I’d take another chance, take a fall
Take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat
But it’s nothing new, yeah, yeah
I loved you with a fire red
Now it’s turning blue, and you say
Sorry like the angel heaven let me think was you
But I’m afraid
It’s too late to apologize, it’s too late
– Apologize, OneRepublic f. Timbaland

---

Wednesday, December 31, 2003

Morgan Penthouse: Living Room

Emily closed her eyes and sighed in deep happiness. “That might be the best cake I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s chocolate,” Elizabeth replied as she took the chocolate cake sample from Emily and cut her own small piece of it.

“No, that will change lives. It might even cure cancer—”

“All right, now you’re being dramatic—” Elizabeth almost moaned as the fudge chocolate touched her tongue. “Oh my God—”

“Ha.” Emily looked at her watch. “I thought you said Bobbie was coming.”

“She was supposed to, but—” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “She might have got stuck at work.” She reached over with her fork. “Gimme more—”

“Uh huh, get your own cake—” Emily lifted the plate away from her. “Should we even bother with the other types?”

“That depends.” Elizabeth leaned back. “Hey, Jason, do you care if I pick fudge chocolate or lemon chiffon for the cake?”

“What?” Jason emerged from the kitchen, a cup of herbal tea in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. He frowned as he set both on the coffee table. “Is that second one even food?”

“See, he thinks he doesn’t care—give him some of that chocolate—” Elizabeth gestured to Emily, who was protecting what was left of the sample.

“No, ma’am, this is my cake. I have an overnight shift tonight, and I deserve it—”

“It’s my wedding cake—don’t make me come over there—”

“Fine,” Emily grunted and picked a tiny sliver off the cake with her fork and held it out to her brother, who seemed mildly amused by the entire exchange. “Here.”

Jason took the fork from her and ate it. “It’s fine.”

“Are you kidding me?” Elizabeth grunted as she sipped her tea. “The wedding’s off.”

“Uh huh.” He handed his sister the fork and leaned over to kiss the top of Elizabeth’s head. “You okay here for a little while? I need to check on some things at the warehouse.”

“Yeah, Monica said she probably wouldn’t know anything for a few more hours, and Emily’s doesn’t have work until later—”

“Not until I have figured out how to bathe in this cake,” Emily said, forcing a smile, not wanting to bring down Elizabeth’s good mood by lingering too long on the subject of her test results.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hesitated again, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She reached over to the side table, took out a bottle of pills and counted out two, and picked up the glass of water. Only after she’d taken them did Jason leave.

Emily pursed her lips, looked after her brother. “What was that about?”

“Oh. Monica increased the dosage of my blood thinners. I take two around lunch, then one before bed. It’s a new schedule, and Jason doesn’t want me to mess them up.”

“What, does he think you’re an idiot? How do you not want to smack him? You’re an adult, you know how to take medication—”

“It bothered me when I got out of the hospital in July,” Elizabeth admitted. “We weren’t even living together yet, and he was always asking me about my medicine, but I realized—” She hesitated. “He can’t do anything about—” She gestured at her body. “Any of this. Literally, the only thing he can do is remind me about the medicine, make sure I eat—it’s just—it’s how he’s coping with it.”

“Oh.” Emily sat back, frowning, “And it’s okay with you? I mean, I’m sure it comes from a good place, but—”

“It used to drive me up the wall—but then I had that panic attack and hyperventilated when we slept together for the first time, and it hit me that night—what he’d gone through that day when I almost died. Yeah, I almost did the dying, but he had to watch.” Elizabeth lifted a shoulder. “And I’m lucky, too. A lot of guys—maybe most—would have found hyperventilating after sex to be a huge turnoff.”

She picked up the lemon chiffon and smiled slightly. “That was never a problem for him. I guess it’s just how you look at it. Jason will never be into PDA or be one of those guys who make those huge romantic gestures. Not like the movies. He shows it in other ways. Like irritating me over my medicine or drowning me in water.”

“That’s you know when you put it that way, it is sweet,” Emily admitted. “And I’m glad you can see it that way.” She bit her lip. “You—you’re handling things okay. I expected you to be climbing the walls.”

