Ellie's frame quivered with the physical effort required to maintain her composure. In a way, she felt all cried out. She had rushed away from the room, down the hall with no sense of direction until she'd found herself in an empty bay. She had gripped the edge of the empty bed as tightly as she could, sobs and tears tumbling toward the clean, white sheets.

And Devon had been there. She didn't recall what he'd said, or in fact anything after that. All she knew was that she was in the viewing room now, sitting beside Chuck's body.

Most every hospital had at least one viewing room. It was an efficient way for family to mourn without taking up space. The bay would be cleaned up and prepared for the next patient, and family could remain with the deceased for as long as they wanted before the corpse was taken away. Westside Medical had a viewing room. She knew exactly where it was, but she'd never been inside. She'd never even touched the door. As a doctor, she had no reason to. There was no one there that she could help.

But here she was. In a viewing room. Sitting beside her brother. Eyes tracing over his features. Hand resting lightly on his arm. Struggling to maintain her composure.

Chuck had been cleaned up. The nurses had removed the cervical collar and washed his face. They had cut away the rest of his filthy, bloody clothes and put him in a hospital gown instead. A clean, white sheet was pulled up to his sternum, his arms resting at his sides. He might have simply been asleep, and Ellie prayed for the umpteenth time that he was: that he was asleep in his apartment, and she was asleep in hers, having the worst nightmare of her life.

Something nudged her arm lightly. With a minute intake of air, she forced her head slightly to the side to see a steaming Styrofoam cup, the string of a tea bag draped over the side. She raised her eyes to Devon's. His face was grim, his eyes and nose slightly red.

"Chamomile," he whispered, moving the cup closer to her hand for her to take it.

Mustering up the strength to move, she accepted it with shaking fingers, fighting off a fresh wave of emotion. Devon moved away from her, circling to Chuck's other side where Morgan was slumped, his forehead resting on the edge of the padded gurney. Devon nudged his shoulder, as he had done to hers, and offered him a cup of water. Morgan, she knew, had never been one to drink tea.

"Thanks," Morgan murmured as he sat up in his chair. Ellie watched him carefully for a moment as his eyes raised to his best friend's face. His face crumpled in a very un-Morgan-like way, yet she had the feeling that it was not the first time it had done so. It was just the first time she'd seen it.

Devon slipped his hands into his pockets and stared at Chuck for a moment, letting out a huff. He bit his lips together and turned away, disappearing from Ellie's view. A second later, she heard to door open, and then she heard it shut. She didn't know where he was going, but she didn't need to. Chuck was dead, and Devon was feigning strength for her. He'd probably left the room to cry.

She let go of Chuck's arm briefly to thumb away a tear on her cheek, then reached out to clasp his hand firmly. Unconsciously, she rubbed her thumb back and forth across the back of his hand as she resumed her study of his face. He looked so peaceful. She wondered if he'd been awake for any of it. If he ever felt the pain. She wondered if he'd seen the car coming. If his last thought was terror, or if—

She felt her eyebrows gather as she frowned. Something felt wrong. This was wrong.

It took her another moment to place what had caught her attention, and when she figured it out, she dropped her eyes quickly to Chuck's hand. His right hand. Her heart leapt in her chest.

Years ago, Chuck had been paying video games with Morgan. Of course, that wasn't anything new, but she remembered the day vividly. Morgan had just gotten a Wii, and he brought it over to play it with Chuck. They were playing tennis. She remembered that she had given them permission to move the furniture, to make sure there was enough room. She remembered watching them from the kitchen, shaking her head at them as they played with a child's toy, thinking that they should be doing something more productive with their time.

She remembered looking away for only a second, and in that second, hearing a loud crash and a brief exclaim of surprise. She remembered rushing into the living room to see Chuck grasping his right hand. She remembered blood spilling between his fingers and dripping onto the floor.

She remembered shouting, asking exactly what had happened. She remembered Chuck's frightened and embarrassed expression as he tried to calm her down and explain. She remembered looking up at the ceiling to see the fan wobbling as it spun off balance. She remembered the broken light bulbs, and the glass sticking out of Chuck's skin. She remembered yelling some more.

