He finds her how he left her: lying on the surgical table (morgue slab), in her blouse, with blood pooled around her. He's been away for a few hours, but the blood still seems to shine freshly as he looks at it. So he looks at her face. Even in rest, she has that pristine aura to her. He pulls a hand towel from a table and uses it to wipe the trail of blood from her cheeks.
Cleaning her up is easy enough. He talks to her while he does it, and apologizes as he pulls her blouse off, apologizes for the blood on it. He runs his fingers through her hair and straightens it out. Before he prepares to stitch her up, he takes her curled, limp hand in his own. His eyes burn with conviction as he whispers,
Shiloh's fine, Marni, don't fret. She's a little small, but her vitals are strong. She's sleeping in her room. I'll bring you to her later. He smiles and reaches out his other hand to run a finger along the cold cheek. When he draws it back, he does so reluctantly. Briefly, he leaves her side, returning with the surgical sewing kit. He talks as he works.
She's fine. Aren't you happy? The smile wavers a little, but his eyes are still bright. After a moment he continues. Of course she's safe. I made sure of that. She'll stay here with me and you and I'll keep her safe. I'll stay here with you two when I can. Rotti stopped by…he'll be keeping me on as a surgeon. I'll be taking night shifts from now on, but trust me, it's better this way.
Silence falls over the pair, and he finishes working. He turns around and opens up a box. I know black's a little morbid, he says with a chuckle, but everybody says you look great in it. He brushes his hand over her hair again, and starts to unfold the dress.
I know you're probably not feeling very well, so I made up a little room for you. I hope it's not too cold.
He's carrying her up the stairs now. The varied preservatives still dampen her cold skin, but Nathan doesn't want to keep her waiting.
It's a little empty. He sets her down in the chair. Empty is a generous word for this little room. There's the chair and the lamp and the concrete walls and her. He nibbles on his lip a little. I-I'm sure you're tired. I'll leave you here for a while. He steps back, and his gut tightens a little as he takes in the scene. The room is too cold. It's as cold as death. Because Marni's dead.
She's fine, he whispers. Then Nathan repeats it in his head, dragging his fingers through his short hair, but the message isn't getting through. His eyes flicker with recognition as he looks at the body—because that's all it is now, right?
Oh god.
He stumbles out of the sepulchre, bile inching its way up his throat, and with one heavy shove, pushes the hidden door back into place. It doesn't make any noise, and the deathly silence of the hall is only shattered by the thud as he slides to the floor and breaks down.