Elizabeth used her fork to cut herself a piece of the sample. “I was worse yesterday,” she admitted. “But I’ve been resting the last three weeks, and today I do feel a bit better. Also, I’m trying to focus on the good things. Like scheduling the fitting for my wedding dress next week, and making sure that the hotel gets decorated—” She sighed at the lemon cake. “Picking out my cake. Damn it. This is good, too.”

“Lemme see—” Emily reached over with her fork, then slid the bite into her mouth. “Oh, God. That is—how are we supposed to pick?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and considered both cake samples. “You know, I bet Jason wouldn’t even blink if I ordered both.”

“That is the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Central Avenue: Sidewalk

Tamika was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she and Justus approached the storefront, where her sister was waiting with a big smile on her face.

“This is better than Philly,” Portia declared as they reached her. She beamed as Tamika unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Philly was a wing and a prayer—this place—this is where we take over the world!”

She all but danced inside, turning in big sweeping turns as her older sister watched her.

“What do you think?” Tamika asked, turning to Justus. “I mean, I know the location is perfect, but—”

“This is great,” Justus told her. He looked around, lifted his head to look at the high ceilings. “I think your sister has a great point. Opening another branch, in this area of the city where the hotels and tourists are—this is definitely a good step. I mean, I know it’s not Fifth Avenue in New York,” he teased.

“Oh, that is next,” Portia declared as she danced over to them. “And to my favorite brother-in-law who pulled all the strings and favors to get us this location—” She gave him a big smack on the lips. “Favorite brother-in-law,” she repeated with a huge grin.

“Only brother-in-law,” Justus reminded her dryly.

“And get your own man, girl—” Tamika playfully shoved her sister. “This is a big town—”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. While y’all were boring at home last night,” Portia said, “I hit the town. I went to that club you told me about—the blues club?”

“Oh, yeah, Luke’s. It’s owned by an old friend of mine.” Justus glanced at Tamika, who sighed and nodded, knowing the history Justus shared with Luke and Laura Spencer, and the tension between them all after Laura had been tried for murdering Damian Smith when Justus had actually killed him.

“You didn’t tell me you met anyone.” Tamika wiggled her brows. “Spill! What’s the tea?”

“Oh, he is a gorgeous hunk of a man,” Portia sighed, dreamily, putting her hands under her chin and fluttering her eyelashes. “Not a bad dancer either—he invited me back tonight for New Year’s—apparently the club throws a real bash.”

“Second date already. Nice—”

Justus was only half-listening to his wife and her sister as he wandered over to a counter and peered underneath, but then he heard something that chilled him down to the bone. He straightened. “What did you say his name was?”

Portia turned and blinked at him, then her eyes widened. “Oh! You probably know him since you used to be the DA here, right? He was—still is—a cop—his name is Marcus—”

“Oh.” Justus closed his eyes, grimaced. “Tell me you’re not talking about Marcus Taggert—”

“That’s his name.” Portia turned back to her sister. “Doesn’t sound like a delicious name? Mm—”

“Hell,” Justus muttered. Maybe Taggert would screw this up, and he’d never, ever have to socialize with the man. He scowled. Just his luck.

Brownstone: Living Room

Carly laid Morgan on his back in the middle of the living room, then grinned up at Michael, who was reaching for one of the dangling toys hanging from the arch that rose over Morgan’s body.

Her two-month-old son giggled, shook his little fists, and rocked back and forth. He wasn’t quite ready to roll over yet, but Carly was just enjoying this moment—she’d missed so much of Michael’s first year and was relieved to be able to have this with Morgan.

“I’m late,” Bobbie said with a sigh as she fastened a bracelet and walked past them. “I was supposed to be at Elizabeth’s for the cake thing an hour ago.”

“Elizabeth will understand,” Carly said as she tickled the bottom of Morgan’s feet. “You were vomited on at the hospital, and if the soap in the staff bathroom is anything like the one in the patient showers, it makes complete sense that you came home to shower.”

