TW: graphic description of death

Zack was by no means the best at nearly anything he did.

As a doctor, he was too slow to act fast and too quick to pick up on small detail. Elizabeth somehow seemed to outshine him when it came to medicine.

Though his roots were planted in werewolf heritage, he still had yet to discover what that meant for him.

He was an okay father. He wasn't like his own who was gruff and overly strict. He was there for his daughter, when he had to be. It was hard for him to find extra time for Aphmau.

As a romantic partner, even Michael with his commitment to remaining single came above Zack.

But, when Zack wanted something, he was going to get it. What others called minuscule he would fight tooth and nail for.

Which is why, on one of the coldest nights of that year, Zack stood on the porch of the Ro'Meave family home. He had asked Garte if he could come, late at night so that their conversation could be kept between them without interruption.

He knew but vague details of Michael's plan. He mainly knew that it was in his benefit to play a large role in this circus of manipulation. That's all he needed to know.

Garte opened the door slowly. Zack could immediately see that he was the shell of the outgoing man he once knew. His deep, navy blue eyes had dulled to a dark grey. Dark rings encircled his eyes and his skin was utterly flushed.

That's when Zack realized, it had only been about a week and a half since they had received the prognosis.

"Hi, Garte," Zack smiled as genuinely as he could pull off.

"Hey," Garte stepped aside. "Come on in."

The door clicked as it shut behind them. The sound seemed so much louder than it otherwise would have been during the day. Garte drew a breath in. Forgetting the formalities of taking his coat or offering a glass of water, he led Zack to the living room where the two would quietly discuss the seemingly taboo topic.

They sat down across from each other, both hesitating for a moment. The men were friends, good friends at that. And yet, the distrust was clear. Zack worked for Michael, and Garte was incredibly close with Derek.

"So," Zack said quietly as he situated himself. "How's Garroth doing?"

Garte was stunned by the boldness Zack displayed by asking that question right off the bat. And yet, he appreciated that the subject wasn't danced around. His nerves eased as he remembered that the man sitting across from him was a doctor. He was able to offer any sort of help.

"He's alright," Garte began by giving the response he had been giving for the past week. "Not a lot of change. He's not any better, but he's not any worse."

"That's to be expected," Zack nodded. "How's Zianna doing, then?"

Garte shrugged, "These past couple days have been better for her than before. I think she's just getting used to this new reality."

Zack responded with a nod once again. Unlike Michael, he was able to hide his malicious intent in his facial expressions. Putting on the facade that he cared, listening to Garte vent for moments at a time, they all wove together in his plan to get into Garte's head.

"And you?" Zack questioned.

"Oh, I mean," Garte shifted his eyes to the side, forcefully laughing in an attempt to downplay the situation. "It's been a lot of work, but we're just taking it one day at a time."

Zack nodded, more sympathetically this time. Even though he intended to manipulate Garte, he could still feel his heart almost breaking for him. He tried to put himself into his friend's situation. He tried to place Aphmau in Garroth's shoes. The very thought made him sick.

The two sat silently for just a moment. Zack battled with himself on whether or not he was doing the right thing. His mind danced with thoughts of every scenario that could possibly play out. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

"Have you told Zane and Vylad?" Zack asked this question not only as way to move the conversation to his original plan, but also out of genuine curiosity.

"No, not really," Garte shook his head. "They're both just so young."

"Have they begun to catch on?"

"Zane definitely has. I think it's a matter of time before we have to sit down and have that conversation about Garroth with him."

Zack fell silent once again. He sat with his legs outstretched and crossed. His arms, also crossed, were pressed up against his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek and thought very intently of his next moves.

"Maybe you won't have to have that conversation with him," Zack said.

Garte's eyes slowly moved to meet Zack's. He knew exactly where Zack was going with that comment. His trust for Derek overrode the friendship he built with Zack.

"Zack, you know Forever Potions are-"

"Just cut out everything Derek has told you. Just for a minute," Zack sat leaning forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Garte, your son is going to die," Zack began, looking the distraught father straight in the eye. "I knew that from the moment you took me upstairs and I looked at him. You're going to hear a lot of lies about it being a peaceful passing, about how maybe there's some miracle from the gods to save him. You're not going to hear those from me."

Garte swallowed. He wasn't able to move or say a word. Not a single person had been so blunt with him ever since their world was flipped upside down by leukemia.

Zack continued, "His death will not be an easy one. In the weeks or months leading up to that moment, it will be a bloody, painful nightmare. He will eventually be confined to a bed in misery. You're going to have to watch as your four year old, your four year old, sputters for his final breath. You're going to witness him choke on his own blood because he can't sit up to let it drain from his nose."

Garte sat there with tears clouding his vision. He was too frozen to shake with anxiousness. His reddened eyes were wide with fear, as though he could already see Garroth approaching death right before him.

"You have the ability to stop this. There may not have been hope before, but there is now," Zack continued to press.

Then, the doctor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a syringe. Within that syringe was a luminescent green liquid that bubbled ever so slightly. There was only a small amount, maybe a milliliter or two.

Garte's jaw nearly dropped as he registered what he was looking at. He was shocked Zack was able to get it out of the lab, especially without Michael noticing. The Forever Potion, the miracle cure, the life giving liquid was just before him.

"I know you're hesitant, so I brought this," Zack said, handing it to Garte. "It's a small amount, not enough to do much to anyone. But you can inject it on yourself. The syringe is clean and ready, all you have to do is just use it. See what it does for you, and then make a decision about Garroth."

"I-I... Thank you," Garte stuttered.

He cradled the syringe gently in his hands. He was scared of dropping, or hurting it in some way. It reminded him of the first time he held each of his boys.

"I should get going," Zack said, standing up. "Thank you for listening."

"No, yeah, of course," Garte responded, still unable to completely comprehend what had just occurred.

Garte got up along with Zack, gripping the syringe in his left hand. The two walked quietly over to the front door. Garte slowly unlocked it and opened the entrance to his home, letting the frigid air enter his house.

"I'll see you later, Garte," Zack said, extending his hand. Garte took his right hand and engaged in the handshake. "If there's anything I can do for you, you just let me know."

"Thank you. I'll get back to you about this soon," Garte lifted up his left hand, indicating his reference towards the syringe.

They said their goodbyes, quickly because of the cold temperature. Garte shut the door in front of him, not even bothering to lock the doors right away. He looked back down at his left hand.

What Garte didn't know was whether or not he'd inject this potion into himself.

He also had no idea it was fake.