dread; a possibly bad outcome.

What if... What if... What if...

Moira had called the four remaining Bones member to tell them about what happened and they were devastated, causing her heart to break ache painfully. Finn was the only one who could bear visiting, the other three were inconsolable.

He would try to visit once a day, though with their hectic band schedule, that was near to impossible. Especially now that there were only four bandmembers left, and they had to come up with all kinds of excuses to explain Harry's absence.

Why they didn't just tell everyone the truth, was beyond her. Bad publicity, perhaps? She really didn't know.

Cassie had claimed the lone rocking chair sitting in the corner of the room, where she had been sitting night and day. Lizzy had tried to persuade her mother to go home that she would call her in case of changes, but she refused, determined to watch over her son like a guardian angel.

If the tables had been turned, and it was Ollie lying in the bed, Moira was sure she would've done the same as Cassie.

It was a little past two in the afternoon when Cassie heaved a heavy sigh. She shook her head as she stared at her son. "I knew his reckless driving would catch up with him one day."

Moira looked up at her just in time to see her eyes narrow; she glanced away from Harry, eyes wandering as she gets lost in thought for an instance. Then, her eyes locked with hers. At her words, Moira's lips part in confusion. Thinking back to all the times she and Harry had been seated in a car together, she couldn't even remember one time where she'd feared for her life, or where she would've defined his way of driving as 'reckless'.

"What do you mean?" she voiced her thoughts aloud. "He's the safest driver I know."

Cassie swallowed her surprise down and pondered for a moment. "Perhaps with you and Ollie, but on a regular basis I wouldn't want to sit in the passenger seat. Specifically, he tends to ignore speed limits, traffic lights or pedestrians crossings." She sighed again. "I'd told him a thousand times to be careful but he wouldn't listen. Stupid boy."

Not much was said after that.

------------------------------

The eighth day was about the same as previous one, and the one before that. Moira attempted to catch up with all the work she'd missed. Her boss, Mr Starck, understood the situation she was in, and even offered her a week off. But Moira felt she'd taken too much advantage of her boss' kindness already. With her early maternity leave, her extreme cut on working hours after Ollie was born and now this.

And thus, she drew up designs, called several clients and colleagues for updates, and even got shipments sent from Denmark and The Netherlands. All in the space of a few hours. Though if she'd been able to concentrate, everything would've gone a lot faster.

To say it was hard to work alongside a motionless Harry, would be an understatement. Moira could barely comprehend the mere idea of him, stuck inside his own body. It seemed... unreal. He was there, but at the same time, he wasn't. She felt helpless, having no way of helping out; a terrible feeling.

Thankfully, that changed when Dr Janssen told her that the sound of a familiar voice is the best tool for recovery. A recent study conducted by researchers had found that hearing a familiar voice telling a story could help coma patients with recovering their consciousness faster and start responding to conversation and directions.

This gave her -as well as Cassie and Lizzy- a sense of control over his recovery and the chance to be part of his treatment. They took.. shifts, so to say. In the morning, Cassie would tell a story from his childhood or simply a humorous anecdote. In the afternoon, it was Lizzy's turn. In the evening, hers. And whenever Finn came by for a visit, he too would tell a story.

Moira would recite the way they'd met, how she'd treated him oh-so-wrongly, and some more heartfelt memories. Like their first, real kiss. And the day they'd officially become a family.

------------------------------

Their 10-month-old baby boy had grown scarily quiet. He'd eat, sleep and fill his diaper like he always would. Yet, the adorable squeals or little giggles had practically gone. As if he knew what was going on. As if he was missing his daddy's presence.

And so, on the eleventh day, after not seeing his father for almost two weeks. Moira decided it was time for Ollie to visit him.

Careful not to put his curious hands in reach of any tubes, she sat him on the bed. Dressed in his favorite, fluffy bear onesie, Ollie's form sunk into the covers. At the sight of the curly haired man, he almost instantly began exclaiming cheerful noises. And Moira knew this was the reason behind his change in behaviour. Never again would she underestimate her son's observation skills.

He really did miss his dad.

To avoid disconnecting the infusion, she had put Harry's arms at his side. And like a bee attracted to honey, Ollie crawled towards his daddy and climbed on top of his torso. Where he got comfortable on his tummy, with his head pressed against his dad's chest.

As if expecting Harry to wrap his arms around his tiny frame like he usually did.

"Oh god," Moira's voice broke and she swiftly covered her mouth, the tears pricking at her eyes. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry again, not after the mental breakdown a few days prior and especially not in the company of Oliver. But she couldn't help it; it was inevitable.

At the start of all this, she'd wanted to raise her son on her own. And now, the mere thought of Ollie growing up without his dad, tore her heart, body and soul into a thousand, sharp pieces of seemingly everlasting pain.

The tears leaked and she couldn't stop them. It was the first time she'd really let them go since her last sobbing session, and a part of it felt wonderful. To finally release those bottled emotions, to set them free. She could feel someone taking a seat next to her and guiding her face to their shoulder.