“I know. I meant to call, but I kept getting distracted, and now—” Bobbie planted her hands on her hips, grinning down at the trio. “Is that my baby thinking about rolling over?”

Morgan tried to turn his head towards his grandmother’s voice, shaking his fist.

“Getting distracted again, Mama—”

“Shoot,” Bobbie muttered. She went over to the table to grab her purse, then scowled as she caught sight of something out the window. “Michael, why don’t you go to your room and play that video game I bought you for Christmas? The little one that fits in your hand?”

Michael frowned. “Grammy—”

Bobbie turned to look at Carly with trepidation, before looking at Michael. “Humor me, baby. Just for a little while—”

“Okay,” Michael said, climbing to his feet and shooting his grandmother a look of confusion over his shoulder as he went down the hallway towards his room. Carly got to her feet, then picked Morgan up.

“Mama—” She followed her mother’s gaze, then swallowed hard as she saw Sonny striding towards the Brownstone door. “Oh, why is he here?”

“I don’t know. I saw him pull up and thought it might be better if Michael were—”

Carly hurried over to set Morgan in his bassinet, then set the stuffed animal with him so that she could join her mother in the foyer. She wasn’t afraid of sending Sonny away on her own—

But she was glad she wouldn’t have to. She knew from Jason that Sonny had not sought out any type of help, and the more time passed, the more likely Sonny would somehow make this Carly’s fault—

He was always good at blaming everything on her.

Bobbie pulled open the door even before Sonny could knock. “Why are you here?” she demanded.

Sonny scowled, looked past his mother-in-law at Carly. “Well, for one thing, you wouldn’t let me see my kids at Christmas—”

“I told you, you were welcome to come over if Jason was with you. You said you didn’t need a babysitter, and that was the end of it.” Carly folded her arms. “Anything else?”

“I want to see the boys. Today.” Sonny flicked his eyes at Bobbie. “We need to talk about this like adults. Without your mother—”

“You can go straight to—”

“Mama.” Carly stepped up beside her mother. “Go into the living room. Just for a minute. Sonny’s not staying.”

Bobbie pursed her lips, then with a huff, walked into the living room to check on Morgan. Carly blocked Sonny’s view into the rest of the house. “Have you made an appointment with a therapist yet?”

“I don’t need to talk to anyone,” Sonny told her. “Look—I get it. I know it was wrong—it was terrible what I did. And I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I thought—I thought we could talk about security changes, so you don’t feel trapped.”

Carly closed her eyes, shook her head. “I don’t need any security changes. I’m fine where I am. You need to sort yourself out so that what happened a few weeks ago—what happened last summer—never happens again—”

“I just need my wife to give me a little bit of understanding and forgiveness,” Sonny cut in, his tone clipped. “Haven’t I always forgiven you?”

Carly stared at him for a long time. “This isn’t about what I’ve done wrong,” she said slowly, “or mistakes that I’ve made. You don’t get to use those when we’re talking about what happened. I broke your trust, and you chose to forgive me.”

“You’re not doing the same for me—”

“You didn’t just break my trust, Sonny—” Her voice strangled. How did he not understand— “You broke me.”

Sonny swallowed hard. “I know—”

“No, you don’t know. I told you that I am afraid of you, Sonny—” He flinched. “When I look at you, I don’t see my husband or a father—I see the man who locked me in a room and—now—the nightmares just aren’t about Ric,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “They’re about you. And what you did. What you might do again.”

“I—” Sonny said nothing for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Okay. So you need more time—”

“I don’t need time, Sonny, I need you to fix this—”

“And I will when Ric Lansing is gone, and I know my family is safe,” Sonny snapped, his eyes crackling with anger. “You promised you’d stay until he was found—you broke my trust, again, and now—I’m willing to forgive that—” His words were coming faster now, and she wasn’t even sure if he believed them.

“I’m closing the door,” Carly said. “Don’t come back again.”

Quietly, she shut the door on his face, in the middle of his declaration that they were both wrong, and both of them needed to fix things. Carly leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

Behind her, Bobbie stepped up, put her hands on Carly’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, baby. But I’m so proud of you.”

