Quincy was sitting in a chair in Asten's office, bored, when Asten finally walked in. The medical examiner jumped up, irritation coloring his face.

"Ten minutes you said. It's been more like thirty! I've got work to do, and since you've made me waste so much time, I don't wanna hear how--" Quincy noticed the somber sadness of his boss' face. "Dr. Asten? What's wrong?"

Asten took Quincy by the arm and led him to the couch. "Sit down, Quincy, there's something I've got to tell you, and I'm afraid it's not going to be pleasant."

"What, did Monahan tell you to fire me again?" But Asten didn't take the bait as he normally would, and Quincy felt the first surge of pain in his belly. "Hey...there really is something wrong...what is it?"

Asten sat down next to the medical examiner on the couch, a sick feeling of foreboding steadily rising in his chest. He tried to work up the nerve to broach the subject, but Asten found he just couldn't say it. Wordlessly he handed Quincy the wallet Sam had given him in the lab. The medical examiner opened it and all the color drained from his face.

Asten's voice was soft and gentle, "He is your brother then..."

Quincy nodded in shock and said, "Why do you have this?"

Asten stared into the gray eyes and he saw the tears well up in them as logical understanding began to dawn. "I'm sorry, Quincy, I truly am."

"How did it happen?" He asked softly.

"Gunshot wound." Asten noted that Quincy didn't seem surprised nor did he comment, but instead just stared at the wallet in his hands. "I never knew you had a brother, Quincy, much less a twin..."

"We've been estranged for years." And then the reality of how the body on the table must have appeared to both Sam and Asten hit him. "You thought he was me..."

Asten nodded, looking away in embarrassment. "Yes."

The medical examiner put a caring hand on the director's forearm. "I'm sorry, Dr. Asten, for causing a shock like that."

"Never mind about us, Quincy. You're the one I'm worried about."

The medical examiner stood, staring again at the wallet in his hands. "Don't be. Michael and I have neither seen nor spoken to each other in twenty years."

"Even so, Quincy, he was your brother, and this kind of violent death is particularly difficult for family members to cope with." Asten stood behind the doctor then, gently settling a hand on his shoulder. "Take a few days off, Quincy. Sam and I can handle things here."

"No," Quincy growled, turning to face Asten. "My brother was murdered. And that has to be investigated, and I'm going to start by doing the autopsy."

"You most certainly are not."

"But--"

"--No." Asten's voice was firm, "Under no circumstances will I allow you to perform this autopsy." His voice softened then as the sad gray eyes pierced his heart. "You're too close, and you know it. I don't even want you in the room, Quincy, or for that matter, the building. I want you at home, resting." The gray eyes silently fought with him, and he said, "If the situation were reversed, you'd never allow me in the lab and you know it."

Quincy nodded. "I know. You're right. It just hurts being so helpless." He swallowed hard and looked into Asten's comforting brown eyes. "I'd like to see him if I could."

"Of course, Quincy. We...we need a positive ID from the next of kin anyway..."

Quincy looked up into Asten's eyes, and the director could see a vulnerability that was terribly unfamiliar in the sea of gray. "Will you come with me?"

Asten's face filled with raw emotion as he put an arm around Quincy. "Of course I will. You're not going to be alone through any of this, Quincy, I promise you."

Quincy's throat suddenly closed up with affection, and all he could do was nod.


Sam walked into the lab in front of Asten and Quincy. Fujiyama moved to the exam table on the far side of the body bag. He looked up at Asten, who wrapped a protective arm around Quincy and then nodded to Sam. Fujiyama unzipped the bag and peeled it back to reveal the dead man's face. And Quincy slammed his eyes shut against the sight of his twin lying dead on a table in his morgue, and his head dropped down in grief.

"It's him," Quincy whispered, "It's Michael."

Asten nodded at Sam who closed the bag back up, and gently the director turned to move the medical examiner toward the door; but Quincy's legs suddenly turned into concrete blocks, and he could no longer pull enough air into his lungs to breathe. Guilt and finality settled into his heart like a lead weight, and the sob that issued from his lips was so mournful that it caused the tears welling up in Asten's eyes to sting as he fought to hold them back. Unable to stand the sight of Quincy breaking apart, Asten impetuously pulled the coroner into his chest, holding the man tightly.

Asten's voice sounded soft and gentle, trying to soothe him. "Easy Quincy, just take it easy." But the sobs turned into irrepressible weeping and Asten felt the medical examiner's legs begin to buckle. "Sam, help me get him into his office."

"Yes sir," Fujiyama answered, trying unsuccessfully to cover his own spiraling emotions.

Together the two men helped Quincy move quickly through the main lab, and into his own office. Asten settled his deputy chief coroner onto the couch, and sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Asten," Quincy said through tears of grief, "I'm sorry..."