She remembered thirteen stitches. She remembered making Chuck replace the ceiling fan and light, and making Morgan clean the blood out of the carpet. She remembered banishing the Wii from the house, never to return.

She remembered smearing ointment on his stitches and wrapping his hand in clean bandages every day for two weeks. She remembered removing the stitches herself, because why pay another doctor for something she could do at home?

She remembered everything in painstaking detail. It had been so long and so relatively inconsequential that she hadn't thought about it in ages. But she also remembered that every time she rubbed her thumb over his hand, she could feel the ridges of the scar, a permanent reminder to both of them of the hysterics of that day.

She focused and refocused her eyes on Chuck's hand. His right hand. The hand he had fileted open with an overenthusiastic tennis serve. The hand that would forever bear a scar. The hand that should bear a scar right now.

"Morgan?"

Morgan raised his head again. A red mark beamed on his forehead from where it had been resting on the edge of the gurney. He had lowered it again almost as soon as he'd gulped down his water.

"Hmm?"

"Do you remember the accident with the Wii?"

Morgan cracked a small smile and let out a huff of breath by way of a chuckle. "Of course," he said, his eyes wandering in memory. "Man could swing a tennis racket. He would have won that match."

"Do you remember which hand that was?" She felt like she couldn't trust her memory.

"Oh," Morgan said, his face falling a little. "It would have been his right hand, right?" His arms circled in a diminished motion, as though checking that he was correct. "Yeah, his right hand. That's the hand he serves with."

Ellie nodded as she dropped her eyes back to Chuck's limp hand, still in her grip. She squinted slightly as she examined the skin, confirming for herself again and again that no sign of an injury remained.

"Why?" Morgan's voice cut through the air above Chuck's body, confused and curious.

Ellie swallowed as she contemplated what to tell him. She didn't know if she should say anything. She didn't know what the implications were, or whether it meant anything at all. Her grief-addled brain was probably playing tricks on her. She allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed, trying to focus past all the emotions flooding through her at the same time.

"Nothing," she decided after a moment. "Nothing. Just remembering."

Sarah sat on the floor outside the door to the viewing room, her back pressing firmly into the wall. She couldn't make herself go in there. Morgan had urged her to come in with them, but she'd refused. She wouldn't be able to keep herself together if she did. And surprisingly, in a very un-Morgan-like way, he gave her a look of pained understanding, nodded slightly, and left her alone.

He probably thought that she was in denial. It was a fair assumption, and it might have even been true. She didn't know anymore.

She startled slightly when the door beside her opened and Devon came out. He pulled the door closed behind him gently and leaned against the opposite wall, one hand rising to cover his face, the other arm crossing his abdomen to support his elbow. She saw his broad shoulders shake as he blew out a shuddering breath.

Sarah dropped her eyes down and away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, like she'd walked in on something embarrassing. She wanted to get up and walk away from him, but she didn't really have the willpower. She stared determinedly at the floor a few feet in front of her instead, waiting anxiously for him to realize she was there, praying that he wouldn't say anything when he did. She knew the questions were coming, but she wasn't ready to answer them just yet.

They would all be lies, anyway.

Devon sniffed and let out another breath, lowering his hand from his face. The movement forced Sarah to look up at him again, and she found herself watching his face closely, taking in his emotional state. His eyes were closed, his throat jumping as he tried repeatedly to swallow the pain. He tipped his head backwards, allowing it to thump softly against the wall.

Suddenly, Sarah heard herself draw a harsh, shuddering breath. A sob. She hadn't realized that she had started crying again. She raised a closed hand against her mouth in surprise, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. She looked as far away from Devon as she could, trying to hide her face from him. Surely, he would have heard that. She could feel his eyes watching her at this very moment.

"Sarah—"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. It was too soon.

"What happened?"

She shook her head again. She dropped her hand from her mouth and took in as deep a breath as she could muster, trying to steady herself.

"Sarah—"

"We were in the car. I was driving him home," she choked out. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She swallowed hard. "They said it was a drunk driver."

She heard him let out a deep sigh, but she immediately recognized that it wasn't a grief-stricken sigh. It was more of a steadying sigh, like she'd let out a moment ago. She knew that he was about to say something difficult before he even took a breath to say it.

"I'm a doctor," he said.

