It had been unplugged. Edward knows that, they both knew that. But still . . .

He and Lee both gag as he opens the cryogenic chamber that their daughter's body had been stored in. There is no hiss now like there was back at Oswald's, when the chamber was still being used to preserve her body.

No, they had made the decision that their baby should have a "natural" death and burial after having such an "unnatural" life. They had kept the chamber unplugged even after they had arrived at Mario's. It truly was just a coffin now. But they hadn't wanted Kristen to be buried in it. They wanted nothing reminiscent of the start of her life in that lab, in that tank, to follow her into death.

They had planned to bury her body directly in the ground . . .

But there was almost nothing left of it.

Lee lets out a cry, then puts her hand over her mouth. Edward feels sick to his stomach. They had both worked for the GCPD - she as the ME and he as a forensic scientist - so they both know that Kristen shouldn't have decomposed that fast. What had happened to their little girl?

Seriously, what had happened to her?

Lee reaches into the coffin. . .

"Lee, don't," Edward says, grabbing her wrist to stop her. It's instinctual - she isn't wearing anything to protect herself from what may be growing inside of a rotting corpse, not protective eye wear, not a lab coat, not even gloves.

"It's okay, Edward. She's our daughter. I need to."

He releases her wrist.

And then he watches in horror as Lee touches what appears to remain of one of her hands. What minimal flesh is left has turned black, and her little bones . . .

He throws up.

. . . because Lee has lifted that little hand to her cheek in her grief and is coating it in her own tears as she weeps, sinking to the ground.

He hastily wipes his mouth clean, discards his staff, and joins her on the ground, which hurts a bit. But he's not thinking about himself or his leg that moment.

"No, Lee. No!" He tugs at her forearm, trying to get her to stop, but refusing to touch the hand himself. "She's gone, Lee. You have to let her go."

"Nooooo!" she wails, pulling away from him.

"Lee," he says sternly, trying again. "You're going to get sick doing that and with Gotham in disarray -"

"Do you think I care about that, Edward?"

"You should."

"Well, I don't!" she screams. "Look around."

He does. They're in the graveyard with her other dead child. He takes a breath and calmly says, "Yes?"

"They're all dead." Lee points at Baby Gordon's headstone, shakes baby Kristen's hand, and grabs her own womb. "My children. All of them."

Realization dawns. And he feels terrible. It can't be. "Are you telling me you wish to join them?"

She looks at him defiantly.

"Lee, no." Instinctively, he puts his arms around her, holds her tight. "You can't mean that. You can't."

She deflates in his arms and says quietly. "I don't."

"Oh, good." He peppers kisses on the top of her head. "Good. You had me worried there."

She pulls away from him a little and places what's left of baby Kristen's hand into her lap. "Doesn't mean I don't still feel like I need to be punished, though."

"Why? Lee, we've both been through so much. Why would you think that?"

"Ever since I lost my first child and realized how fulfilling motherhood could be, I've desperately wanted kids, a family. Not just patients, but children of my own. But as it turns out, I'm a complete failure at being a mother - I can't even keep my own babies alive!" Lee buries her head on his chest and heaves up new tears.

He understands how it can taking losing a child to know how much you want one. "Lee, you're not a fail -"

She pushes him away harshly. "Then why are they all gone, huh? Dead. Why are all of my children DEAD?"

He has no answer for her.

"Do you see why I did it now? Why I can't go through this again?"

The real answer is still no, but he doesn't dare say so. He's just glad she's talking to him, really talking to him about all this. He reaches for her.

"Lee. . ."

She just shrugs him off and pulls away. "I need to let The Doc through. And then Leslie. So they can say goodbye."

"Okay. But, Lee . . . none of this is your fault."

She looks at him as if she doesn't understand.

"You don't need to punish yourself because your babies are gone," he clarifies. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes grow moist. "I need to go. . ."

He had tried to comfort Lee, but it ended up being The Doc who comforted him. She would hold him in between shoveling mounds of dirt over what remained of their little girl. He could only cover her up so far before the tears would start up again.

Sassy though she was, The Doc did not judge him. She never had - he'd always loved this side of her. And he knew had there been two shovels, she would have been moving dirt right along with him. But as there was only one, he wanted to be the one to do it - and she had let him. Despite the discomfort of having to stand squarely in just one position the entire time in order to maintain his balance without his staff, it was something he needed to do. He needed to be his child's connection to the earth.

Once they had her covered, it was time to let Little Leslie through.

"Wait. Doc. . ." Why does he feel so shy all of a sudden? What he has to say has been said before.

"Yes?" she asks.

"I . . . um. . ." Why did he feel the need to tell her now? It's perplexing. "Um, never mind."

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. "Don't worry. Proceed."

She raises her hands to the side of her head to brace for the pain - the pain of switching that never goes away - and now there is Little Leslie. Edward takes her hand.

"Would you like to say goodbye?"

Her chin trembles before she says, "Yes."

He walks her to the marker.

She draws her index finger along all the letters.

"KRISTEN L. NYGMA"

"I'm done," she says succinctly. "I want another to take over for me now."

"Okay Leslie," he says. "That's fine."

"Bye, Eddie." She waves.

"Bye."

And then The Doc is back.

"What did you want to tell me, Edward?" she asks without missing a beat.

She is too bold.

He's caught like a fish in a net. He has to come clean. He knows that there's no hiding from her.

"That I love you." He puts a hand on her cheek and then runs his fingers through her hair. "And that I'd like to stay with you. If you'll have me."

"You're okay with not having a family?"

"No," he says honestly, lifting his chin before looking back down at her. "But I'll live."

"Because you love me?"

"Yes."

She leans in to kiss him, then places her forehead on his nose, pressing into the bridge of his glasses. She whispers, "Thank you. I don't know how I would have made it without you."

They both look over at their daughter's marker.

'Kristen L. Nygma', it says, with four little hands adorning its corners.

Edward had been surprised that she had wanted their daughter to have his name for eternity. Most unmarried women named their children after themselves it seemed - especially, ones as strong as her. And he knows that she could easily make it on her own, so it had surprised him when she said she would not have made it without him.

But then she clarifies.

"This grief is too much to bear alone."

Yes, it is.

And so they just hold each other tightly, swaying over their daughter's grave as they both whisper promises to never let each other go, no matter how hard it gets.