“You should—” Carly took a deep breath, turning to face her mother. “You should get going. Elizabeth is expecting you—”

“I’ll call her. She’ll understand that you need me right now. You did the right thing, Carly.”

“I know.” Carly’s smile wavered but didn’t fade. “I just wish it didn’t feel like this.” She pressed her hands to her eyes, waited a moment. “Okay. I’m going back to be with my boys. You want to get pizza for dinner? I think I deserve it.”

Corinthos & Morgan Warehouse: Jason’s Office

“Have you heard back about the tests?” Justus asked as he slid a contract across the desk towards Jason. “Or are you still waiting?”

“Still waiting.” Jason checked the clock on his desk. Nearly four. “But Monica said it would be today.” He scribbled his name at the bottom. “How much more do we need to do? Emily had to leave for her shift at three, and I don’t want Elizabeth alone at the penthouse for long.”

Justus raised his brows, sat back in his chair. “Because of how she’s been feeling lately or because of who lives across the hall?”

Jason tensed, set the pen down, and raised his eyes to meet his cousin’s direct gaze. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Sonny came to the office yesterday, wanting me to file for custody of the boys. To demand visitation rights.” Justus rubbed his chin. “And I told him if it went to court, no judge in the world would give him anything other than supervised visits.”

It was too much to hope that Jason would be able to avoid having this conversation or dealing with Sonny’s crap for a few more days. He put his head in his hands, took a deep breath. “What did he say to that?”

“He seemed to understand, then suggested Carly just needs more time and space.” Justus tipped his head. “Time and space, Jason. That’s what Carly needs. I, uh, get the feeling that he thinks Carly is being a bit unreasonable.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t need this right now,” he muttered.

“No, I know that. And if you didn’t live across the hall from him, I wouldn’t say anything. But how long do you want us to keep Puerto Rico from him?” Justus asked. “Johnny knows about it. His guys know about it. There’s a grapevine with this kind of thing. And then once he does finds out about Puerto Rico—”

“It’ll start all over again, except now Carly is at the Brownstone where Sonny can’t…”

“Lock her up?”

“Don’t—” Jason stopped because, of course, Justus was right. With Carly and the boys out of Sonny’s control and holding firm to her demand that Sonny get help before she’d come back—that meant Jason would be getting the brunt of Sonny’s crap.

As would anyone around him.

“What do you think I should do?” Jason asked. He scowled. “I mean, you obviously want me to do something, Justus. What should I do? Tie him up? Make him go to get professional help? Throw him in a pit? What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Justus’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I just know that I’m not happy that Sonny is starting to create a narrative where he’s not the bad guy. As far as he’s concerned, he just made a mistake. Right now, he’s keeping his distance from Carly, not really forcing things—what happened when he decides he’s not wrong, but she is?”

“I’ll talk to him.” Jason got to his feet. “But there’s not much else I can do. The shipments are running on schedule. Tommy and Johnny aren’t reporting any issues from their end. Right now, what’s happening with Sonny is personal. Which makes it his problem to fix, not mine. I got Carly out, didn’t I? And I haven’t said she should go back. And—” He hesitated. “Cody has orders not to let Sonny into the penthouse unless I’m there. What are you looking for?”

“I guess that’s enough.” Justus also stood. “I don’t want you to have to deal with this either,” he said. “You got your own life to live, Jason. Your own family—”

“I know what I—” He scowled, looked down at his phone when a text message flashed on the screen. He picked it up, flipped it open to see Elizabeth’s name with a message attached.

monica coming over.

He sent her a quick reply that he’d be home shortly, then closed his phone, sliding it into his back pocket. “I know what my responsibilities are,” Jason told his cousin. “Elizabeth and our son are at the top. I have to go.”