She closed her eyes. She knew that already. But she knew that wasn't his point.

"Your bruise is a day old, at least. That didn't happen tonight."

She couldn't decide whether she was happy he'd noticed or scared of blowing up the story.

"What really happened?"

Sarah swallowed, closing her eyes again. "You know I can't tell you that."

She heard Devon groan weakly, and she looked up at him again to see that he'd kicked off from the wall and was ambling in a circle, hands on his head.

"I'm sorry—"

"I should have told Ellie about this when I first found out," He said lowly. If not for the grief and regret in his voice, it would have been a growl.

"Devon—"

"She would have put a stop to it, and he'd still be alive."

"Devon, I'm sorry!" Sarah sobbed, her emotional dam breaking. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Devon stopped circling. Both hands dropped from his head to cover his face. Sarah watched him closely as she sobbed into her hand, trying to read him, trying to discern what he was going to do. It was a very long minute before he moved or spoke again. His hands dropped from his face, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he stared straight down at the floor. He took a deep breath in and let it out before he spoke.

"This is wrong," he said simply, and Sarah felt herself nodding in agreement. "This is…so fucked up."

Sarah swallowed another sob as her eyes fell away from his. A long, tense pause hung in the air, and she suddenly felt his eyes upon her again. She didn't look up. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze. Just as the silence was becoming painful, she heard Devon pull in a controlled breath.

"Ellie lost her brother today," he said, his voice measured, yet surprisingly devoid of anger. "That's all that matters now."

Sarah let another pair of tears fall from her eyes. Chuck wasn't dead. At least, she had reason to believe he wasn't. She wanted to jump up and tell him everything. Tell him that Chuck was likely still alive, that there was still a sliver of hope. She wanted to tell him that this was all an act, and that she was under orders to play along. She wanted to tell him that she was as grief-stricken and horrified as they were, and disgusted that all of this was happening in the first place.

But, she knew, it wouldn't matter in the least to Ellie; and therefore, it wouldn't matter to Devon, either. Dead or not, Ellie would never see her brother again. She had, as Devon said, lost her brother today. And that was all that mattered. She felt like she was supposed to say something, but she didn't know what.

Sarah was still trying to find her words when the door opened again, and Ellie slipped out into the hall, her hands crossed tightly over her chest. Sarah felt a fresh wave of guilt and shame wash through her like ice. Then, as if seeing Ellie wasn't enough, Morgan followed her out of the viewing room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Sarah pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her good arm around them as Morgan's red-rimmed eyes fell on her.

"Ellie," Devon reached out and enveloped her in his arms. Ellie buried her face in his shoulder as he hugged her tightly. Devon gave Sarah one last knowing look before he dropped his face to her shoulder in return.

"It's okay," Ellie murmured, just loud enough for Sarah to hear. "I'm okay now. I'm ready."

Devon pulled back from the hug and cupped her face in both hands. "Are you sure?"

Ellie took a shuddering breath and nodded. "Yeah. It's time."

As Devon placed a tender kiss on her forehead, Sarah lowered her face to her knees.

"Sarah?"

She swallowed in response. She was aware that Ellie was coming closer. Then she was aware that Ellie had crouched down beside her. A hand reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. She was sure that the warmth from her fingers would leave a burn.

"Sarah, sweetie, do you need a ride home?"

She shook her head against her knees again. Gathering her strength—physical and mental—she raised her head to look straight forward, quickly wiping a tear from her cheek. "No, I, um…" She swallowed thickly. "I'm going to sit with him for a while."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ellie nod slowly.

"If you need anything," Ellie said, her voice still quivering as she gave her shoulder a light squeeze, "anything at all, just call me."

Sarah nodded. It felt wrong that Ellie was trying to comfort her.

But then, as far as Ellie knew, she was just another victim of the car accident.

A car accident that never happened.

Ellie's hand suddenly left her shoulder as she stood. Sarah could hear three pairs of footsteps as they walked away. She wanted to turn her head to watch the three of them leave, but she knew from experience that watching them leave would be a mistake. All she would see were three people's backs as they left her alone, and that would only make the pain worse. The spot on her shoulder where Ellie had touched her felt cold from her absence.

But, she reminded herself, that's the way things always were in the spy world. Cold and alone.