She found herself responding to his flat look with an expression that was every bit as neutral. When she spoke, she addressed both men at the same time, favoring neither.

"Gordon told me about Debbie," she said. "How is she doing?" Hank glanced at Jack, waiting for him to answer first. Finally Hank said, "She's still unconscious. We're sort of holding a the waiting room. If you want to join us."

"Yes. Of course." She started toward the visitors' waiting room.

"Emma," Jack called out. "Can we talk?"

"I'll see you both later," said Hank, and he made a hasty retreat down the hall. They waited for him to disappear around the corner, then looked at each other.

"Debbie's not doing well," said Jack.

"What happened?"

"She had an epidural bleed. Came in conscious and talking. In a matter of minutes, she went straight downhill. I was busy with another patient. I didn't realize it in time. Didn't drill the until ... " He paused and looked away. "She's on a ventilator.

Emma reached out to touch him, then stopped herself, knowing that he would only shake her off. It had been so long since he'd accepted any words of comfort from her. No matter what she said, how sincerely she meant it, he would regard it as pity. And that he despised.

"It's a hard diagnosis to make, Jack," was all she could say.

"I should have made it sooner."

"You said she went downhill fast. Don't second-guess yourself."

"That doesn't make me feel a hell of a lot better."

"I'm not trying to make you feel better!" she said in exasperation. "I'm just pointing out the simple fact that you did make the right diagnosis. And you acted on it. For once, can't you cut yourself some slack?"

"Look, this isn't about me, okay?" he shot back. "It's about you."