The days Garte took off of work were few and far between.

Once he received the news of his young son's imminent passing, his workplace had become a place of solitude for him. There, he wasn't subjected to the constant reminder that Garroth was riddled with leukemia. He was able to do something to be productive. He was making money and actually able to do something with himself.

It was a day that was supposed to be one where Garte spent long hours at work, more than usual. He had done so in the two days past since Derek's cruel and abrupt departure. The effort was entirely to keep himself level-headed and composed.

The Ro'Meave family, aside from little Garroth, were sitting at the table for breakfast. Zianna proceeded to get Zane ready for preschool, while Garte ate his own meal and kept his eye on Vylad. The plan was for Zianna to take the boys, dropping off Zane at school, and then taking the other two to go along and visit her best friend, Sylvanna.

Like Garte's days off work, Garroth's spouts of energy were especially uncommon. However, that morning, the morning two days after Derek had removed himself entirely, the little one made his way down the stairs by himself. He made his way to where his father was sitting and stood next to him.

"Hey, buddy," Garte said. He smiled, impressed that Garroth was able to get up and walk downstairs without assistance.

"Are you staying home today?" Garroth asked as Garte ate another spoonful of cereal.

"Daddy has to go to work, GarGar. How about you, me, and Vylad go play with Aphmau while Zane is at school?" Zianna answered for Garte while he chewed.

Garroth wasn't sure what he was expecting, but his heart immediately sunk in disappointment. He fidgeted with the bottom of his pajama shirt as his eyes were planted on the floor. He wasn't too embarrassed to hide the fact that he was sad, but he couldn't find it in himself to outright ask for his father.

Unbeknownst to Garroth, Garte could clearly see the disappointment in Garroth's face. He glanced up at Zianna, exchanging an agonizing glance with her. He was already hard to say no to, and with his ailing state it was damn near impossible.

"You know what," Garte said, pushing his cereal bowl towards the middle of the table. He turned towards his young son and put his index finger under his chin. He slowly lifted the child's chin so that they would look at each other straight in the eye.

"How about I take the day off work and stay here with you?" Garte inquired.

The saddened disposition Garroth had moments before disappeared. His tired, pale face assumed a look of excitement. It was like the father and son were mirroring each other as they exchanged grins.

"Really?!" Garroth exclaimed, still in disbelief that his father was complying.

Garte responded with a sharp nod and a smile that was only just beginning to appear. Garroth outstretched his arms and hugged his father, who was still sitting in the dining room chair. As the father and son remained in their embrace, the four year old was overfilled with joy, and the grown man was just trying to remember how complete he felt every moment he held his children.

Zianna wasted no time leaving with Zane and Vylad, as she realized how valuable this time was going to be to her husband. With Vylad in her left arm and Zane holding her right hand, they left the house. Garte and Garroth, identical in every way, were left alone to do whatever the day permitted.

"So, buddy, what did you want to do?" Garte asked, turning back towards his son after putting his bowl in the kitchen sink. He casually leaned against the counter.

"No doctors today, right?" Garroth said. He walked over to Garte with his arms reaching up as a request to be held.

Garte lifted Garroth up with ease and settled him on his right hip, "That's right."

"Can we just stay home today, then?"

"You don't want to go anywhere special?" Garte asked, somehow forgetting his once adventurous son had little life left in him.

"I just want to be with you today," Garroth laid his head on his father's shoulder.

Garte, his heart swelling with love and aching with grief, happily complied with his son's wishes. He had wanted nothing more since the day Garroth was born than to have the ability to spend every moment he could with him.

As per Garroth's request, the day started out with Legos. The father and son built towers as tall as they possibly could, letting bricks of every color click together. They built cars that were able to speed across the living room. Garroth's outward joy increased as he could see his father was enjoying the very same activities he did.

Garroth then asked to take a walk throughout the neighborhood. Even though Garte hardly had the emotional energy to do most things, he hardly hesitated to take Garroth into his arms to experience the ever needed fresh air. He bundled the little one up in his coat and hat, and then put his own jacket on. Garroth was much too weak to walk long distances anymore. So, Garte hoisted Garroth up onto his shoulder so that he could see the world from a taller point of view.

The two left the house swiftly, but Garte walked only at a moderate pace. It was in an effort, almost a last ditch one, to soak in and cherish every fleeting moment. He couldn't see Garroth's face or his bright, analytical blue eyes. He was just making an effort to remember the sound of his son's voice asking him questions about every surrounding.

They eventually reached the edge of the neighborhood, where they turned back around and walked back home, as per Garroth's request. He was already tired, exhausted, from his body failing him. Garte lowered Garroth down, so that his head would rest on the shoulder he was previously sitting on. Garte did his best to keep Garroth warm against the bitter wintertime air, but both of their cheeks and noses were reddening as a reaction to the cold.