PCPD: Commissioner’s Office

Anna scowled as she set down the phone and glared at the mayor as he walked into her office. “Is your source screwing with us?” she demanded. She got to her feet and folded her arms. “Three sightings, and not a single piece of evidence to back any of them up—”

Ned glanced at Taggert, who seemed mystified at Anna’s irritation. “Uh, I don’t think my source would mess with me on this.” He furrowed his brow, set his coat over the back of the chair. “It’s been twenty-four hours—maybe they’re just missing him—”

“I could believe that in Caracas, but Puerto Rico is a U.S. territory,” Anna reminded them. “It’s not as easy as you think to smuggle in and out of there—especially from Venezuela. It’s not a market for undocumented immigrants, so there’s less human trafficking—there’s simply no evidence that Ric Lansing ever entered the country or left. Are you absolutely sure that your source isn’t wasting our time?”

“I am positive,” Ned said, “that my source would see no point in screwing with you. He wouldn’t lie to me—”

“Is it Morgan?” Taggert said idly, tipping his head at the mayor. “He’s your cousin—”

“You think Jason Morgan is working with the PCPD?” Ned said with a scoff. He shook his head. “He wouldn’t. And he’s got enough problems on his plate right now. Sonny and Carly are separated—again.”

Anna pursed her lips, then sat down. “My contacts at Interpol are a bit unhappy with me that I keep passing them information that is nothing more than some guy saw someone somewhere,” she told Ned. “They’re not going to be willing to look into another tip like that. Not after three failures.”

“Fair enough.” Ned hesitated. “Why would anyone go to the trouble of screwing with me or Interpol?”

“Well,” Anna said, “for one thing, if Ric Lansing is dead, then you can throw off the scent by planting a false trail.”

Ned sat down, a bit heavily at that news. Taggert sat in the chair next to him. “You’re not looking at Sonny or Jason over this, are you?”

“When I looked at the case last month, everyone seemed quite sure that they wouldn’t have done Lansing in at this point—months ago, yes, but not the week before the trial.” Anna leaned back in her chair, tapping her pencil. “I was willing to agree—to a point. But nearly two months in, and all we have are unsubstantiated sightings? Not a single piece of physical evidence? I think Lansing is dead. And I think that obviously Sonny and Jason have done a decent job at rehabilitating their image if you’re so convinced they wouldn’t do this—”

“I never said they wouldn’t do this,” Taggert said with a scowl. “I said they didn’t. There’s a difference, Anna. And—judging from the way Sonny Corinthos has treated his wife since their kid was born, if Sonny doesn’t think Ric is out there, waiting to come after his family, then either he’s crazy as hell or incredibly cruel.”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “Explain,” she ordered.

“I don’t know what went down after the hearing,” Taggert said, looking at Ned for a minute before looking back at Anna when the mayor didn’t offer to fill in any blanks. “I just know that Carly was staying at the penthouse after the baby was born, then was back at the Brownstone after the hearing. And judging from the way she came back—and the way her things were moved back in—it was not planned. And Sonny has shown up a few times, trying to convince Carly to go back.”

“That also might be Carly learning that Sonny lured her to move back in with a lie,” Anna said, “then somehow learned he had already gotten rid of Ric. She’d likely leave him over that, wouldn’t she?”

“Possibly,” Taggert admitted.

“But Jason isn’t acting like Ric is dead,” Ned said. “I—I told him the PCPD was shelving the case, and while he was disappointed, he understood. He told me he’s pretty sure Lansing is in South America—”

“Which doesn’t do anything to suggest I’m not right,” Anna pointed out.

“Does Elizabeth still think Ric’s alive?” Taggert asked, looking at Ned. “Is there any way to find that out?”

“Yes. Because Jason knew he’d have to tell her she wasn’t going to get a trial—and before you tell me that he would still think that if he’d killed Ric, let me tell you that I know Jason. You don’t. And he’s not lying to Elizabeth. Not over this. And not right now.” Ned shook his head. “He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a liar.”

“What’s your read on Morgan?” Anna asked Taggert. “Would he lie to Elizabeth?”

“That’s tricky,” Taggert admitted. Ned scowled, and Taggert shook his head. “Let me clarify. I absolutely don’t think he’d lie to her about Ric. I do think he’d tell her what was really going on, and then she’d lie to us in a heartbeat to protect him.”

He hesitated, looked at Ned. “But—I’m still struggling with the idea that they’d let Ric get that close to trial, knowing Elizabeth and Carly wanted to testify—then get rid of him. I can buy Corinthos doing that, but it’s harder for me to believe Morgan would do that to Elizabeth.”

