I hadn't actually noticed the beeps until now. Once I heard them though, I couldn't stop.

Beep…Beep…Beep.

They came at a set pace, consistent. I counted the pattern. About two seconds apart. At this point they were much steadier than I was.

I looked up at the heart monitor next to America's bed, spiking and dropping, back and forth. I didn't know if I should feel comforted or broken at the sight of it. Yes, she was still breathing. Thanks to every saint above, air was still reaching her lungs, precious blood still pumped through her veins, and I was sure that her mischievous little brain was buzzing behind those closed eyelids. But they were still closed. It had been over two days, and nothing had changed. I dropped my head back into the white sheets that smelt too clean in all the wrong ways, not enough like her.

I'd leeched every detail I could from Dr. Ashlar, and learned the scariest news. The sooner she woke up, the better. Every day that passed decreased her potential survival rate. In cases like these, as Dr. Ashlar put it, "time is either the friend or the enemy". I was praying fervently for a friend. I needed a friend right now.

It was a little after two in the morning. There was no natural light in this section of the palace—no windows. A comatose queen needed to be kept in secure quarters, deep inside protective walls and far from prying eyes. But I was really starting to pine for a window. Time had begun to blend together and the dreary clock on the wall was the only indication of how many hours had sapped by. Minutes had started to feel like hours and hours like minutes, but the clock glaringly corrected me.

The papery sheets were pulled up to America's chest where a nurse had folded them back. Her hands had been placed elegantly on her stomach, one over the other. She still looked like a queen. It bothered me. I felt like she was being forced into a part of proper refinement while my world was crumbling. Nothing about this situation was peaceful, so I reached out and slipped her hand off her abdomen, down on the sheets, encased in my fingers. She looked a little bit less like a porcelain doll without her hands folded so regally. A little bit more like my America.

"Come back," I whispered weakly. And then something in me broke. "Come back," More fervent this time, pleading.

Twenty years ago, it had finally felt safe in this castle. We weren't constantly being shoved into safe rooms or counting bodies left by an attack. I guess it was foolish of me to hope the threats were fizzling away, but I'd never thought the palace itself would be what I should fear most. I never dreamed life as a queen would be the death of my Ames. I was so blind.

"I should have made you sleep more." It was like my regrets washed over me in waves of torment. "We should have taken that vacation to Italy we always talked about—just you and me. Marlee would have watched the kids. And if not her, than your mom or Kenna. Or Aspen and Lucy. Or… or somebody. They wouldn't have minded. We should've just gone." I gently bent my neck until my forehead rested on her arm. I let my eyes look at her limp fingers wrapped in my own. "I should have—" But I couldn't get it out. There was too much running through my brain, too much in one mourning moment. I turned my head. My lips grazed her skin. "There's so much I should have done."

I was still there with my lips on her wrist and my fingers engulfing hers when Eadlyn slipped through the door. I picked up my head when she entered, but didn't dare move my hand. I needed to feel her and know that Ames wasn't gone yet.

"Daddy?" Her voice was high, but she tried to keep herself composed. I could tell by the way her fingers twitched that tears were on the way. Eadlyn. She was too much like her mother. She tried too hard to be strong.

I held out my free hand as she stood hesitantly in the threshold. "Come here, baby girl."

And just like that she was curled up on my thighs, clinging desperately to my neck, like she was just three years old again. Heck, I felt like I was three years old again. Funny how when things hurt, you feel younger. You just want someone to hold your hand and tell you everything's going to be okay.

Her tears came hot and fast, like the heavy summer rains that hit Angeles every August. She tucked her knees up and I had to let go of America's hand to keep her steady. Her head nestled easily into my shoulder. I could feel the tears through my shirt.

"Shh, shh, shh." The sound was soft and familiar on my tongue. It took me back to nursery days in rocking chairs after bad nightmares or during particularly loud thunderstorms. "I've got you. It's okay, baby girl."

She pulled herself closer as her sobs grew more intense. Her breath was running low and she hiccupped through it, trying to breathe and cry at the same time. "Daddy…" She repeated, but her voice was small and muffled against my chest. I barely heard her say "We can't lose her."

I lowered my head. The pain in my chest was growing, blossoming, and overcoming me. It felt like my lungs were going to burn. Finally I gave up and let myself weep with Eadlyn. My forehead found hers. My shaking matched her own. I squeezed her a bit tighter to me. "I know baby."

I couldn't do this. I couldn't walk my daughter down the aisle without America smiling at me in reassurance that Eadlyn would always be daddy's little girl. I couldn't crown her as queen without my own queen beside me. I couldn't hold Ahren's first child or keep Osten from launching firecrackers in the Women's room or practice French with Kaden… I couldn't picture any of it without her. My chest heaved and Eadlyn sank lower into me with a deeper sob.

Her words came in pieces, broken by the hiccups. "What are... we going… to do?"

I looked at Eadlyn's tremorous form in my arms and imagined my boys as they mourned. I could picture Osten, lying face down on his bed, all of his seemingly endless energy seeped away. Kaden would take it on something else, probably stabbing a dummy in the fencing training room. Repeatedly. And Ahren—oh Ahren. He'd blame himself. I knew he would. I needed to speak with him before he did anything stupid.

All the rotten images of them—my precious children, my most loved—stirred me. If anything, I had to be strong for them. I had to help put them together or we'd all fall apart. If only it was a mask, they needed to see me as someone they could lean on. And we'd fight together. And we would get our America back.

Hey guys! Call me SpaceNut! I've actually been away from FanFiction for a while, but after searching high and low for a story I could read about America's comatose days and coming up empty-handed, I felt inspired to write my own. This is my first Selection fic, but I'm excited to see where it goes! Leave a review if you enjoyed the read. More chapters to come! And of course, all rights belong to Kiera Cass.

God Bless,

SpaceNut