The tentative, uncertain carriage of his body relaxed itself the instant she responded to his hold. She was admitting now, too, what the real reason for her tears were, and that relaxed him too, because now he could relate, he could--fuck, well, he didn't want to cry with her and he had to force away the stinging in his eyes and tell himself that he was going to be there and not upset her more, but... he related.
And she was talking about what was going on, a far cry from the idle, sparse conversation they had been having throughout the rest of their time in this room, and somehow that made him feel a little better. It shouldn't, talking about the way that their son was laying there all fragile and sick and on the edge of death, but it did. Somehow, that was so much better than avoiding it, and now Alex, for the first time in several hours, brought his head down to gaze upon Zacharias.
He locked his eyes upon the baby over the crown of Graciela's head and watched his chest shakily rise and fall and wondered what he had been so afraid of. Seeing him alive was much better than staring at the ceiling and imagining him dead.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he spoke, eyes still on Zac even as he tried to console Gracie. "Neither of us did anything wrong. There was nothing we could have done to stop the fever, that's that Santiago and the other healers said, and---we brought him in, didn't we? Instead of trying to just let it pass for a couple days? Don't feel like it's your fault, I bet you Zac doesn't blame you."
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