As always and ever, Thank you for your reviews and continued support of this story. It means more than you know. Graduate school and work have taken their toll on my writing time but this story is embedded in the back of my mind and so we continue.

Mary jerked her head toward the faint sound of high heels against the stark linoleum floor. She was out of her seat before the woman could reach the Nurses Station. The sound of her footsteps stopped and Mary peeked around the corner to find the visitor, with her blonde hair askew, gripping the window ledge as she eased out of her heels.
"Ma'am, you don't need to-" died on Mary's lips when the woman continued down the hall in her bare feet. When blue eyes met Mary's brown, the Secretary winced, "Sorry, I'm making so much noise." The nurse shook her head, "Don't worry, Madam Secretary," then pointed down the hallway. "You want the seventh door on the right."
The Secretary's beautiful brow was furrowed, and Mary got the distinct impression that this woman could see right through her, searching for the news she so desperately needed. "Thank you. And please call me Elizabeth." Mary nodded and then watched as the Secretary of State continued down the hallway, quiet as a whisper, with her heels in hand.

Up the elevator and thirty seven steps across the white floor toward his door, she walked. The warm coffeehouse seemed like days ago instead of hours, and she shivered with fatigue. She reached her father's room and peeked inside. A small smile washed across her face, he was asleep. Stevie stood in the doorway, hugging herself for warmth, and surveyed her father. His glasses were crooked on his face. A page of yesterday's newspaper was sprawled across his lap. She shook her head at Henry's predictability and quietly stole across the room. She folded up the newspaper and tucked it onto a nearby shelf.
She took in her father's face. The stitches across his forehead, just like Allie, and the bruise already forming near his jaw. There were white gauzy bandages covering his hand and a heavy cast protecting his entire arm.
Her father. He was here. He was alive. He was asleep. She lightly kissed his forehead, "I love you, Dad," she whispered. She settled herself into a nearby chair, laid her head down on the bed, and allowed herself to close her eyes.

Four, five, six...Elizabeth silently counted doors as she jogged through the empty hallway. Her palm fell on the cold metal of the half open door to her right.
Allison.
Oh God, she's so pale.

Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from shaking. Allison's porcelain skin was ghostly against the dark wave of her hair. Two of her children lay asleep and Elizabeth willed herself to stay silent for their sake. All of her remaining energy going toward swallowing the oppressive wave of emotion that was quickly constricting her breathing. She saw that her son lay no more than three feet from Allison. Jason's protective fingers rested against his sister's arm, reaching across from his chair.
Rationally, she knew the low beeping sound of the monitor above her head was the sound of Allie's heart beating, but her trembling fingers felt her daughter's lithe wrist for her pulse. Allison's life continued pulsing away beneath Elizabeth's fingertips and she stifled a sob into her own shoulder. Good girl, Noodle. She took in Allison's face, her bruised cheek, and the stitches dashed across her perfect visage. Lightly kissing her temple, she felt a cry slip from her lips, muffled into her daughter's hair. "Allie, I love you," she whispered, tearing herself away from her daughter's side. One soft press of her hand to Jason's knee and she pushed herself into the bathroom.

Henry stirred slowly. Opening his eyes, he saw his eldest daughter's blonde hair strewn over his white sheets. Henry felt himself well up with emotion.
Stevie.
She was asleep, perched precariously on a chair and half leaning against his bed.
She hadn't woken him. How long he'd been out he didn't know, but Stevie, in her sweet care, hadn't wanted to disturb him. Little did she know that the only disturbance he wanted was to see his family. He touched her head with his hand, his white bandages catching on her golden locks. "Stevie," he whispered her name, "Sweetheart..."
She woke suddenly, in a panic, "Dad? Dad-" she cried, disoriented. He caught her hand in his own, "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm right here."
Stevie looked at him for a moment, her brow furrowed and her blue eyes, shades lighter than her mother's, were bloodshot. She was staring at him as though he was the missing piece of a puzzle she'd been trying to put together for hours without result.
"Honey," he began cautiously, touching her cheek before Stevie threw herself into his arms. "Dad," she sobbed out into his shoulder. Henry held her tightly with his good arm. "Oh God, did I hurt you?" Stevie gasped realizing her action and pulling away. Knowing his daughter, who was more Elizabeth than he, this was the first time tonight that she'd truly let herself fall apart. Stevie would have been the most parental, trying to keep both Jason and Allison afloat while drowning herself. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It's all right," he whispered, soothing her over and over. It was as if time had rewound itself and she'd just crawled into his lap when she was seven, sobbing over the death of an old cat who lived with them at the farm. No matter how much they grew, his children were still just that, children. No amount of life or maturity would ever change that.

Jason felt her more than heard her. The touch of her lips against his hair, the press of her tear dampened cheek to his forehead, her gentle hand holding onto his own. His mother had arrived.