Tick.

Nothing was making sense.

Tick.

And yet, everything was starting to add up.

Tick.

He tried to piece the word Leukemia together in his mind. He tried to make it make sense.

Tick.

He would practice saying it out loud. "Leukemia, blood cancer," were the only words he was ever able to make himself say.

Tick.

The sterile smell of alcohol and sanitation had hit him in the face the second he walked into that hospital that they were referred to.

Tick.

He watched the doctors sedate his son for scans. The little one cried as his parents held him, just trying to assure him that it was alright. That they would be right there when he woke up.

Tick.

Everyone knew about the possibility now. Everyone had processed it but the boy's parents themselves.

Tick.

"Can someone turn off that vexatious clock?" He muttered.

To Garte, those last few days had seemed unreal. Zianna didn't believe Garte at first when he said something was very wrong.

"This isn't the flu, Honey. He's only getting worse," Garte had said, trying to avoid telling her the news Zack had brought to him.

"G, you're getting yourself worked up," Zianna replied, in an effort to calm him down.

Garte felt his blood boil; anger ran through his veins, "And you're not getting worked up enough! Our son is deteriorating before our eyes and you don't even care!"

He regretted those words since the second he said them. And yet, he was thankful he had said them. It was what gave Zianna the push to schedule another appointment with the pediatrician, and what had her back Garte up when he insisted to the doctor that something was wrong.

The couple sat in the silent waiting room. The repetitive ticking was something Zianna, drowned in her own thoughts, was able to block out. Every tick made Garte's nerves rattle more. He was usually able to hide how hard it was to sit still for an extended period. It so happened that, in the hospital, this wasn't the case.

No doctor would say that cancer was likely, but both Garte and Zianna knew it was. Zack had to take one look at him to come to that conclusion. At this point they knew that it was not just likely, but probable.

Both parents tried to imagine their everyday lives turned around by the debilitating diagnosis of childhood cancer. In their minds, they planned out what seemed to be entirely new lives. Everything from sanitizing the house to intimacy between the two crossed their minds. They craved the everyday chaos that was their normal just weeks prior.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ro'Meave?" A voice spoke up.

Garte and Zianna turned to the door of the waiting room to see a young doctor with radiating dark skin standing at the doorway. She gave a courteous smile and stood in front of the worried parents. She extended out her hand in greeting and shook both of their hands.

Upon shaking her hand, Garte's eyes jumped to her name tag. "Oncology" it read.

Garte felt his heart drop. His breathing became shallow. And once again, he was only able to hear that horrendous clock ticking away.

Tick.

And as they were being led to a conference room, he began to say goodbye to everything he once knew.

Tick.

Meanwhile, Zack was sitting across from Michael in his office. The two had small glasses of alcohol in their hands and were taking small sips as the conversation continued.

Zack had wanted to meet at a bar, or his own home, but Michael insisted the meeting was private. Only able to gripe about it to Elizabeth, Zack reluctantly met the head of these experiments in his office.

"I'm thinking two months," Michael said, refilling his glass.

Zack nearly choked on his drink. There was hardly enough progress as it was. He was already working himself half to death making that hopeless potion work.

"Two... two months you said?" Zack replied, hoping he somehow heard wrong.

"That's right," Michael nodded.

"Michael, I... I have a family to go home to, you know. I have a young daughter who still needs me," Zack tried to explain in the nicest way possible.

He was fully annoyed with Michael at this point. The man had been so much easier on Elizabeth. He allowed her to go home and be with her children. Zack, on the other hand, was making ends meet by working for this wizard. His choices were go home and lose money, or lose moments with his family to give them food and shelter. It was a lose-lose situation.

"I'm aware. You remind me almost daily," Michael responded without even trying to hide his disdain.

Before Zack was able to respond with aggression, Michael spoke up again.

"Garte's boy, Garroth. You checked him out the other day," Michael said, once again filling up his drink.

Zack sat back, raising his glass to his lips, "That boy is sick. Has to be one of the sickest children I've ever seen."

Both men finished their drinks, setting their glasses on the table. They craved more disassociation from reality. They liked the burning feeling at the back of their throats. But, neither of them took more. They had much more important things to discuss.

"You think he's going to die?" Michael asked bluntly.

Zack was appalled. He was absolutely disgusted that Michael had the audacity to say such things. Little Aphmau was no more than a year younger than Garroth. To Zack, part of this hit close to home. He bit his tongue, however, in an effort to keep his job.

"I can't really say," Zack cleared his throat. "My guess was Leukemia. How far advanced, I don't know. They took him into the hospital today. I guess we'll know shortly after."

Michael shifted in his seat. After a few brief moments of silence, a sly smirk appeared on his face. Zack tried to hide the horror that came onto him when he saw the look in his boss's eyes.

"Well, depending on the prognosis," Michael began. "Let's use it to our advantage."

Zack didn't even try to hide his disgust, "You want to use a sick child to benefit ourselves?"

"It's the perfect opportunity to gain Garte's trust," Michael said.

Zack eased his eyebrows from their furrowed position. He sat back in his chair. His gaze slowly moved to the left of the man sitting across from him.

Michael was right.

Zack's eyes trailed up to the only clock in the room as he thought to himself for several moments. He began to count the time going by.

Tick.

Zack felt a weight taken off his shoulders. He would not have to work so hard to manipulate his friends.

Tick.

That same relief that Zack felt was what Garte and Zianna hungered for as the doctor droned on about test results.

Tick.

It had just kept getting worse. Nothing the oncologist was saying was good news.

Tick.

Garte heard the young woman stop talking. He furrowed his blond eyebrows and looked at every medical professional in the room.

"So, you're saying he's terminal?" Zianna's voice choked out. She was hardly able to breathe.

The doctors exchanged glances. This was the moment in a physician's career that never got easier.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

"Yes."