Moira cried into the person's shoulder until she couldn't produce any more tears. By the time she was done, her eyes stung and felt puffy. Her neck a little sore from having to stoop so low to find the person's shoulder.

"Hush now girl," the person -Cassie- whispered. "everything will be alright in the end, and if it's not alright, it's not the end." Cassie wiped at the tears under her eyes and tried to give her an encouraging smile. She -too- was having a hard time coping. Evidently.

Seeing her baby sound asleep, snuggled on top of his daddy, caused another wave of complete heartbreak to wash through her. And she had to keep herself from heaving another sob. So much negativity wasn't good for her or anyone else in the room. Letting go once in a while was good. But you can't go through life crying about all that is wrong. Enough is enough.

"He'll wake up, you know?" Cassie offered, her long nails going through her hair once she'd calmed her crying down to a soft blubbering. Like most mother's, she knew exactly how to soothe someone. And Moira felt appreciative of the much-needed comfort.

She looked up at her from her shoulder. "I hope so."

"I know so," she started off slowly, her fingers still going through her hair soothingly. "My son isn't one to let his loved ones down."

Soft snores could be heard from Ollie's open mouth, and Moira managed a small smile in his direction, gazing upon him lovingly.

------------------------------

On the thirteenth day, she was sitting in her usual spot next to the bed, clasping Harry's hand and rocking a certain someone to sleep with the other arm.

Ollie was literally exhausting himself to sleep. Unlike his mother, he seemed to have no trouble entertaining himself in the spacious private room. One moment, he'd be playing with his stuffed wolf or turtle, or practically force Moira to read him stories by grabbing at them or attempting to toss them around, then the next the anatomy of his own fingers would fascinate him so deeply he'd stare at them for minutes on end. It was amusing, really.

Someone lightly nudged Moira's shoulder, interrupting her from her reverie.

"Hey?"

She glanced up to see Lizzy sending her lifted her a questioning look. "Didn't you hear me call your name?"

Moira shook her head.

"Let's go grab some coffee downstairs, you look like you could use a cup or two."

She snorted. "Gee, thanks."

Carefully putting Ollie down in the temporary crib they'd set up for him, she asked Cassie if she needed anything. To which she shook her head and declined with half a smile.

Clearly, the stress had begun taking its toll on the lady. The dark bags under her eyes were evidence of that. But then again, all three of them had those. So who was she to judge?

While the three of them -four with Ollie included- were stuck inside the hospital with Harry, for the majority of their days. Moira's mother took pride in providing them with all kinds of things. Fresh clothes, basic items such as a toothbrush, shampoo, deodorant, etcetera. She would even bring them home cooked dinner or freshly baked cookies.

She couldn't help them make the experience easy to drag through. But by doing what she did, she lessened the pain-filled, hospital-ish atmosphere. And therefore made it a little more comfortable to cope with.

All in all, Emelia was an angel sent from above.

Walking towards the coffee area, something in the opposite corner had caught Moira's eye. "Hold on," she murmured, causing her friend to stop in her tracks. She could see the line of confusion on her forehead. Still, she followed her mutely in the direction she was heading.

The news stand, placed along the back wall, was a contender for the most disorganised mess she'd ever seen in her life. Though the mismatching array of newspapers and glossy magazines were not all that caught her attention; that job lay in the hands of one thing in particular, right in the middle of it all, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Moira reached out, taking it into her hands for a closer look.

It was a gossip magazine, obviously targeted at people who enjoyed reading about the juicy details of a celebrity life -whether said details were based off of lies or truth. That, however, didn't deter from the fact Harry- AND Ollie's faces were plastered all over the cover, a sneaky snapshot that must have been taken by some lowlife paparazzo. The headline was hard to miss.

Harraël Stones, Daddy Unknown?

Before she could stop herself, she was already flicking through the magazine, fingers moving across the pages, trying to find the full article. When it fell open, the whole spread was covered in a collage of Harry/Ollie-related pictures. Including a picture from the day their son was born and he'd brought them home, one from a few months back when they were taking a stroll in a park, and a more recent picture; where the resemblance between father and son was uncanny.

Coincidentally, that was also the only picture where you could see her face in full detail.

The writer of the article voiced her suspicions in the most disgusting of ways. Putting Harry off as a money-hungry narcissist who'd knocked up some poor white girl (her). And not even trying creating a fantasy filled story with perhaps a hint of truth, but a big fat lie instead. The one thing she did get on point was the million dollar question: Where had Harraël Stones disappeared to?

Moira's expression may have looked relatively calm on the surface, but there was a storm brewing underneath. This caused Lizzy to snatch the magazine from her hands and put it back in the stand.

"One thing I've learned from my brother's fame," she said. "Is to never read the articles, it'll only mess with your head."

"They have pictures of our son."

"I know, sweetie." She tried to reassure her, taking in her hardened, determined expression. "But Harraël will handle it when he wakes up."

They took the elevator back upstairs, and Lizzy muttered some syllables under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "If,". And she was right. All games and delusions aside, she was absolutely right. It was a realistic fear.

What if he didn't wake up?