Aaron bit at his nails as doctors and nurses rushed into the room. He was standing outside, next to the escort, watching as they crammed themselves into the room hovering over Idina. She was screaming, crying out in pain, tears flowing down her face as gloved hands prodded at her in her most sensitive area. She was begging them to do something, anything, even if it hurt, anything to save the children. The machines were screaming along with her.

A blue privacy curtain went up and his breathed hitched as he could no longer see his wife. More doctors came in and her screams of terror and pain died down.

Aaron felt a sharp jab as he pulled up some cuticle. He yanked at it some more. It was nothing compared to what Idina was going through right now.

After what felt like an eternity, the privacy curtain was removed. Idina was hooked up to more machines than she had been previously, and a nurse was injecting something into her IV.

"What happened?" Aaron asked one of them as they left.

"Her body was rejecting the stitches," the male nurse said. "She started having contractions, which pulled against the stitches and caused some internal bleeding and swelling. We are currently draining the blood and we've put her on a sedative and laxative to help calm her muscles as well as an anti-inflammatory."

"They won't harm the children, right?" he asked.

"No, they're safe drugs at low levels," he replied. "There should be no negative repercussions."

"Thank you so much for everything you do," he replied.

"You may go in and see her if you like," the nurse said. "They're finished in there."

"Thank you," Aaron said again.

He re-entered the room as the last of the doctors left. He kneeled by the bed and stroked her forehead. She was semi-conscious.

"Aaron," she muttered, her speech slightly slurred. "Aaron," she said again, calling out his name. If it was in response to his presence or just the desire for him to be near her, he was not sure. She was not looking at him.

"I'm here Idina," he said. He took her hand and grasped it firmly, pressing his lips against her knuckles.

"I'm losing them," she whimpered through tears. "Aaron, make it stop, please make it stop. I'm killing them, Aaron, I'm a murderer please stop me."

"You're not losing them 'Dina," he said.

"I am," she insisted, still squirming, never quite staying still. Her eyes were still half-open and glassy. "I can feel it." She started crying again. "It hurts so much and they're so tiny," she continued, "it shouldn't hurt this much when they're this tiny." She broke down into an uncontrollable, heaving ugly sob.

It felt like for the first time in his life, Aaron had no idea what to do. His heart was racing from all the adrenaline that had been pulsing through his veins the moment he had realized something was off. He could not think straight. All he knew was that Idina was not losing the children because the doctors had told him they were fine. He tried telling Idina that, but she insisted otherwise. She told him that she knew this pain and that she knew what it meant and what the machines were for and – she would pause the sob or shriek in pain – she was going to be a killer again and the blackmailer was right and her life was worthless and she went on and on uncontrollably. He had never felt so helpless and so useless in an exceedingly long time.

She moved around in the bed in clear distress, though her motions were minute and hopefully not enough to aggravate the stitches. There was now a small clear tube running out of her abdomen carrying away her blood. A nurse came in every fifteen minutes to check on it. Aaron tried asking them to tell Idina what he already knew, but no one could calm her. She was as dead set in her beliefs as ever.

Aaron resided to just soothing her and being there. He had no other options or ideas. Nothing he was thinking up was working. Eventually, his distraught wife cried herself to sleep and as she dozed Aaron wiped her face down with a damp rag to remove the sweat and wiped the snot off her nose and lips. Then he picked up the book a nurse had left with him a while back and started reading to her. He knew she found his voice calming. Maybe it would follow her to dreamland and help her dream wonderful dreams until she awoke and was rational enough for Aaron to reassure her.

It was called Howards End and it was surprisingly good and relevant, despite the fact that it was written and set before the first World War. Aaron vaguely remembered Idina mentioning it and wondered if she had read it already, though it was not a title on their shelves in their bedroom.

He was midway through the book, his voice hoarse and cracking when she noticed the love of his life starting to stir. A nurse had come to check on Idina over a dozen times. He put the book down and was on his knees at her bedside in an instant.

He whispered her name as she roused, then kissed her forehead when she seemed present enough to register it. He wanted the first thing she knew when she came round to be an unadulterated act of love and compassion.

"Don't," she said weakly, "I don't deserve it. I killed them," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, I've killed them. I-I..."

"No, Dee, you haven't," he whispered back, stroking her hair and cheek. "I swear it, you haven't You went through surgery, you're in pain, the stitches got a bit messy, but the babies are fine. You still have them."

"No, I don't," she insisted.

"How can I prove it to you, Dee?" he asked.

"I just know Aaron, deep down I know," she replied. "There's blood everywhere and I-" her throat contracted into a high-pitched whine.

"Dee, please believe me," he said.

"No," she replied stubbornly. "I don't want to go through that again. They're gone."

Suddenly it clicked. She had been reliving her past traumas, the miscarriages as the pain in her gut grew and she had no idea what was going on. She was so afraid of going through it again she had convinced herself she had lost them so that it would never happen.

