"Chapter 7"

A/N: Beth's mom's family story in this chapter may seem like a copy of Susan Wright's story, but I swear it's not. It's a true story once again.

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Mark Latimer was just pulling onto a side street, heading for home after fixing a burst pipe, when he passed Ellie Miller's car going in the opposite direction. Curious (she rarely ever drove with such speed, after all) he looked after her for a moment. She was turning left. He frowned. Turning left meant only a few different places in the town: only the police station and the hospital, and she would only be speeding for one of those things.

He hadn't spoken with Ellie ever since that day of Joe Miller's confession. He had known, like Beth had, that she had watched them light the beacon for Danny but they had both shunned her. Ellie had tried to reach out to them both, in her own way, but it had been Beth who shoved her away. Of course, Mark had been too filled with his own sense of fury to think clearly and had wholeheartedly agreed that they should have nothing to do with the Miller family.

But now the fury was waning, dying away to nothing, and he found sometimes that he missed Ellie; missed her easy-going company, missed their Sunday brunches together (something Chloe used to say was their 'second breakfast', whatever the hell that meant). Joe's betrayal had torn them apart better than anything else could have.

Watching her, Mark began to wonder if maybe Beth's fury was finally waning, too. The big clue was Ellie's number was still in Beth's phone, something he had stumbled across by accident a couple of weeks ago.

That was why this day he finally brought up their old friend's name. "Passed Ellie on the way here," he said quietly. He had kissed Beth in greeting after setting his coat down, and was now placing his shoes by the door.

Beth was back in the kitchen, preparing for an early dinner, and stiffened when hearing her old friend's name. "Did you," she said flatly.

Well, at least she wasn't telling him to shut up. Mark nodded and leaned against the doorway. Chloe was up in her room, hopefully finishing her homework. "Heading for the hospital, I think."

Beth's long fingers paused, holding her knife aloft. "What did she do this time, put Fred in danger?" she asked snidely.

"Beth…" Mark pushed off of the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He needed to get it cut. "Can you just—please, don't say stuff like that."

"She didn't seem to have any problem putting her boys in danger before," Beth argued, turning to look at him. "Why wouldn't she now?"

"Maybe because she didn't know about—that." He was speaking quietly, as softly as he could, because if one thing counseling had taught him it was that Beth listened better without anger or shouting. It was still too hard to mention out loud what that bastard had been doing with Danny.

'She had to have known." Beth turned back to the sink and started cutting potatoes with more force than before. But the denial wasn't said quite as vehemently as before.

Mark came up behind her. "It wasn't like your mum's brother," he said, and then winced when he saw Beth's fingers suddenly tighten on the knife. It was a point that he had been thinking about for several weeks now, that old skeleton in Beth's family's closet. There was a reason, after all, why Chloe and Danny didn't even know that their grandma had a brother.

"My aunt, you mean," she growled spitefully, "sitting at home allowing her husband to have sex with their oldest girl."

"And she was home all the time," Mark reminded her. "She definitely knew and did nothing about it."

"What of it?" Beth demanded.

Mark took a breath. Sometimes it was extremely draining arguing with Beth when she was like this. "So look at Ellie, Beth. No, don't say anything, just think about it. What was Ell doing during the case?"

Beth was silent for a long moment, jaw working and anger smoldering in her dark eyes. "Working on finding Danny's killer," she finally said.

"And you know she was never home."

Something dropped in her expression; a little of her defiance slipped away. Her denial, however, was not going to drop without a fight. "She should have known that he was up to something," she argued. "How could she not tell that her own husband was meeting with Danny?"

"How did we not notice what Danny was doing?"

There it was. The sentence that was his counter-offense. It was the one thing that lay unspoken between them, all through these months of grieving and counseling and piecing their lives back together; that horrible guilt that pressed down on them both, making them wonder how they had not seen a change in their youngest child. Because when they really sat down and looked at the entire situation, they wondered if Danny's death was somehow their fault.

With the accusation finally in the open, it seemed to snap whatever control Beth had. She seemed to sag, the whole weight of the world falling on her shoulders, and finally finally she started to cry again.

Following Danny's funeral she had bottled all of her tears and anger up, refusing to allow herself a time to cry and release everything that had built up. Mark had done the same, but had finally started to realize that that was dangerous. Without that release, as awful as it felt, all of the poison of their emotions started to kill them.

His own heart breaking, Mark pulled his shuddering wife into his arms, resting his cheek in her hair. His arms were shaking, but he only gripped her tighter, the swell of her stomach pressed between them. She was very pregnant.

The sun started to set. Still they stood, united in their grief: both at the reminding of what they'd lost, and at the ruined friendship that hung over them both.

"Mum? Dad?"

Chloe's voice broke them apart, wiping their tears away from flushed faces with shaking hands. Their daughter did not mention their looks at all, knowing what she had walked into; she had heard their conversation.

