They told him there is no hope for the little one.
That, they are sorry, but he should be prepared for the worst. That they did everything they could, butâŚ
He stopped listening after the first âbutâ, hopeless fury making him see white.
He had to sit for a minute, until the noise in his head passed, until the numbness in his hands retreated, until the crushing weight in his chest vanished, until he got his breath back, until his heart stopped the painful beating, until his mind shut down, until the whole world paused for a damn moment and
He wasnât prepared for the first death.
He still does not believe it happened, that his love is gone, that the little one has only him now.
He wasnât prepared to see his son in harsh light of an incubator.
So small, so fragile, with so many cables attached to his little body. Drowning him. Plastic mask on his face, eyes shut, skin so pale, strands of silver hair plastered to his tiny skull.
He wasnât prepared for the âthe surgery is too risky, he can die during it, his heart is too weak to bear it, we are sorry, but nothing can be done, prepare for the worst.â
He wasnât prepared for polite but detached âsorry, canât do more for him.â The final ânoâ.
Because it was too risky and they didnât want any more dead names on their pristine hospital name.
The name of his love was one too much already.
Frankenstein agreed to read Mâs medical files.
He didnât comment on what he found there, but his face was carefully neutral, when he told Muzaka, that chances are low.
He was tired of careful and neutral, he was exhausted of hearing âcanâtâ and âsorry, butâ.
Of falsely concerned and coldly condescending.
He just wanted someone to try.
To tell him, they would do something. Thatâs why he turned to Frankenstein. Because, the man was never afraid of rise to a challenge. Even, if he got blood on his hands in the process.
Muzaka was ready to beg and something on his face must have shown it, because Frankensteinâs gaze softened for a bit and the man sighed.
âI will try. Letâs run few tests first. I donât trust hospitalâs equipment with some of this data.â
Frankenstein was blunt with him.
Told him, M could not live through the surgery.
Gently suggested he should spend last few hours with little one. Think about it some more. But Muzaka just looked at Frankenstein and the blonde shook his head, walking away to make some calls. He needed assistants.
Muzaka did spend as long as he could with M, before he was taken away.
He held the tiny hand in his own palm. Or, more like his fingers were held by the little digits.
He couldnât wait to do it again, to feel the warmth seeping out of them, to watch the fall and rise of his sonâs chest, to see his small face and kiss his soft hair.
He wasnât prepared for anything else.