He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. The look on her face was too much. Her face was red and puffy, her eyes bloodshot yet the brightest green he had ever seen, and she wore the expression of someone who would never be happy again. Her bottom lip quivered in the most depressing manner. He had never seen someone who looked as broken as she did at that moment. No, broken was not quite the right word. Shattered, destroyed, completely and destroyed. She was a hollowed-out shell of herself; no Idina left insight.

Idina had been right. Those weeks of self-hatred were nothing compared to the world of Idina after a miscarriage, even a fake one.

Aaron had no idea how to deal with it. Idina was his wife, not his client. He could not see straight with her.

Idina lay there, looking miserable, clutching the teddy bear he had gotten her earlier in the day. It must be nearing midnight by now. He checked his watch. It was tomorrow. The kids would be, or at least they should be, asleep by now. Walker would be worried sick, possibly literally and Erika would... she could be a multitude of things, but he feared she would think they had abandoned her in a cabin in the woods with a little boy to take care of. Any progress they made would soon be undone. It was not like she had trusted them to begin with. They had told her she could trust them and now they were proving her right, or at least that is how she would see it. They would come through that door eventually and she would not see it as them keeping their promise, for she would have already resigned them to abandonment.

A nurse came in, the male one Aaron had spoken to earlier. His name was David.

Upon seeing Idina awake, David said he wanted to do an ultrasound.

"No!" Idina shrieked, making everyone jump. "No," she said again.

"I have too," David replied.

Idina broke down sobbing, holding her scrub shirt down so that no one could get at it. David threatened to restrain her. She did not comply, and Aaron was asked to leave the room, prompting another outburst from Idina, who did not want to be without him.

Heavy-hearted, Aaron left, knowing he had to leave this to the professionals. They restrained her and did the ultrasound to Idina's muffled protests. When they were done, they put her on painkillers and gave her another sedative. Enough was enough. If she did not settle down soon, they might have her committed. Then they informed Aaron that the bleeding had stopped, and they were going to remove the tube. They told him that the twins were fine and unharmed.

He sighed a breath of relief. Finally, some good news. He eyes trailed over to his wife, who was now being pumped full of the one thing she had not wanted, the one thing that would have made it hard for her to notice that something had been wrong in the first place and the one thing that might have prevented the earlier outburst. It had been decided that Idina was in no position to be making any sort of medical decision, much like someone who was blackout drunk, and since Aaron had not yet been granted to power to make those decisions for her, it fell to the discretion of the nurses, who promptly decided to put her on painkillers in hopes that it would prevent any further outbursts.

He and Idina would have a lot of legal stuff to go over later. Originally, Idina had not wanted them to get all tied up together, still caught up in just how stuck and entwined she had been with Taye. Now there was almost nothing Aaron could do. They needed to go over their papers, make some new ones. He would even sign a prenup. Not that he had not offered to, but this time they would do it, so she would know he was not staying for the money. It was weird that finances were the one thing they had not bothered to keep separate. He loved her, but sometimes she was just too much. But that was what happened when one fell in love with Idina Menzel, the loudmouth dreamer from Long Island who would not take no for an answer.

He sat back down in the room once everything was over and started reading right where he had left off. This time, Idina was not sleeping peacefully. She was moaning her sleep, tossing, and turning. Aaron could not make much other than the occasional "no". But she eventually fell into a sleep-like death by three in the morning and by four Aaron had dozed off in the chair.

They were both awoken the next morning by doctors looking to examine Idina and asking that Aaron leave the room. The last thing he wanted to do was leave her again and he had half the mind to give them an earful, but they were the ones making sure his wife and two children made it through the rest of the day and all the subsequent days until the delivery so he succumbed to their power and left the room.

His stomach was growling so he went to the cafeteria, bought something to eat, then sat down in the corner and pulled out the ultrasound Dr. Jackson had given them. He stared at the tiny blobs for a while until he broke down crying from the stress of it all.

He was mad at Idina for being so stubborn, for putting him in this position. How was he supposed to look after someone who could not look after themselves? He could not.

Then guilt hit him like a sumo wrestler. She was having a mental breakdown because of him. Because he pushed her to try for a baby because he had not been trustworthy enough to confide in about the miscarriages or about the blackmailer.

Then again, Idina had lied to him. Aaron knew she would open up about Taye in her own time, if ever, but it was some of his business. There were clearly things he needed to know that she was just not telling him.

He looked back at the picture. Those were his children, growing in his wife who needed him more than ever right now.

She had been needed him more than ever for the better part of five-month. She had been neglecting Walker in favour of some stranger. He had been the one who had picked up her slack and taken care of Walker when Taye dropped him off. He let himself be walked all over like a babysitter because she could not come home. And she had thanked him by shutting down and lying to him and putting him and Walker and Erika in more danger. She had been right; she had failed everyone.

Aaron needed a long walk alone. He was not sure he could do this anymore.