He looked at Anna. “But let’s take your theory a step further. If Lansing is dead, and someone is trying to plant a false trail—why does it have to be Corinthos and Morgan? Scott said he thought Ric might try to make a deal in exchange for testimony about his father—Scott had already decided against a deal, and I think Ric knew that, but it makes you wonder if maybe Ric had the same idea that Vinnie did.”

“To turn it into a federal case?” Ned asked.

“Zacchara and his lawyer—they had a good reason to want Ric dead, too. And he disappeared from their estate.”

Ned frowned, looked at Anna. “That makes sense. The Zaccharas could be trying to throw off the scent—or making Corinthos and Morgan focus their energies somewhere else. If they’re looking for Ric—”

“They’re not thinking of retaliating against Anthony or Trevor for sending the idiot in the first place.” Anna pursed her lips. “It’s a thought. And it’s one I’m going to start considering. I’d be very interested if your source had any other sightings of Ric and where they might pop up. First—two generic sightings in Caracas.”

She tapped a pencil against her desk. “Then a sighting in Puerto Rico? Near a club that Interpol tells me is likely a front for one of the local organizations? Maybe the Zaccharas are trying to distract Sonny and Jason so they can make their move—and a mob war is the last thing any of us need.”

“Well, on that happy note,” Ned said, wryly, “I should get back to work. Call me if anything changes.”

“Taggert—a moment—” Anna called as the mayor left. Taggert frowned at her. “Capelli was able to get a search warrant for one of the clubs. For tonight.”

Taggert grimaced, then nodded. “Well, I guess he was bound to find the right judge eventually. Why are you telling me?”

“Because I’m sure the memo of recently approved warrants is on your desk as we speak, and I—” Anna pursed her lips. “I would be disappointed if the news reached Corinthos or Morgan—”

“Excuse me?” Taggert demanded. “You think after everything this department has been through, I’d turn dirty—” His blood pounded in his ears. “What the hell—”

“You’ve been very supportive of Corinthos and Morgan—”

“No, I’ve been fucking objective—” Taggert took a deep breath, put a hand up in between them. Forced himself to calm down. “You don’t know me, so you don’t understand how insulting this is. I hate Sonny Corinthos. I don’t like Jason Morgan all that much, either. But I’ve been on this case, watching the two of them from the beginning. I know they’re criminals. I know—”

“I apologize if you’re offended—”

“You don’t know me,” he repeated. “The day we can break the mob for good in this town will be the best day of my career. But I don’t work Organized Crimes anymore because I lost that objectivity. I couldn’t see straight. I thought Corinthos and Morgan were behind all the crimes—all the bad stuff in this city—there’s no way in hell—”

“All right.” Anna sat back. “I’m sorry.”

He hissed, then stormed out of the office, irritated at the world.

Morgan Penthouse: Living Room

Monica was already sitting on the sofa with Elizabeth when Jason got home twenty minutes later. He stripped off his jacket and tossed it over the desk. Elizabeth didn’t look upset, he noted as he sat down on the other side of her—

“She just got here,” Elizabeth told him, squeezing his hand. “I wanted to wait for you.” She turned back to Monica, keeping Jason’s hand laced through hers. “So?”

“So.” Monica took a deep breath. “I’ll just be direct, all right? You have a condition called chronic thromboembolic pulmonary hypertension.”

Elizabeth blinked, looked at Jason again with a frown. “Thromboembolic,” she repeated. “Like embolism?”

“Pulmonary hypertension,” Jason repeated. “That’s—that’s an issue with the blood pressure in her lungs.”

“Yes. Basically, Elizabeth, you have blood clots in the vessels of your lungs,” Monica explained. “These blood clots probably formed a few months ago—after we stopped scanning in September. The way that this condition works—we call it CTEPH for short—is that they don’t develop or dissolve in the lungs. Instead, they’re in the vessels and create what looks like scar tissue, so even if the clots resolve on their own—”

“They leave damage behind them,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I—how many clots do I have right now?”

