*****070:

She sat in the room, dimmed lights coming from the hallway outside her private space room. Coming through the NICU she'd seen more than two banks of incubators each holding their precious cargo. Usually only one parent if any was there, sitting haggardly in a chair beside the much taller baby bed, unable to see their child. There was another room like hers, just one other, and there was a baby in it, but just the mother, a woman in a hospital gown who looked like death warmed over, having given birth very recently. She herself was still hooked to an IV machine.

Tracy had stood in her doorway a little while ago, when she'd gone to the bathroom, and come back. She'd asked about the baby, and been told it was preemie, like Steven, a girl, with very low birth weight, and possible lung problems. The young woman's mother had been there, but had gone home to take care of three other children. The child's father worked nights.

Coral and Kirk had flown back to California commercially about an hour ago, having decided to plan Casey's funeral themselves. Tracy wanted to offer help, advice, or program thoughts, but something had restrained her. And she'd simply stayed put, thinking about Monday taking care of Danny in a hotel room.

She got up and went back to the phone, making an overseas call.

"Hey, Ray? It's Tracy."

"Dad--- I'm your pop remember? I heard about Casey, so sorry." His voice was clipped, quick, a daytime voice. It was five hours ahead anyway--- making it around eight in the morning.

She sniffed. "It's very sad. Thanks for your thoughts."

"Shawna and I are planning to attend the funeral, but we haven't yet heard any details. You'll be there, right?"

"I think--- probably."

"Um hm. Well, I need to be there for Jules. His pop would have wanted me to support him in this trying time. There has just been so much death surrounding you guys, and especially Jules."

Tracy sniffed, closing her eyes. "Dad--- that's all well and fine, and you guys do need to go to Casey's funeral, whatever happens, you're right, Jules needs you. But I need--- I need a place to stay. Can I use the New York house? It would be me and Danny and Monday and Jake--- maybe Richard."

There was a pause, while Ray tried to figure out what might be the cause for her to stay in New York. "Of course, you can stay there. Consider it your home. But, why aren't you heading back to California?"

"Jolie, Casey's girlfriend had her baby, and they wanted me to adopt him, seeing as how he is Danny's biological brother, and they want the boys to be raised together. Jolie is infected with HIV also. She's very sick--- she has the full-blown AIDS."

Ray's voice was sympathetic, rough and emotional. "That's a real shame."

"It is. So, will you have someone meet me over there, or at least meet Monday and Jake?"

"Is this so that you can stay in the hospital presumably with Jolie and the baby?" Now his voice had taken on that parental protectiveness she was becoming used to.

She sniffed tiredly. "Yeah. I'm not leaving the hospital."

"I see. And is the baby--- it's another boy?—is the baby going to survive?"

"They are waiting on tests, actually, they might be coming to tell me the test results right now. I've gotta go, Dad, thanks for the place, and let me know about your travel plans." She said goodbye rather hurriedly as the young pediatrician who'd been in there earlier came to find her. He was standing outside the room, his clip board in hand, alternately looking at it, and then back at her. Now he even looked tired. It was three in the morning.

He ran a hand through his hair, and smiled encouragingly. "Well, Tracy, if I may call you Tracy--- we all feel like we know you since we know all your music and some of us have been to your concerts."

Tracy stood outside the small room. The glow from Steven's incubator barely lit the walls inside. She tried for a real smile, and failed, feeling lower than she'd ever felt, and wondering if this--- the head ache and the depression and the disorientation would pass soon. Would she ever get used to a world without Casey?

She forced the smile again, and nodded.

"We have some good news and some bad news." The doctor said slowly, his understanding and compassion evident in the crinkle of his eyes and the slight puff of his upper lip. "The baby, Steven, doesn't at this point in time test positive for HIV."

Her relief almost made her crumple, and she stepped to the wall to brace herself, feeling wave after wave of shock course through her. Relief poured out of her like beads of sweat. She felt giddy and yet, reserved, not wanting to fall apart in front of anyone else. Especially since they were all watching her--- knowing who she was--- knowing what had happened. It was like the pressure of mountains resting on her to keep up some kind of image. She couldn't lose it.

She simply felt darkness at the corners of her awareness, as if everything periodically closed in, or tried to.

"What is the bad news?" She croaked out.

"We're taking Steven in for a chest x-ray, Tracy. His breathing is labored, and the skin around his lips is blue. He's not getting enough oxygen. It's pretty common with low birth weight preemies. It's called neonatal respiratory distress syndrome."

"And what can you do for that?"

"We'll give him warm moist oxygen, he'll have to be even more closely monitored, and he may need assisted breathing ventilation. I hope it doesn't come to that, but quite often it does in these cases, the next two to four days will be crucial."

Tracy covered her lips with her fingers. "And what will happen in those few days?"

"He will either get better or get worse. Hopefully better."

"Worst case scenario?"

The doctor gazed at her steadily, obviously wishing she'd asked something else. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"You're saying he could die?"

He nodded. Tracy turned to the wall, her head up, her eyes filling. She shook her head. I need to be strong now, Steven needs me to be strong.

"Okay. And best case scenario?"

"He's fine, goes home in a couple of weeks."

"I see. And not before?"

He shook his head, sadly, and shrugged. "It's understandable that you need to go to the funeral. A few hours, or even a day isn't going to change things."

She shook her head in tiny negating jerks. "I will not leave him."

He nodded succinctly. "Everyone here will understand if you do. You've been close to Casey your whole life."

"Everyone out there will simply have to understand if I don't leave my son's side, too." She blew out her breath looking at the incubator. Steven lay on his back, his chest rose and fell shallowly. She could see that indeed there was a blue tinge to his skin. "Is there any chance of me having the missionaries from my church in to give him a blessing?"

The doctor smiled, pursing his lips and glancing up in a slightly stalling gesture. It was New York, and Mormons were not unheard of, but they weren't as prolific as out west. She wasn't sure if they were known or even liked for sure.

Finally the doctor nodded. "There can only be two people in this room at any given time from here on out. Can you live with that?"

She swallowed hard, forcing her mind to accept that if Steven did have a blessing, she would not be able to hear it. But the blessing was more important. She nodded. Apparently the doctor was at least that familiar with Mormon protocol.

"Do you think I could ask for a phone to be in the room?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, what Steven needs right now is the calmest most serene atmosphere. Only the gentlest of voices, and handling. You understand, I'm sure."

She nodded quickly, looking away, finding a spot on the wall she could stare at and get ahold of her emotions. "And what is the in between prognosis? If he doesn't die, and isn't perfect? What can I look forward to?"

Now he drew in his own breath quite sharply, reluctant to give specifics, but seeing the steely cold expression in her eye, he understood she needed to take it standing. "Without oxygen absorption--- proper amounts, etc, he could sustain brain damage, or lung damage or both. The symptoms might worsen over the next two to four days."

She nodded. He'd already mentioned that. Her mind was moving forward. "And NICU visiting hours? Do you make exceptions for mothers? Will I be able to stay here?"

Again, he looked very apologetic. "Our night staff is simply not as equipped to handle visitors. So, the visiting hours will stand for all visitors, even Mom's." He clipped the clipboard once again to its spot and signaled the waiting nurses to come and get the incubator and take it for the tests.

Tracy watched stiffly, as they wheeled him out of the room, leaving her standing there, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Feeling like she was being torn apart, and run over by a steamroller.

She took the few steps into the hallway after him, her hand covering her mouth to keep from crying her anguish. Sweet little baby, sweet little brother, don't leave us now. We love you so much, don't leave us now.

******