When they finally reached the home, Garroth's tired body was shivering. Even though Garte would usually have freaked out at any of his son's slightest discomforts, he remained unusually composed within himself. He slid Garroth's coat off his shoulders, and then received his knit winter hat from him. He walked towards the stairs and began to make his way into his bedroom, his tiny son still in his arms.

"Daddy, can we look at pictures of us?" Garroth asked. He was still shivering as his body was unable to regulate its own temperature anymore.

"Oh, family pictures?" Garte clarified as he placed Garroth on the large bed. "Yeah, let me grab them."

Garroth responded with a yawn and a nod. Realizing his son was still cold from their walk outside, Garte grabbed a throw blanket and gave it to Garroth before he went to Zianna's closet. He pulled the door open, careful to make as little noise as possible.

He grabbed Garroth's baby book, the album that Zianna had so meticulously put together, just as she had for all her children. Garte also grabbed two other photo albums, smaller ones, in which he had no idea what they contained. He quietly shut the door to the closet and made his way back to the bed.

Garroth smiled once he saw which family albums his father had gently placed onto the bed. He sat up, allowing for Garte to sit down next to him. He was still cold, still shivering, and yet it hardly seemed to bother him.

"Alright," Garte mumbled to himself as he grabbed Garroth's baby book. He leaned back as he sat, only supported by the pillows at the head of the bed. "Come here, buddy."

He extended his right arm to the side and allowed for little Garroth to sit right next to him. He wrapped his arm around his son and opened the large book as Garroth rested his head on Garte's chest. He wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself and yawned once again.

"What's that?" Garroth asked, pointing to the little bracelet glued into the book.

"That's your hospital bracelet," Garte explained, pausing on that page. "That's so they knew who your mom and dad were in case they got mixed up."

Garroth furrowed his eyebrows. He looked up at his father, and back down at the book. He didn't seem to understand how a mother and father could just not know their baby.

"The doctors just had to look at you to know you were my dad," Garroth explained. It seemed even he knew how much he looked like Garte.

Garte laughed, "You're right. You should become a doctor and change the system."

In a heart piercing moment, Garte then remembered that his son would never become a doctor. He wouldn't live long enough to see kindergarten, or the age of five. As his heart stuttered in beating, he turned to the next page to distract himself.

"There's Momma," Garroth said, pointing to a picture of Zianna in a hospital bed. "And there's you!"

A quick silence fell as Garte stared at the picture. Both him and his wife were smiling at each other, at least an hour before little Garroth was actually born. He had no memory of who had taken it, or what he was saying, but later on that one photo became one of the couple's favorites from that day.

"Why are you laughing?" Garroth asked, smiling at the picture. It was one of his favorites, too.

"I was trying to make her laugh," Garte explained as he smiled at Garroth.

Garroth giggled, softly because he was beginning to fall asleep, "Why?"

"Because having a baby is hard work, and your Momma was tired."

"Well why couldn't she take a nap?"

"We were too busy getting ready to have you!" Garte gently poked Garroth's side, which made the tired child giggle more.

"Was Momma brave? Like I had to be in the hospital?"

Garte drew a breath in. He remembered nearly everything about Zianna on the day of the birth of their first child. He shifted slightly as he remembered watching helplessly as she would cry out in agony. He hated himself as he could only watch helplessly while her body wrecked her with pain. He remembered the overstimulation, the fear, and the final relief and exhilaration once he saw the beautiful baby boy they had made together.

"She was so brave. You're just like her, little man," Garte replied, resisting the tears burning his eyes.

"Was I a good baby?" Garroth asked, drifting farther off to sleep. He completely rested his head on Garte's chest.

"You were such a good baby," Garte said, kissing the top of Garroth's head.

Garroth's breath steadied as he fell asleep. As the moments slowly passed, Garte's mind became darker and darker. He slowly started to spiral in every memory he had of Garroth.

He remembered holding the little one for the first time. All those little features were ingrained in his mind, from all the bright blonde hair to the little dimples on his cheeks.

Every moment of pride and joy flooded him. How Garroth's first smile was his doing, how the little one clung to him every moment he could. He did everything he could to memorize how his son's weight felt in his arms.

Garroth, from the moment he was born, quickly became his reason to live. He hadn't felt joy like that in over a year. Every time he felt like life had no reason or meaning, he looked at that little boy and reason came flooding back to him.

Garte couldn't just watch his son die. He couldn't.

He wanted to run away and never look back. He wanted to forget the life he had built and every moment of misery it had brought him. He thought to himself for a moment.

If he did it right, if he did it well, he could do it.