Sadly, Neville was doomed to disappointment on that front. She may not have 'needed' to come according to her son, but as far as she was concerned, there was no question that she must. Her baby boy was will, which was more than reason enough to brave the hospital, though she didn't particularly enjoy visiting them. Her husband was also ill, something completely unheard of thus far in their nearly decade-long relationship. While part of her wanted to be there for him in his time of need, another, significant part of her wouldn't miss it for the bloody world, as long as he was alright in the end.
Both because Frank would want her to and because she knew someone ought, Alice took a long walk along the perimeter of the island, looking for any forest fires or other troubles. Finding none, Alice stopped at the showers to wash off the sweat of her hike and grab something to eat on her way to the hospital. Her boys were sharing a room with a few other people, but she bypassed the strangers in favour of her husband first - burning with fever, clammy, pale and nauseated - and then her son, who was sleeping. Alice perched herself on the edge of the mattress, one hand on her stomach, absently protecting the pear-sized lump within, and brushed her son's bangs from his forehead. He, too, was clammy. Frowning, Alice reached for the magically-cooled compress left waiting on his bedside table next to a tray of potions and pressed it gently to his face.
"Oh, my boy," she whispered sadly as she dabbed at his face and neck.