Even as she played the quintessential Florence Nightingale, she tried not to think about how right this felt. She remembered anxious nights waiting for her husband to get home, not knowing if he'd actually make it back; she remembered explosions and hospitals. She tried not to.

"You can stay here, on my couch or bed or whatever, as long as you need. I don't know when this--" Gabrielle gestured, indicating the struck lights and darkened neighbourhood. "--will come back. I think we should probably get you to a hospital when the power's on again."

As she worked, Gaby bit her lip. He was dazed, non-talkative; to an extent, so was she. Attacking your own son. Your own family! She couldn't understand it.