Danny's death had taught her strength. Strength to speak up—even against—her parents and others when she thought they were going astray.

"Ellie misses you, Mum," she said now, quietly. She was soft and quiet in the dim light, but earnest. She swallowed, nervously shifting on her feet. "And I know you miss her."

Beth was outnumbered, and her resolve was crumbling. The atmosphere had shifted in the house, and suddenly she dared a shaky smile. She walked over to her daughter and brushed a strand of soft blonde hair. "Older than you are, Chloe. That what I'd told you."

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The hospital was quiet when Ellie found her way in. It was evening now, and it seemed like everything had settled down for the most part.

John was sitting, pale, in a side hallway outside a room near (but not in) the ICU. It seemed that he had not moved at all for a long time because when he turned at the sound of her footsteps he grimaced and his back cracked.

"What happened?" she demanded.

John shook his head helplessly. "He came to my hotel room. You two had a fight?" He looked at her and sighed when she nodded. "He accused me and… we argued. And then suddenly he collapsed. Becca called an ambulance and he was rushed here." His voice was strained, and suddenly he sat forward to rest his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face tiredly. "God. Never thought I'd see something like that. Especially not…"

Not a friend. If Alec and John even were still friends. Ellie silently cursed Alec's customary lashing out at others but took a seat. They sat in awful silence for what seemed like forever—and finally a doctor came into view. Ellie swallowed and John straightened, waiting. The man's face was grim, and despite her anger Ellie's stomach tightened.

"John O'Bailey?" the doctor asked, stopping in front of them.

John nodded. "Aye." Apparently unable to wait he fidgeted nervously for a moment before finally speaking, "Please, sir, what—?"

"You were lucky you were there," the doctor interrupted softly. "If you had not it would be likely your friend would have been dead in minutes. Mr. Hardy had a severe heart attack, as I'm sure you were told earlier."

"But he's alright now?" Ellie demanded.

The doctor looked at her. His grim expression had not shifted. "You were the one with him a few months ago, were you not?" At her nod, he shifted on his feet. "He has a heart condition, as you already know. Heart arrhythmia. Normally, such a heart problem is not severe. In fact, most people normally have an episode of it every day. Nothing bad, and you don't even notice. But there are times that it can become dangerous. A previous heart problem, or an illness, can be its cause. We're not sure the exact type of heart arrhythmia Mr. Hardy has, but it was much more severe than we initially thought." He sighed, suddenly looking weary, and Ellie felt her stomach drop. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do to help him."

Stunned silence. Both John and Ellie looked up at the solemn-eyed doctor, unable to comprehend. Her hands twisting in her lap, Ellie sat forward. "And—what does that mean?" she managed to ask.

He looked down at her in sympathy, knowing what his words were causing. "It means," he said quietly, "that it's only a matter of time now."

Her lips felt numb. Her entire body felt numb. "But—the pacemaker surgery—"

"Would be 100 percent fatal," the doctor said gently. He looked between them quietly for a moment. "He's had two major heart attacks in the space of a few months. He's run his body ragged, and today was the last straw for it." He motioned to the door. "He's stabilized. You can go and see him."

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John went to see him first. Ellie stayed where she was seated in the hallway, staring at the opposite wall feeling very small and very very lost. Her coat was probably going to tear from the way she was twisting it in her lap, but she didn't notice. She could only think of the doctor's finalizing words.

Dying. He's dying.

When John finally emerged she barely noticed his red eyes, and hesitated at the door, suddenly afraid. She hated hospitals, she hated seeing people in hospitals. But finally she kicked herself; she had seen this already, had already seen Alec following a heart attack. Why was she having so much trouble now?

She opened the door and was hit by the normal white walls and antiseptic spray that every hospital had. The lights were dimly lit, casting everything into soft shadow. The bed, however, had all of her attention. Monitors beeped and hummed all around all its sides, counting out heart beats and other vitals that seemed much too irregular for a human body. In the awful yawning blandness of everything it was only Alec's hair that stood out; his skin was white and waxy, a thin sheen of sweat painted across his face. He was hooked up to oxygen, but even with its help he seemed to be struggling to breathe.

Ellie swallowed hard, wondering why it was that the two of them could never be normal human beings. They always seemed to bicker and fight, always opened wounds with their words that always left their conversations on a bad note. That left them bleeding and raw. Alec's final words to her still sat heavily between them, still made her heart burn, but suddenly she found herself praying to a god she didn't believe in for him to wake up.

They couldn't leave things like this. Not now.

She reached out and grabbed hold of his hand, gently rubbing her thumb over the rough skin of his palm. "If you die, I'll kill you myself," she whispered. A tear fell silently on their intertwined hands.

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A/N: My heart broke while writing this. It really really did, and I'm really really sorry.