“None that are currently active. At least not as of yesterday. I would have treated them through the angiography. But the vessels in your lungs are constricted,” Monica told her. “Which is, in part, why you’ve been having so much trouble breathing. Also, because oxygen isn’t circulating in your blood correctly, it’s making it difficult for your heart to pump normally.”

Elizabeth pressed her free hand to her chest as a tear slid down her cheek, splashed onto the back of Jason’s hand. Jason wasn’t doing well with breathing himself, he realized.

This—this was so much worse than he’d expected. Elizabeth’s lungs were damaged, and her heart wasn’t working—

“What—” Elizabeth closed her eyes. Couldn’t speak.

“What does this mean?” Jason managed. “For Elizabeth—For the baby—”

“Well, there is some good news,” Monica told them. “This type of pulmonary hypertension—CTEPH—it can be cured through surgery. A doctor can basically remove the scar tissue, and you’d be able to make a full recovery.”

Elizabeth’s breath came out in a huge whoosh as her shoulders shook slightly. “Can—when I can I have the surgery?”

Monica pressed her lips together, looked at Jason for a moment, then again at Elizabeth. “It would be impossible to have the surgery while pregnant,” she told her softly.

“I—” Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I don’t—what—”

“Kelly and I are researching this now,” Monica told her. “CTEPH is rare—and there haven’t been many case studies of pregnancy with the condition. The few we’ve found—well—” She cleared her throat. “We want to get a full picture of what we’re dealing with before we move forward with a treatment plan.”

“Monica,” Jason said when Elizabeth simply couldn’t speak anymore. “Elizabeth is twenty-three weeks along. What—can we wait—”

“I don’t know,” Monica told him with deep regret. “And of course, Kelly and I both anticipated that Elizabeth would—that you’d both want to explore any and all options that prioritize the baby.”

Jason nodded. “What can we do until you and Kelly know more?” he asked. “Can you—is there medication? Treatment?”

“There aren’t a lot of options for pregnant women,” Monica said. “We want you to continue on the blood thinners. We’ll also want to make sure that you have a healthy balance of nutrition, exercise, and rest. We’ll want to monitor your oxygen levels—”

“I can’t—” Elizabeth struggled to her feet, pushed Jason’s arm away, and walked away—towards the mantel. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t—”

Jason went to her, but hesitated to reach out, to touch her— He looked back at his mother. “Can you maybe write some things down? We’ll look at them later.”

“Of course.” Monica got to her feet. “I’ve spoken to Alan about the case,” she told them. “If there’s anything the hospital needs—I want to be ready. I’m contacting other doctors—particularly the best ones who are certified for the surgery—I’m—” Her voice faltered for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jason told her. He cleared his throat but found he didn’t know what else to say. Elizabeth was still facing away from him, her arms curled around herself.

“I’ll let you two have some time to talk this over,” Monica said. “I’ll be in touch when Kelly and I are ready to talk through some more options, and I’ll get you a list of things you can do in the meantime. For now, just do what you’ve been doing. Resting, eating well, taking care of yourself.”

“We will.”

When the door clicked softly, indicating Monica had left, Jason turned his attention back to Elizabeth. He didn’t know what to say to her. He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t even promise her it would be okay.

Elizabeth turned to look at him, her eyes almost blank with shock, tears staining her cheeks. “He’s going to take this from me, too, isn’t he?” she asked, her voice so faint he had to strain to hear it. “My baby. My health. My future. Everything.”

“No—” Jason’s paralysis broke, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drew her against him tightly, burying his face in her hair. “No,” he repeated, roughly. “We’ll get all the doctors. We’ll do anything they tell us. We’ll make sure you and the baby—you’ll have whatever you need. Whatever I have to pay—”

“I just t-thought—” Her body started to shake with the force of her tears. “I thought our baby w-was a m-miracle—t-hat—that we-were finally going to be happy—”

He couldn’t promise her that it would be okay. Couldn’t do anything except hold her as she sobbed. Jason just held her tightly and hoped that it would be enough to get them through this moment, even if he had no idea how to face what was coming next.

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