The director took Quincy's wrist in his hand, checking his pulse, and he pitched his voice as calmly as he knew how, "It's all right, Quincy. I'd like you to just relax a little for me." But the medical examiner's breaths were coming in shorter and shorter gasps. Asten gripped Quincy's outstretched hand tightly in his own and put his other behind the doctor's neck, gently massaging him. "Quincy, I want you to listen to me. I need you to slow down and catch your breath." Quincy's grip on Asten's hand tightened as it became more difficult to draw air. "Sam," Asten barked, "get a bag, he's hyperventilating." Asten moved his hand from Quincy's neck and rubbed it soothingly over his back. "Breathe slowly, try and calm down..."

Sam handed the bag to Quincy who gripped it with both hands, holding it to his mouth. After a minue or two, his breath began to slow down and even out. Asten exchanged a worried glance with the technician, and Fujiyama knelt in front of Quincy then, his hand resting on the coroner's knee.

"It's gonna be okay, Quince," Sam assured, "It'll be okay."

His breathing finally calm, Asten pulled Quincy's hands down, taking the bag from him, setting it aside. "Better?" Quincy nodded and Asten said, "No chest pains or anything like that?" The medical examiner shook his head, and gently Asten leaned Quincy back against the pillows of the couch. "Just lie back for a few minutes, I want to check you over."

The coroner laid a soft hand on Asten's arm. "It's not necessary, Dr. Asten, really, I'm fine now; it was just the shock of it, that's all."

"I'll be the judge of that, Quincy." He turned to Fujiyama. "Sam, would you bring me a stethoscope, bp monitor, and a syringe loaded with five cc's of valium, please?"

"Valium?" Quincy balked, "I don't need a tranquilizer." But as he yelled at Asten, he felt a burning sensation in his abdomen, and he suddenly became light-headed.

"Quincy?"

"It's nothing, Asten," the medical examiner ground out, pressing a hand into his belly.

"Sam, add 10 cc's of cimetidine to that list."

"Yes sir," Fujiyama responded on his way out the door.

Another wave of dizziness and nausea passed over Quincy, and he put a hand to his head, trying to steady himself.

"You feeling light-headed, Quincy?"

"A bit."

Asten's worry was compounding and he was glad when Sam arrived with the gear he'd asked for. "Monahan's waiting outside, Dr. Asten. He wants to talk to you."

"The lieutenant will keep for a few minutes."

The director removed Quincy's jacket and unbuttoned the top half of his shirt. Using the stethoscope he listened to the doctor's chest, and then rolling up a sleeve, he measured the man's blood pressure. Asten let out a little whistle.

"I'm running a little high, huh?" Quincy commented.

"If it were any higher, Quincy, you'd launch into orbit. Sam, load a syringe with 5cc's of valium." Fujiyama complied, handing Asten the shot. "This'll prick a little," he muttered to the medical examiner.

"I know that," Quincy snarled. And Asten not so gently injected the liquid into his arm. "Ow!"

Ignoring the sour look on his medical examiner's face, the director glanced at him over his glasses. "Any tightness in your chest, Quincy?"

"No." He frowned at Asten. "Did you hear something in the rhythm?"

"Your heart's working a little harder than normal, but there was no arrhythmia." Quincy let out a long sigh of air, rubbing a hand over his stomach. "Sam," Asten said, "cimetidine, 10cc's..."

Fujiyama handed him a glass with a chalky liquid. "Here, Dr. Asten."

Asten handed it to the medical examiner. "Drink it down, Quincy."

But the doctor made a face. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do." Quincy quickly slammed the liquid down, scrunching his face up at the bitter taste.

"I really don't think that I need all of this..."

"Right now, I'm the doctor, Quincy, and I want you to rest for a little while. Come on," Asten helped the coroner lie down on the couch, "just relax."

He picked up a blanket from a nearby chair and covered Quincy with it, and Sam gently put a pillow under the medical examiner's head. Quincy could feel the valium grabbing hold of him as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Dr. Asten?"

"Yes, Quincy?"

"You'll be the one to do it?"

Asten didn't need to ask what; he sat on the edge of the couch and pat his dear friend's hand. "Yes, I'm going to do it. Now just close your eyes, don't worry about a thing and rest."

As soon as Quincy had dropped off, Asten stood, pulling Sam to the door with him. "I want you to keep everyone out of here for the next few hours while I perform the autopsy. I don't want Quincy disturbed under any circumstances - clear?"

"Yes, Dr. Asten."

"And Sam?"

"Yes sir?"

"If anything..."

"I'll come get you."

Sam noted the worried look on Asten's face as he stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him. Fujiyama sat down in the chair nearest the couch, and looked at the peaceful face of Dr. Quincy. And a shiver ran through him: he looked just like his brother had lying on the exam table in the autopsy room.